Photo by Sarah Forer

by Lisa Kenway

Shave ice is overrated. Pellets of frozen water drenched in thirty flavors of syrup that all taste the same. I throw the half-finished cup in the trash, lie on the blue and white striped towel, and pull my hat over my face. Under here I can’t see the ugly concrete jetties, the posh hotels with their roped-off beach chairs, the identical rows of longboards for hire. The rumble of traffic could be breaking waves, the squealing children seagulls.

Sunlight, filtered through gaps in the straw, draws white circles. Tiny full moons. Baby moons.

The shapes overlap like the segmented body of a caterpillar. Palm fronds drift into view. Green. Sharp-edged. A cloud holds its hand over the sun then skips away.

I turn my head. The bottom of your barbed-wire tattoo becomes a fishhook that snags in the gutter at the edge of your biceps. Sweat glistens on your top lip. The muscles along your jaw twitch in what could be the precursor of a smile but isn’t.

Your fingers close around your phone. You won’t let me see the messages. You’re still fielding calls, keeping the world at bay.

You clear your throat, loudly, deliberately. You’re restless too; it’s already time to leave. Your feet squeak as you stand and shake out your towel. Air rushes past my ears, a whip crack, and sand peppers my hollow stomach like buckshot.

About the photographer: Sarah Forer currently lives in NYC. She is a sixth grade teacher on the Upper East Side of Manhattan. She enjoys traveling, writing, and running. Find more of her photography at her travel blog.