Beach House, Chapter 1

This piece began as a writing exercise. The charaters just created themselves one night. I wrote it on Valentines day one year, 2008, I think. This is the first draft. I'd like to go back and touch up a few things, now that I have a better idea of who these people are.

Beauty and the Beach

It fell into the ocean like a bird from the sky. Ric curled back his arm, and launched another brown, spiral shell into the sea. It too, fell with a "plop".

The beach was noticeably more quiet than usual, being Valentine’s Day and all. There were a few joggers, a young guy and his dog, and an old, white-bearded, bald headed jolly sort of guy painting the horizon. That was it, though. Couples were all out to dinner, or spending a romantic evening in. Each was exaggerating their love. The bickering, cheating, rudeness, beating, and general disinterest would be back in full force tomorrow, as if this whole Hallmark Day never happened.

Plop.

Ric lived a few blocks from the beach, in his parents’ old beach house. It had been in the family since when his grandparents were young. Who knows, maybe his dad was conceived there. His parents gave Ric the house shortly after he graduated from the University of Oregon, (where he majored in Philosophy, and minored in Marine Biology) as a graduation present. Of course, he knew the place had little meaning to them now, considering a few months before, they had bought un petit châteaux dans la cote du Monaco. He thought it a nice gesture, none the less.

He used to vacation here as a child with his older sisters and brother. When he first moved in, it took some getting used to not having to fight for his choice of bed, or not seeing the family on the balcony around the firepit every night, which was a famlily ritual back then. Why, he still wouldn’t go near the closet in the downstairs bedroom where his sisters locked him in for 3 hours when he was five.

It was a nice place, but it was too big for a bachelor such as himself. The click clack of his typewriter echoed through the empty house, no laughter of a woman there to dispel the near-silence.

Due to his proximity from the beach, his throwing of shells was a frequent occurrence. When questioned about this once by an old woman passing by, he responded, "I’m just sending them back home."

He figured that if they remained on the beach, they would just be stepped on and crushed by a child not dissimilar from himself at that age, perhaps also on vacation with their family. The beauty that took hundreds of years to make, those little opals of the sea, would be shattered in an instant. There goes one more beautiful thing in this world.

Ric had just bent down (a most beautiful violet shell had caught his eye), and extended his arm when, suddenly, his face exploded with an immense pain. After a few moments, he gained relative composure, got onto all fours and pushed himself up (What’s this? I can move?). He shook his head.

"Man, I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to throw it that far, it wasn’t his fault. You’re not going to sue me are you?" It was the young guy from down the beach, the one playing Frisbee with his boxer. The young man was out of breath, and looked a little unsure. The boxer had turned around, and trotted over to Ric’s right leg and sat by it. He looked up into Ric’s eyes, and gave him a doggie smile, his tongue wagging, and lolling out to the side.

"No, I’m not going to sue you." Ric said, and faced the young man.

"Oh, shit! Are you okay?" he asked.

"Yeah, I’m fine, just a bit dazed. You pack quite a punch there, friend." Ric said, while patting the dog on the head.
"No, man, you got a helluva nose bleed."

Ric put his hand to his nose. He was right. Ric tilted his nose skyward.
"You better get that cleaned up pronto," said the young guy.

"I suppose you’re right." said Ric.

"You know what’s good for that? If you squeeze the juice out of an orange, and rub it on your nose. Not orange juice though, there’s a difference," said the young man.

"The juice of an orange?" Ric repeated.

"Yeah, trust me. My grandma used to do that to me. I used to always pick my nose. When it would start bleeding, she’d rub that underneath my nose, and it would clear right up," the young man replied.

"Sounds like it would sting," Ric said.

"Trust me, my grandma was a medicinal healer, man. She lived on a commune and everything," he said. "I’m sorry again. We’re cool though, right, dude?"

"Yeah, yeah, cool." Ric said absently, turning up his nose.

"Alright, good luck with that nose man- Orange Juice!" the young man pointed at Ric as he started to run off. "Come on, Marley, let’s go boy." Marley picked up his Frisbee with his mouth and chased after his master.
I thought there was a difference, Ric thought, with his head still inclined.

He needed to find some tissue at the very least. He began walking toward the main highway that paralleled the coast from Washington to California, maybe even through parts of Mexico and Canada. He walked right past the restrooms on the beach; they never had toilet paper, so there was no point in trying.

He walked up a flight of stairs to the parking lot, and then through it. When he reached the highway, the first thing he saw (out of the lower corners of his eyes, of course) was a Whole Foods. Good enough. He dashed across the highway, narrowly missing an oncoming Ford. It honked. Yeah, yeah, Ric thought.

He hurried through the Whole Foods parking lot, and on the way in, he caught a clerk wrangling the shopping carts. Holding his nose he asked, "Batrume?" The clerk looked surprised. "Uh, straight through the produce and on the right." He responded, and pointed in the general direction. "Hank Yuu." Ric said, and hurried off.

Ric finally found the washroom, but not without dropping his little bloody breadcrumbs along the path he took to get there. He turned on the water to the hottest degree possible, and then rinsed. He tried to scrub most of it off of his shirt, but to no avail. He took some toilet paper, and twisted them into tiny plugs and stuck them up his nose. He laughed. What is this, the Eighties?

His makeshift nose plugs had already soaked up all the blood to its capacity. He replaced them, and grabbed some extra toilet paper for his pocket. He walked out of the restroom, which plopped him right in the produce section. He could feel his nose begin to drip.

"Are you doing okay?" said a lyrical voice from behind. He turned around.

She was about a head shorter than he, with long, thin dreadlocks, some were pink, but most were a mousy brown/blonde mix. She had cat shaped eyes, which were enhanced by smoky black eye makeup, and her rather dainty nose had a small septum ring dangling from it. Her apron had several political pins on it, and one randomly placed Hello Kitty pin. Her name badge read Carli, written in a scrawl that looked like it had been carved into wood with a knife, because of the lack of curves and the limited legibility of it.

"No, I’m alright." He stopped. Ah, what the hell, he thought. "Actually, do you have any oranges? And maybe a cup?"

"Whoa, what happened to you?" asked Carli.

"I got hit in the face by a dog." Said Ric.

"Did you piss him off, or what? Were you talkin’ trash about his bitch?" she asked.

Ric laughed. "Yeah, I just said that she was good at catching things with her mouth. I guess he took it the wrong way." He scratched his head. Carli snorted.

"Anyway, where did you say your oranges were?" Ric asked.

"I didn’t." said Carli, "Just follow me." She lead him to the front of the section, and handed him an almost picture perfect orange. This should be in still life, Ric thought.

"What do you need the cup for?" she asked, "Are you going to make orange juice?"

Ric replied, "No, actually, I’m going to juice an orange, apparently there is a difference."
"Does it taste better, or what?" she asked.

"Actually, this isn’t for drinking. I need it for my bloody nose," Ric said.

"I don’t follow," said Carli.

"Apparently, if you rub it beneath your nose, it’s supposed to stop the blood flow," said Ric.

Carli laughed, "You’re kidding, right?"

Ric chuckled slightly, "Well, that's what I heard."

"You want it to stop?" she said, rather than asked.

"No, actually, I’ve grown quite fond of it. I think I’ll keep it," said Ric.

"Come here smart ass," said Carli, and grabbed his wrist. She pulled him outside, to the benches at the front of the store. She sat him down.

"Give me your leg," she said.

Ric raised his eyebrows, but he was curious as to where she was going, so he complied. She squatted down, and held up his right leg. She took off his shoe, then his sock, and threw them on the floor. She then smacked his foot, hard, four times, in between the ball and heel.

"What the hell?" Ric asked.

"Take the tissue out of your nose," said Carli. Ric removed them, and set them on the bench. He then took out a piece of toilet paper from his pocket and wiped his nose. There was barely any blood on the paper. He looked at Carli with great interest.

"Does that realy work?" he asked.

"I don’t see any more blood," she said.

He wiped his nose once more. Nothing. He shook his head and laughed.
"Well, thank you," Ric said.

"No problem," replied Carli, "Here’s your sock."

He stood, and shook her hand. "It was nice meeting you Carli. Thanks again, that was pretty amazing."

"Hey, you too," she said, "You’re welcome." She smiled. "I gotta go back to work now, though. See ya around."

"Yeah, see you." Said Ric.

He started walking toward his house. Wow. After walking about 5 car’s length he stopped suddenly. He then pivoted, and began walking with an excellerated pace. He went back into the store, and found Carli. Her back was facing him; she was talking with another female co-worker.

"Excuse me, uh, Carli?" he said.

She turned around. "Oh, hey you." She said with a sweet smile, like that of a little girl. Her cheeks had a small flush.

"Hi. Uh, after work, do you want to go get some coffee? With me, I mean." Ric asked.

"I don’t know, man, that might be too sappy for me, what with it being Valentine’s Day and all," she said.

"Of course it is. Okay, sorry to…"

"I’m kidding, I’d love to… what’s your name, anyways?" she asked.

"Ric. With a ’C’" he replied.

"Well, Ric with a ’C’, I get off at 8. I guess I’ll see you then." she said.

"Okay. Cool. I’ll meet you out front then. Alright, good night- I mean good bye. Uh, see you soon." said Ric.

The whole walk home, Ric thought of nothing but boxers, blood, seashells and septum rings.