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down on the dry sand to draw them, giggling at how comical they looked.
Finished with my first sketch, I rose to do a little beachcombing, rolling up my pant legs and
getting close enough to let the ice cold water wash across my feet. I reached down and plucked a
perfect unbroken sand dollar from the foamy rush. I took it as an omen that this would be a lucky
day.
On this fog veiled morning the pier was empty of fishermen, and I looked up at the lonely
expanse of gray weathered wood disappearing into the murky swirling mist. I picked my way
across the beach to the stairs and wandered down the planks to the bench at the end of the ship.
Peering through the fence, I gazed out onto the dark choppy waters lapping at the broken
concrete.
The sea lions were gone, but there was a row of black cormorants perched on the rusty rails
of the ship s broken prow. Getting out my sketch pad I sat down to begin another drawing. After
I finished the birds, I looked around for a fresh subject. I started to sketch a seagull that had
landed on the fence near me, eying me hopefully.
 Sorry guy, I don t have any food for you, I told him. He cocked his ear to listen and flew
away as though he had understood me perfectly.
As the morning wore on the fog slowly peeled back, grudgingly allowing the sun take its
place in the sky. I gazed out across the water and could just make out some surfers in the
distance. I slipped off my jacket, stuffing it into my bag as I moved to the left side of the ship.
With my binoculars I could see the surfers clearly. There were several figures in the water and a
small group of girls sitting on the beach with towels and a cooler.
The girls all wore tiny bikinis, and were anointing their bodies with oil that made them
glisten in the bright sun. They were talking and laughing, their long hair blowing in the sea
breeze. They looked so natural, so comfortable in their own tanned skins. I felt a pang of regret,
and a longing that surprised me. I knew I d never fit in with a group like that, and I felt like a
complete outsider, as strange as if I were visiting a foreign land.
I focused my attention on the surfers. They had on black wetsuits on that made their bodies
look shiny, like the sea lions. Paddling out past the breaking waves, they turned to face the shore
and wait for a wave to ride in. I knew that waves came in sets, but I couldn t discern any visible
pattern.
One surfer stood up on a huge wave and clung to its side masterfully, cutting back and forth
across the wall of water. I adjusted the binoculars and saw with a start that it was Ethan. Of
course he would be good, I thought. He had none of the wobbly awkwardness of some of the
other surfers. He sprang to his feet, lithe as a panther, and flew across the waves, twisting and
swirling like a breeze. He made it look like a lot of fun, and I had a sudden impulse to try it,
which was more than a little weird given my pronounced lack of swimming skills.
I kept the binoculars focused on Ethan, propping my elbows up on the wooden rail. I
couldn t stop looking at him as he skimmed across the water, defying gravity. Mesmerized, I
must have leaned against the fence for at least an hour. I watched him get out of the water and
spotted a tall blonde heading towards him with a towel. I recognized her as the nasty girl who
had insulted me and Cruz on my first night here. Figures, I thought, as I remembered the look
she had flashed me.
The bikini clad girls all sucked in their stomachs and posed alluringly when Ethan walked
by. I laughed out loud as I turned back to the bench. Now you are a full-fledged voyeur, I
admitted to myself with embarrassment.
The throaty barks of sea lions caught my attention, and I went over to the fence to check
them out. Their shiny black heads popped out of the water a few yards from the end of the ship. I
raised my binoculars and adjusted the focus, my eyes caught by a glimpse of coppery blonde
hair. She was there! The girl was swimming among the sea lions! This time she didn t see me
and I watched as she moved closer with the pack of jostling creatures. She reached out to stroke
one of their heads as though she were petting a dog. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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