I dug into my pocket for two quarters and popped them into the giant binoculars at the boardwalk’s edge. The lens clicked open. I panned to the right just before the setting sun and made out the cargo ship’s port of call: Panama. A lone figure was leaning on the starboard rail, savoring one final look at the city. It was a sweetly ironic moment. A part of me longed to be him, free of the land and its trappings, and I imagined a part of him longed to be me, free of a life spent in motion. Such was man in his deepest self, always searching yet rarely finding his place in the world.
The man and the boat and the sun went black as the telescope’s shutter snapped shut. Fifty cents bought only so much reverie. I felt my pockets again and found nothing, so I turned and instead focused my attention inland. What began less than an hour previous as a slow trickle of afternoon pedestrians was now a mini rush hour. Joggers and walkers and Rollerbladers paraded past me in varying degrees of speed and strain, all in search of that elusive prize of thinner thighs and flatter stomachs.
“Maybe you should get a little exercise, too,” the Old Man said.
I turned back around to see him leaning on the guardrail and staring out at the cargo ship easing its way over the horizon. His linen suit flapped in the warm breeze. He bent the rim of his fedora down to shield his eyes from the sun.
“Me?” I asked. “I’m in great shape. I exercise all the time. You look snazzy.”
“Walking out from behind the counter at the gas station to pour yourself another cup of coffee is not exercise,” he answered. “And thank you.”
“Like you should talk,” I answered. I looked down to where his suit jacket wasn’t buttoned. “You have a bigger gut than I do, and you’re an angel. Thought you people were supposed to be beautiful.”
He feigned insult. “You don’t think I’m beautiful?”
“I wouldn’t say you’re exactly easy on the eyes. My opinion, anyway.”
“True,” he said. “Especially around here. Lots of beautiful people at the beach. Who, by the way, do not go out and about in a pair of cutoff jeans and a Dale Earnhardt T-shirt.”
It was my turn to feign insult. “Fine, my clothes are ugly. But you’re ugly, too. And I can change my clothes.”
“Touché,” he said. We both chuckled and switched vantage points, him now looking to the crowd and me out to sea. The sun was turning from yellow to orange to pink. In the distance a dolphin broke the surface, tumbling me into reverie again.
It seemed the Old Man was taking part in a little reverie of his own, because he spent the next few minutes stroking the bracelet on his arm. I’d asked him about it more times than I could remember, but he was as mysterious with that as he was with most anything else. The flow of information was always the same with us, and that was a current that never changed direction.
“What is it about the ocean that calls to the lovers in this world?” he finally asked.
I shrugged and said, “Never thought about it. Why?”
“Take a look over there,” he said, nodding into the crowd.
I turned to see a couple near the pier, strolling hand in hand toward us. Their appearance stood in contrast with the exercisers who snaked their way around them. He was tall, with coal-colored hair and a deep tan that set off the tattoos on his right arm. She was a strikingly beautiful brunette with pouty lips and a smile that seemed brighter than the sun. With his beige khakis and white muscle shirt and her blue sundress and sandals, the two were a J Crew ad lost in a Nike commercial.
Their pace was slow and deliberately aimless. They did not scan the surf or the skies or even the pedestrians around them but kept them low and just a few feet forward to the boundary of their own private world. Each step was made in unison and coincided with some form of physical contact—a hand deftly moved behind her back, a gentle kiss on his cheek.
“Love is a beautiful thing, Andy,” the Old Man said. He took his eyes off the couple and put them on me. “Isn’t it?”
It was more than a simple question, and I knew it. Much more.
He was speaking of Caroline.
She and I had never gotten far enough to speak of love, but I always believed I had felt it for her. Not the love-thy-neighbor sort of love, but the sort that keeps you awake at night wondering what it would be like if you never had to wonder again. Yes, I thought, love was a beautiful thing. At least the little I knew of it was, before it scared me into breaking things off and breaking her heart. The Old Man was right as far as all of that went. I could never get close to anyone. Not with him in my life. But I knew what love looked like. Knew what it was and what it could do. I wasn’t an expert at it, but that seemed immaterial. I could appreciate a picture without knowing how to paint one.
“Yeah,” I answered. “It surely is.”
The couple neared and I politely turned away. I heard her giggle at something he said and then mention how beautiful the sunset was. He maneuvered her away from the crowd to the railing beside me. She rested her head on his shoulder as she surveyed the scene.
“Be right back,” the Old Man said, fading from sight.
“Okay.”
“What’s that?” the man asked me.
“I said ‘good day,’” I answered, turning toward them.
“It is,” he said.
The three of us exchanged hellos, and he asked to borrow my lighter. He pulled a cigarette from his back pocket, lit it with Sinatra-like panache, and then handed it to his lady for a puff. She exhaled a long stream of smoke and gave him another peck on the cheek as thanks.
I decided then it was time for me to move along. Though not intentional, the two made me feel like a passerby in their magical kingdom of love. Besides, all that kissing and touching was just a little too Cinemax for me.
But as I turned to walk away, something unexpected happened. The woman sighed. Not a contented, life-is-beautiful sigh. More of a this-is-going-to-be-hard sigh. I eased my way back to the railing. And just when I thought Snow White and Prince Charming had it and had it bad, she uttered the four words that invariably spell the death of romance and the sudden end of every fairy tale.
“Alex,” she said, “we have to talk.”
How many times had I heard that? For that matter, how many times had I said that? I wasn’t sure, but I was sure enough to know that it didn’t involve we at all. And very little talk.
We have to talk. Translation: “I have to talk. You have to listen. And this will not go well.”
I considered the possibility there were other translations of which I was unaware. Maybe to some We have to talk meant “I’d like some ice cream” or “Let’s turn in early.” Maybe to some it even meant “We have to talk.” But from the look on his face, Alex seemed most familiar with the standard interpretation.
Alex peeked at me from the corners of his eyes. I pretended to watch a pair of Navy F-18s flying out to sea. His weight shifted from one foot to the other as he tried to restart the frozen gears in his mind.
“We have to talk, Sweetie,” his companion said again. Her voice sounded more confident this time. The subject had been broached, which meant the hard part was now over. For her, anyway.
“So let’s talk,” Alex said. He glanced again in my direction. I ignored it and kept watching the sky for jets. He whispered to her, “But why don’t we go back to my place?”
“No,” she told him, running a hand down his arm. “I think we should talk here.”
Oh yes, I thought. The public breakup. Get your business done out in the open with lots of people around. He’ll be upset, but maybe he’ll be too embarrassed to cause a scene.
“Okay,” Alex answered, though I think by then even he realized he had no choice in the matter.
“Alex, you know I care about you,”
[this guy’s definitely getting the boot]
“and you know I’d never do anything to hurt you,”
[except rip your heart out and spike it like a football in front of this stranger]
“but I really think we need to spend”
[some time apart]
“some time apart.”
She let go of his hand and took two steps backward. Alex shoved the hand into his pocket and proceeded to take the longest, deepest, saddest drag from a cigarette I had ever seen. He inched his head toward me. I knew what he was thinking. He was thinking that right then he would give just about anything if I would turn around and walk away.
But I didn’t. Maybe I should have. My presence was probably only making things worse. But I knew that in just a few minutes that lady was going to walk back up the boardwalk without him, and both of them might need someone there to make sure nothing stupid happened.
“Lauren,” Alex said, “I don’t understand. Did I do something wrong?”
“No,” she assured him. “It’s me, baby.”
It’s me. Translation: “It’s you.”
Lauren rubbed Alex’s arm to make her point, but her tactic was no longer welcomed. Alex was trying to maintain his composure and not doing very well at it. He inhaled the rest of his cigarette and tossed the butt into the sand.
“What are you doing?” he asked. He put his arm around her to both keep her there and remind her of how special she was. “We’re great together. We have fun, right? I mean come on, we’re perfect. I love you. You know I love you with all my heart. I tell you every day.”
That’s right, I thought, nodding. Put it all out there. Now she’ll have to think about what she’s doing. Sure there have been mistakes, but those mistakes can be worked out. Hearts can be mended. We can start over. Move forward. Make it better. Right?
Nope.
“I know you do, sweetheart,” Lauren said. “I love you, too.”
I was as confused as Alex at that one, and I wanted to say something. But he said it for me:
“Well if I love you and you love me, why are we having this conversation?”
Lauren sighed again. She had been for the most part subtle and kind through the whole ordeal, but now it was time for plain truth.
“I just can’t do this,” she said. “I need to live, Alex. College is starting soon and I’ll be going away and I just…I can’t get bogged down in a relationship now. It just won’t work. If you really love me, you’ll understand. If you really love me, you’ll let me go.”
With that she removed a ring from her finger and held it out to him.
Alex reached for it but caught her arm instead. “Please, Lauren,” he moaned. “We’ll be fine. We have to be.”
She folded his other hand around the ring and turned to leave. Alex remained beside me, stunned by the suddenness of her rejection. Five minutes before, they were inseparable. Now they would likely never be together again. I knew the theory of the temporary good-bye. It was one that existed in movies and books, but not in real life.
Lauren stopped and turned to face him one last time. “Oh, Alex? Those tickets for the concert? I still want mine. Just give it to Jill, okay? And call me.”
Call me. Translation: “Don’t call me. Ever.”
Alex said nothing. There was nothing to say. He had emptied his heart and bared his very soul, all to no avail. Our eyes remained on Lauren as she faded into the crowd. Shoulders slouched, he turned back to face the world without her.
We both stared out to sea. Without averting my gaze I again drew the lighter from my pocket and offered it to him. He accepted. No words passed between us.
Twenty minutes and two more smokes later, I was ready to leave. Alex would be okay, I thought. Maybe not right then or the day after, but eventually. But as I turned to go, he flicked his Marlboro into the sand by the small pile of others and said, “Dude? This is love? This?! If love’s supposed to be this big wonderful thing, why does it make absolutely no sense at all?”
I slowly exhaled. Alex wasn’t finished.
“Does love have to feel this bad? Huh? And if it does, why even bother ? I mean I love her, man. She was a ten. Did you see her? Oh man, she was so hot.”
He punched the guardrail and winced, perhaps hoping the physical pain would dull the emotional pain.
“We were meant to be,” he said. “I swear we were. Are. Whatever. How can I find another woman like her?”
Alex paused and stared, waiting for me to say something. Something profound and wise that would put him at ease. I looked around for the Old Man but didn’t see him. Evidently I was flying solo this time.
So I looked at him, opened my mouth…and closed it. All I could manage was a shrug.
Alex gawked at me. “Dude,” he said, “you been standing here this long, and you got nothin’ for me? Nothing?”
I shook my head. Then he began mocking me and accused most of my immediate family of unspeakable things.
And then he stormed out of sight.
*
I spent the rest of my vacation looking for him. Guilt had set in. I knew I should have said something, anything, but at the time my mouth felt like it was full more of cotton than words. The Old Man had given me the chance to be the angel for once, and I had failed. Miserably. I asked strangers and lifeguards, hotel attendants, even bartenders, none of whom confessed to any knowledge of an Alex or a Lauren. I tried describing them, but that didn’t help. Apparently Virginia Beach was full of muscular men with tattoos and beautiful women who wore sundresses. The Old Man wasn’t much help, either. He said he didn’t know where Alex had gone and that it didn’t matter. We’re all on our own path, he said. Not sure what that meant.
He did say that a letter would be nice. Something written by me for Alex. The fact there was no way to get him the letter wasn’t important, at least to the Old Man. He said the letter was more for myself, anyway. So I began to piece together what I could have said. Should have said, rather. I carried them around like fragments in my head, bits and pieces of observations and advice. I wrote, then rewrote, then rewrote again, until I had said what I felt was needed. I sealed it in an envelope, put his name on it, and left it in my box.
Even after all these years, Alex has never been that far removed from my thoughts. I still wonder what became of him, what he’s doing. And yes, if he’s in love. I like to think he is. I like to think that he’s found his true Lauren, whoever that is. But just in case, I’m still waiting to find him one day. I have something I think he’d like to read.