It’s dark and the beach is deserted except for the few drunk ones wandering over from the shack. It isn’t Goa, and nothing exciting ever happens here. I sit with him just beneath the footpath, legs stretched out in front of me, leaning back against the cement blocks. He talks to me, of several things, I listen only to the deep hum of his voice and watch the brown of his eyes.
Suddenly, two very drunk white women run out to the beach, kicking the sand across us and proceed to divest themselves off their bikini tops. My eyes pop out and my head is suddenly clear of the fog caused by the small cocktail sips I've had. I’ve never seen live naked women before I let my uncivilized self take over. I ogle and gesture to him whispering hoarsely, “Ohmigod, look they’re taking their clothes off”. And he just keeps looking at me. Not a flicker of curiosity in his eyes, he just keeps looking at my face. He continues long after they’ve left, and the rest of the evening I am silent.
He loves me enough to miss the freak show of the year.
For whatever reason.
I am loved.
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