Windy Day

I sat on the bench surrounded by the concrete beach and watched the murky green waves crash against the walls. The wind whistled past my bad ear, the ear I don’t hear to well out of. Seagulls cawed all around, the drone of the shore squeezed my mind tighter and tighter, pushing the words out of my mouth. I turned to him, “I wish you didn't smoke.”

He nodded slightly, then just sat there, lit cigarette in hand. He didn't puff it, he didn't ash. He did let it burn out. Those five minutes passed without a word or him taking his eyes off the water, or me taking my eyes off him. Just toxic smoke rising between us, pushed towards him a little because of the wind. When it was out, he dropped the butt and stood up.

His eyes were covered by sporty black sunglasses, and his head cloaked in his windbreaker’s hood, drawn tight around his face. For a second I thought he looked like an alien or a time traveler.

“Well,” he let out in an elongated drawn out fashion, “We should be heading home soon.”

But I didn't want to get up. I didn't get up.

He nodded again and sat back down.