It was a chilly September morning and the beach was practically deserted. Naomi walked down the promenade, sipping on her coffee and grinning at the usual twenty-something black crows which were standing on their patch of grass, frozen still like in that Hitchcock movie.
Resting the paper cup on the ground, Naomi took off her shoes, tied two shoestrings together, and slung the shoes over her shoulder. Then, she climbed down from the promenade and slowly made her way towards the water. Perhaps it was too cold for that kind of thing, but she found that mile-long beach irresistibly peaceful, with its lazy waves rolling around the pebbles in the shore.
The truth was that in general Bray agreed with her. The town had a relaxed cadence about it and its old seaside resort status implied that there were many foreign people coming and going. Presently, Naomi felt anything but constant, fixed, and solid. Nothing seemed permanent to her, and so it seemed that she had found the perfect place to run away to. Rationally, she knew that trying to disappear wasn't the answer. She couldn't just switch countries and call it a solution. Among other things, it could only be temporal.
Her toes grazed the surface of the icy water and Naomi couldn't help but grimace. Still, she submerged her feet and kept walking, taking in the view of Bray Head, the hill belonging to the Wicklow Mountains ahead. It was absolutely beautiful.
The wind blew her hair over face and she paused to tie it into a ponytail, holding the edge of the paper cup between her teeth. Then, she spotted a particularly bright shade of red which made her stop. The huddled shape looked like a person, a red-haired girl, sitting Buddha-like among the pebbles, distant, motionless. The only active part of her was her red hair, which was flailing in the wind and the girl was doing nothing to stop it.
Naomi tilted her head slightly and kept walking, her eyes still on the girl. The redhead was wearing a long, dark-blue fleece sweater which she had stretched over her bunched-up knees, and so Naomi could only see part of her jeans and her bare feet. A pair of white trainers was neatly set to the side. The girl had also stretched the sleeves of her sweater to hide her hands completely.
Suddenly realizing that she hadn't had an actual conversation with anyone since she had stepped foot in Ireland, Naomi felt the strangest desire to talk to that girl. But why her? Why now? She hadn't felt the need to socialize before. On the contrary, she usually felt most comfortable in solitude, roaming the beach or Bray Head's dusty, scenic walks. Hadn't she fled her home country to be really, truly alone? So what was this desire to speak to this person?
You know better than to speak to somebody who clearly wants to be alone.
"Hi," she said, despite herself, wondering if the girl would hear her over the sound of the waves. If she didn't, Naomi swore she would keep walking and never attempt to talk to her again. The embarrassment was too great.
The redhead turned her head to look at her at once, as if she had known all along that Naomi was standing there.
"Hi," the girl said.
Now what? She had spoken to her on impulse, a mysterious, overwhelming urge, and now she didn't know what to do with it.
"It's a bit chilly, but it's nice, isn't it?" Yeah, that's it, talk about the weather like an old lady.
"Yeah, I kind of love mornings like this." The girl's voice was raspy but kind. "Got a fag?"
"Uh, sure…" Naomi rummaged her pockets, found the pack, and extracted two cigarettes.
Walking towards the girl, seeing her closer, Naomi thought there had never been a skin so white and so perfect. As the redhead reached out for the cigarette, her fingers surfaced from inside the sleeve. She had short nails, painted dark purple. Naomi then handed her the lighter and, with the cigarette between her lips, the girl murmured her thanks.
There was a pause, in which they both puffed on their cigarettes and looked at the calm waters before them. Conversely, Naomi's insides were in hysterics. She didn't know whether she should keep on talking or just leave. Choosing the safer, second option, she started to turn away.
"Well, uh… I guess it was nice meeting you."
"We haven't."
"What?" she faced the redhead again.
"We haven't really met, have we?" the girl shook her right hand free from the sweater's sleeve and stretched out her arm. "I'm Emily."
"Naomi." She reached down to shake her hand and felt a peculiar tingle on the tips of her cold fingers.
"Pleasure," Emily said, simply.
"Likewise," Naomi nodded, her eyes darting this way and that. "So, I guess I got to keep going, you know…. I got stuff to do. See you around, Emily."
Only when she had already started to walk away, she heard a very faint "See ya" coming from behind her back.