Jackie Tekila
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- Posted: Fri, 17 Jul 2009 08:37:45 +0000
Alright, so I think most everyone here knows the drill. I'm looking for comments and critiques, any helpful input on improving the piece. Let me know your thoughts. Thanks in advance to all those who take the time to read and respond. Your help is greatly appreciated. 3nodding
Time to Go
The ocean ferociously cascaded off the rocks to the left of the beach, swirling and twirling in a violent current below the towering Margaritas restaurant. The building's white plaster peeling from the daily bombardment of salty sea spray. The sun was nearing the horizon yet again, sinking little by little into an orange-blue fiasco of color. The ocean was constantly at war with itself, at least here on the Pacific side.
The waves had gotten smaller, the tide now out. All the surfers had disappeared and left the beach near empty save for a few small families that didn't challenge the current beyond knee height; watching their small children closely. The golden flecks that littered the beach, giving it the name Playa del Oro, now shimmered meekly in the orange toned light.
A young woman sat amongst the sand in one of the plain wooden chairs rented out by Margarita's bar. She had no intention of paying for it and the servers knew that. She wasn't one of the tourists from the all inclusive hotel across the street. Although her features screamed Gringa or Americana, in every way possible, she came to the beach with the local surfers, not with the obese American families. And her Spanish wasn't half bad either.
She emptied the ash from the bowl of her hookah, repacking it with fresh flavored tobacco. She watched as the small Mexican children splashed in the surf. Allowing the current to knock them from their feet and wash them onto the beach before they leapt up and ran back for the next wave.
That is kind of like life, she thought absently as she observed the children. We allow ourselves to be knocked down with such fervor that we don't even give ourselves time to assess the damages before diving back in, just to be tossed down to the ground again. We know we're going to get hurt, yet we keep going back and with higher hopes and expectations than ever before.
The gentle sea breeze picked up again, rattling the coconut trees on the boulevard above. She would have checked her watch, but she didn't carry one when she was in Mexico. She didn't feel the need to. When things got done, they got done, there was no need to worry about them.
She was well into month two of her “excursion.” She wasn't supposed to be in Mexico. She was supposed to be in Spain. Visiting the man she had thought she loved. But as he himself so gently put it “People grow apart, they fall out of love...” Thing was, she never really fell out of love, and she wasn't entirely convinced he had either. But needless to say her trip had been canceled. But before she had had time to assess the full damage, she had driven to Mexico with an amigo.
But things in that regard hadn't worked out entirely either. Her friend and her had parted ways. That was why she sat on a sandy beach overlooking the Pacific ocean, rather than in the dense crowds of Mexico City where he lived. She liked it better here anyway. It was hot, it was beautiful, and it was calm. All things that varied drastically from her cold northern homeland of Wisconsin.
The thing that pained her the most though, sitting on that beach, was not, for the first time, the regret of not going to Spain, but rather, the pain of knowing this paradise had to end. College was beginning again in little less then a month, and her mother kept finding miraculous ways to track her down and beg her to come home. She knew her mother needed her and that she needed her education. But at the moment, every reality, and every truth she'd ever been told in her life, felt empty and pointless. The structures that everyone gave to life seemed to evaporate.
But it was time. It was time to go back. It was time to abandon what made her so happy here. She took her last toke from the hookah and began dismantling it. She packed it back into her backpack. She gathered up her assorted things; pack of cigarette, beach towel, sunglasses, and began her climb up the winding steps nestled beneath Margarita's bar.
She reached the top and smiled as the servers waved goodbye for the day. She exited onto the boulevard. From here she could smell the horses across the street where Gama kept his calmer animals for the tourists. She had led a few of the trail rides this summer for him. She spoke English which was a bonus and wasn't too shabby at riding either. It was a fun ride, up the mountain, around the lagoon, and down along the beach for a canter. She would miss her little Patito, or Ducky, the horse she had ridden there. He was a sweetheart.
She turned past Margarita's and walked down to the building alongside it. The bar there, Bora's, was just opening as the last rays of sun were finally disappearing. The hammock outside lay empty and the surf lessons truck was parked out front. A man emerged from the building, leaning down slightly to kiss her gently on the forehead.
“Hola, mi amor,” he whispered sweetly. She could smell the salt water on his skin, his dark black hair glued to his forehead by sea water. He was more fish then man. She loved that about him. She was his girl for now, but she knew in all reality the only woman he would ever love was the ocean herself. Surfing was his life.
They entered the bar together and she deposited her bags on a chair. The bartender smiled at her as he arrange things for opening. She would miss so many people here, but she knew what she had to do. Her boy headed to the stage, helping his friends set up equipment for the band that would be playing that evening.
She slipped out of the bar and made her way to the street. She knew what she had to do. Even though tears were growing in her eyes. She reached the dilapidated pay phone and picked up the receiver with a heavy sigh, sliding her worn international phone card through its designated slot. Dialing the long string of digits. She waited. It rang. She inhaled and exhaled gently. Then came a familiar voice, and her resolve strengthened, a strong feeling of homesickness, several months in waiting, washed over her.
“Mom. I'm coming home.”
Edit: Feel free to comment and critique my other pieces as well. Chocolate Covered Strawberries, Love Letters, A Child's Realization, Where has my Pillow Gone?, and No Time for Fear
Time to Go
The ocean ferociously cascaded off the rocks to the left of the beach, swirling and twirling in a violent current below the towering Margaritas restaurant. The building's white plaster peeling from the daily bombardment of salty sea spray. The sun was nearing the horizon yet again, sinking little by little into an orange-blue fiasco of color. The ocean was constantly at war with itself, at least here on the Pacific side.
The waves had gotten smaller, the tide now out. All the surfers had disappeared and left the beach near empty save for a few small families that didn't challenge the current beyond knee height; watching their small children closely. The golden flecks that littered the beach, giving it the name Playa del Oro, now shimmered meekly in the orange toned light.
A young woman sat amongst the sand in one of the plain wooden chairs rented out by Margarita's bar. She had no intention of paying for it and the servers knew that. She wasn't one of the tourists from the all inclusive hotel across the street. Although her features screamed Gringa or Americana, in every way possible, she came to the beach with the local surfers, not with the obese American families. And her Spanish wasn't half bad either.
She emptied the ash from the bowl of her hookah, repacking it with fresh flavored tobacco. She watched as the small Mexican children splashed in the surf. Allowing the current to knock them from their feet and wash them onto the beach before they leapt up and ran back for the next wave.
That is kind of like life, she thought absently as she observed the children. We allow ourselves to be knocked down with such fervor that we don't even give ourselves time to assess the damages before diving back in, just to be tossed down to the ground again. We know we're going to get hurt, yet we keep going back and with higher hopes and expectations than ever before.
The gentle sea breeze picked up again, rattling the coconut trees on the boulevard above. She would have checked her watch, but she didn't carry one when she was in Mexico. She didn't feel the need to. When things got done, they got done, there was no need to worry about them.
She was well into month two of her “excursion.” She wasn't supposed to be in Mexico. She was supposed to be in Spain. Visiting the man she had thought she loved. But as he himself so gently put it “People grow apart, they fall out of love...” Thing was, she never really fell out of love, and she wasn't entirely convinced he had either. But needless to say her trip had been canceled. But before she had had time to assess the full damage, she had driven to Mexico with an amigo.
But things in that regard hadn't worked out entirely either. Her friend and her had parted ways. That was why she sat on a sandy beach overlooking the Pacific ocean, rather than in the dense crowds of Mexico City where he lived. She liked it better here anyway. It was hot, it was beautiful, and it was calm. All things that varied drastically from her cold northern homeland of Wisconsin.
The thing that pained her the most though, sitting on that beach, was not, for the first time, the regret of not going to Spain, but rather, the pain of knowing this paradise had to end. College was beginning again in little less then a month, and her mother kept finding miraculous ways to track her down and beg her to come home. She knew her mother needed her and that she needed her education. But at the moment, every reality, and every truth she'd ever been told in her life, felt empty and pointless. The structures that everyone gave to life seemed to evaporate.
But it was time. It was time to go back. It was time to abandon what made her so happy here. She took her last toke from the hookah and began dismantling it. She packed it back into her backpack. She gathered up her assorted things; pack of cigarette, beach towel, sunglasses, and began her climb up the winding steps nestled beneath Margarita's bar.
She reached the top and smiled as the servers waved goodbye for the day. She exited onto the boulevard. From here she could smell the horses across the street where Gama kept his calmer animals for the tourists. She had led a few of the trail rides this summer for him. She spoke English which was a bonus and wasn't too shabby at riding either. It was a fun ride, up the mountain, around the lagoon, and down along the beach for a canter. She would miss her little Patito, or Ducky, the horse she had ridden there. He was a sweetheart.
She turned past Margarita's and walked down to the building alongside it. The bar there, Bora's, was just opening as the last rays of sun were finally disappearing. The hammock outside lay empty and the surf lessons truck was parked out front. A man emerged from the building, leaning down slightly to kiss her gently on the forehead.
“Hola, mi amor,” he whispered sweetly. She could smell the salt water on his skin, his dark black hair glued to his forehead by sea water. He was more fish then man. She loved that about him. She was his girl for now, but she knew in all reality the only woman he would ever love was the ocean herself. Surfing was his life.
They entered the bar together and she deposited her bags on a chair. The bartender smiled at her as he arrange things for opening. She would miss so many people here, but she knew what she had to do. Her boy headed to the stage, helping his friends set up equipment for the band that would be playing that evening.
She slipped out of the bar and made her way to the street. She knew what she had to do. Even though tears were growing in her eyes. She reached the dilapidated pay phone and picked up the receiver with a heavy sigh, sliding her worn international phone card through its designated slot. Dialing the long string of digits. She waited. It rang. She inhaled and exhaled gently. Then came a familiar voice, and her resolve strengthened, a strong feeling of homesickness, several months in waiting, washed over her.
“Mom. I'm coming home.”
Edit: Feel free to comment and critique my other pieces as well. Chocolate Covered Strawberries, Love Letters, A Child's Realization, Where has my Pillow Gone?, and No Time for Fear
