Thank you guys for all the reviews, and I'm sorry it has been so long! It won't happen again, honest. :)
Please let me know what you think, more and more will be revealed as the story progresses.
Disclaimer: All characters property of Bright, Kauffman, and Crane. Lyrics to "Hard Candy" are property of the Counting Crows. And I'm still wondering if I spelled 'Kauffman' right. ;)
She is standing by the waters
as her smile begins to curl
in this or any other summer,
she is something all together different
never just an ordinary girl
----
-Chandler, Present Time-
I don't know what struck me first about her: the fact that she wore a hat at dusk; her hunched figure, looking incredibly small in comparison to the ocean; or her eyes, filled with such a combination of love, hate, and fear.
I knew she was different and I knew she was beautiful.
And I was about to discover so very much more.
----
-Chandler-
I hate the sand, I hate the beach, and I absolutely loathe the tiny pink umbrella cruising high above my virgin strawberry margarita.
Pink is my mother's color, bursting with energy and femininity.
Pink is my father's color, also bursting with energy, and sadly, femininity.
Pink is not Steven's color. Steven, my mother's lover, is a man's man. I hesitate to call him her boyfriend. If he were her boyfriend, she wouldn't have to profess her love to him every waking moment. She wouldn't have to caress his chest in public. And most of all, they wouldn't have to gaze into one another's eyes just to be certain they are together. If it was truly love or something equally important, they would know it. She loves him to the extent that makes him a sort of creature to embrace, but not one to hold onto.
I am the one to hold onto in a loose and yet permanent grip, minus the love in between.
But, hey, it's fine with me. I'd much rather just stay out of all the mother-son relationships. And the father-son relationships.
Hell, relationships? Screw 'em. I know I sound like the typical angst-ridden teenager, and maybe I am, but believe me when I say that getting too close to someone will only cause it to be more painful when you have to say goodbye.
I sit a safe distance from the water, wishing I'd brought a friend to share in this misery. Who would've thought the Jersey shore would be so uneventful?
Sixty yards down, a young couple delights in constructing sand castles with their toddler. His brown eyes sparkle, I can even tell that from here. The sand castle they are building is enormous. When I was younger, the closest I got to royalty were the contents of my sand pail turned over and matted with sea water. There goes my castle. And yet, from the distance, this family's castle is more like a sea palace, complete with turrets and a deep moat. I'm sure that the parents are enjoying themselves more than their young son, but they work only to see the joy in his eyes.
It'll be years before he realizes that all the sand castles he builds will be swept away by an unforgiving tide.
----
-Monica-
He's still standing there, this guy. I can't quite figure out what is wrong with him, but during the forty-five minutes I've contemplated the dangers of this damn ocean, he's barely blinked.
I'm tempted, almost, to parade over there and ask him why he's just standing over there, gazing at a bunch of water.
But I'm not brave enough for such confrontations.
And, besides, I'm doing the exact same thing.
----
-Chandler-
I've been watching this girl watch the ocean for over a half hour. If you've never watched someone watch something, it's a peculiar task. You have to do it carefully, and this mostly comes down to the stare-factor. If you stare too long, you run the risk of being labeled a stalker or a pervert. I prefer to think I'm above such nicknames, but sometimes I just don't know.
You have to take glimpses and focus your eyes on non-existent objects, pretending to be immensely interested in a seagull, all the while noticing that she's barefoot.
That's right, barefoot.
I'm almost questioning my own sanity as I wonder why someone is barefoot at the most barefoot of places, but something tells me that this girl isn't the shoeless type.
Hell, she's wearing a straw hat and clothing that practically engulfs her small body. It just surprises me how free her feet are, beneath her concealed figure.
For this reason, I test it as my opener as I approach her.
"Hi. You're barefoot." Smooth, Chandler, I think.
She doesn't even look up, but responds nonetheless. "It's a beach. Everyone is barefoot."
"I'm not." I look down at my Birkenstocks.
"That's weird." She looks up at me and I can see that she's wearing sunglasses.
"Well, I think it's weird that you are wearing sunglasses and the sun is setting." Never before had a girl actually responded in challenge towards my attempts at conversation. Sure, I'd gotten the shrug and laugh, as well as the all too famous walk-away. But this? This was new.
She gestures towards the horizon. "There's the sun. It's still in the sky."
"Yep. But it's going to set in like ten minutes, you know."
"It tends to do that around this time of day."
I can almost detect humor in her voice, but I've always been awful at reading people. "So are you some kind of sunset timer?"
"Just a fan," she sighs.
"So did you think about the fact that the sun would be setting soon when you left your house? Or do you just take your sunglasses everywhere with you?"
"When I left, the sun was higher in the sky. But you know that; you've been watching me for the past forty-five minutes." At this, she smiles, thank God.
But I can feel my cheeks blushing furiously. "So, ah, you saw me?"
"Seagulls can't be that interesting." She shakes her head side to side, and her hair nestles nicely beneath her shoulders.
"Well, since you seem to have been watching me as I watched you, maybe it's about time that I found out the name of the one I've watched." As these words tumble ungracefully out of my mouth, I'm amazed.
"What do you think my name is?"
"What?"
"As you were staring at me, I'm sure you wondered what my name was. Right?"
Wrong. I want to tell her that I wondered why she wouldn't touch the water, why she wore clothes that covered her entire body. I questioned her lack of shoe attire, and I wondered what color her eyes were. But her name? Not so much.
"I, uh, thought it was Lindsey," I lie effortlessly. "You look just like a Lindsey."
"Really?" She puts a hand on her hip. "I'm about as far away from a Lindsey as possible."
"Oh. Then what is it?"
"You look like a Mark or a Christopher. I don't know why, but I'm just going to assume this. I assume things, you see. And sometimes I don't change my mind. I have lots of flaws," she states quite blatantly.
Normally, I am the one to shock people with my straightforwardness. But finally, I think I've found someone more blatant and forthcoming in an obvious, attention-grabbing way. It's oddly disconcerting.
"Well, we've all got flaws." I try quickly to change the subject. If I ever see this girl again, we're bound to talk about something of the sort. But usually, my less endearing qualities (I have endearing qualities?) don't serve as the immediate topic of conversation. "I'm afraid you might be disappointed when you hear my name, though."
"Why's that?"
"It's...strange."
"Well, what is it?" From behind those dark rimmed sunglasses, I'm sure she's staring at me.
"Uh...Chandler."
"Assuming the 'uh' isn't some sort of weird title, I like it."
"Really," I raise my eyebrows at her.
"It's different. I bet you're different, too."
"Sometimes." I pride myself on trying to stand out and be different in my own self-effacing way, but for some reason I didn't want to tell her this.
"No. You are."
"You weren't kidding about the assumptions, were you?"
"Nope," she shakes her head. "I'm a bit stubborn."
"So do you have a name?" It's a dumb question, really, but she'll get the gist.
"If I told you no, would you believe me?"
"Yes." I state it as simply as I can, proving that I can be just as challenging as she.
"Then I don't have one."
"All right." I turn my attention towards the ocean, shielding my eyes from the sun.
"Why are you covering your eyes?"
I laugh in stutters within the walls of my chest. "I wanted to see the sunset."
"Sunglasses would come in handy, huh?" She wants to win, and I know it.
"No. I like to watch all my sunsets like this."
"So they're your sunsets?"
I shrug. "As much as they are anyone else's, I suppose."
"I like that. But I've always liked to think that they're mine. Usually, I'm the only one out here watching it set, and I like it that way. But I don't mind if you watch it with me." She talks so simply, and yet I can't shake the feeling that she chooses her words carefully.
"I think that's the most I've heard you talk so far."
"Sometimes, you say more without uttering a sound."
"You're sort of philosophical," I mutter.
"You're sort of...not." She laughs, andthis time I think it's for real.
The sun melts before us into the ocean, and a newly carved crescent moon bears down upon the tinted ocean, lighting up the beach in pale turquoise blues.
"I guess it's over."
"You guessed right," she smiles. "I have to go now, my mom will kill me."
And this comment brings me back to earth from my high vantage point. For a moment there, it was just the two of us and that ocean. We weren't people, we weren't children, we were holographic images stamped into the sand and time, watching a routine so simple and complex at the same moment. I'd never felt so out of body and so real at juxtaposed moments.
And, hey, this is saying something for me.
"So, uh, will I see you again?"
"I told you I liked to watch the sunset each night." She removes her sunglasses. "My name is Monica. Not Lindsey. Lindsey would be a lot simpler, and I wasn't born for that."
I gasp as her eyes unearth from beneath the wide shadow of her hat.
They are blue. I don't know what I was expecting. Brown, maybe. Yeah, brown sounds about right. Or maybe a dimly darkened hazel green. But blue eyes were the last thing I expected to see beneath her charcoal sheet of hair.
They sparkle, and this is another surprise. Her cynical voice bites through the sand, and tugs persistently at the bottom of my cotton shirt. I was beginning to get the feeling that she wanted me to listen without having to tell me to. She is a mystery, I want to figure her out.
I'm beginning to feel like Mister Rogers or some dumb children's show, trying to place two similar topics together as I think about figuring out Monica.
"The mystery needs to be solved, children. Open the door with the key, children, the ocean is behind the sand, children."
I've always hated those shows. The ocean might be behind the sand in Jersey, but I bet that this beaches' sand is behind the watersin China. It just depends on your point of view.
That bit of cynicism dangerously lacing her assured words somehow doesn't seem to reach her eyes. They are innocent, unlike the rest of her personality, I think.
She smiles at me, faintly. I suppose some people wouldn't even classify that little mouth-twitch as a smile, but I take it as one. It's all I can do.
"Well, maybe I'll see you tomorrow. The sun tends to set at the same time each night." Monica smiles for real this time, and it feels good to think about her name.
She leaves me now, turning on her small and pale heel, kicking up a sandstorm of dusty pebbles behind her.
----
-Chandler, Present Time-
I glimpse her eyes once more in this faded picture, and they still have the ability to burn through my skin. She saw me for who I was, and not the character I tried to be. I don't know how, but she did.
Everything I do now seems so insignificant. I shuffle through my life in a daze, and everyone that knows me thinks it is how I really am. Hell, even Heather thinks I'm this cynical bastard and I don't know how she loves me. I don't know how Monica did, either.
But I guess love is complicated, and takes many forms. Sure, I got that phrase from a Hallmark card I read once, but it's true. Hallmark cards often ring all too true. And this also makes me feel painfully insignificant. But I guess you take what you get, huh?
Like that ocean. The ocean may have seemed larger at first, but that first night I realized something: Everything and nothing in the world was hidden beneath the surface of those painfully blue eyes, and it still terrifies the hell out of me.
----
Thanks for reading, guys! Leave me a review if you want to. This one was a little hard for me to write because of the tense it's in. I'm seriously considering changing it, but I'm now beginning to fear that it would disrupt the flow of the story. If there is even a 'flow' yet. I'd appreciate some feedback on it, anyhow. ;)
Also, I haven't decided if Chandler in the present time is really in 2005 or if the past even took place in the 80's or something. I've been thinking that the past I write about is taking place in the time period we're in right now and the future can be just...whenever I decide. :) But no aliens. Got it? It's 1:15 AM. I don't feel good and I'm going to bed. lol. Thank you!
Mel
Hard Candy Lyrics, Copyright Counting Crows
