Fay says hello

I'm standing outside my apartment, the wind whipping the wrap I've twisted around me, waiting for Fay. I decide in an instant that I want--no, need--to be on the beach, that I need to be standing there in the wind and the coming rain. I grab my wallet and keys and head out to meet the storm.

I'm standing at the ocean in a long-sleeved top that zips in the front and jeans. The beach is almost empty. The wind is wreaking havoc with my hair. There's not much to take pictures of; the sky's a dull gray and the sea spray makes everything hazy. When I get back to the car, the wind is rocking her lightly.

I'm sitting at the traffic light. To go straight would mean over the bridge and home. I turn right. I pull into a beachfront park and head for the benches. I sit there for a long time, watching the surf, experimenting with the wind direction and my hair, turning to and fro. Sara arrives when it starts to rain.

I leave my slippers in the car and go back barefoot to the benches in the drizzle. We make our way down to the sand and hold hands like children as we sprint toward the waves. The rain stings. I have this overwhelming desire to jump in. I roll up my already wet jeans, unzip my shirt and hand it and the car keys to Sara. I run like a crazy woman into the water before diving under the churning foam.

I can feel the tide pulling at my legs; I stumble and wade back in. She hands me my shirt and I fumble with the sleeves. It feels so good, so primal, to be standing there, almost bare.

We walk back to our cars soaked to the bone. I feel light and high, my skin is singing. I want to laugh into the wind.