Jerk Off Without Me

borrrrrringggggg

I went to the beach alone again today, and for the first time since I started going by myself it’s been getting hot, humid and bright like a dog in a car. Truly alone this time because I don’t have my best friend, my lover anymore. I saw a boat on the horizon, so far away it appeared the size of a tick, and I thought about how I would swim to it if I knew he were on it. Miss somebody like hell, but maybe I’m too evil for such a clean cut to be talking to so soon. All a girl’s to do in the meantime is to soothe herself by smothering her body with tanning oil, pop mixed with Malibu rum in an insulated thermos, ice cold even in the blazing sun for hours. Stare at the boys on the lifeguard tower, watch the little babes frolic at the shore, watch the man fish and only catch kelp, turn on the music, lay down and bake for a while, walk into the water. I swam and dove under wave after wave all by myself, pretending it’s true that every moment that’s ever happened exists all at once — the truth is, I am not unborn and dead and alive all at once. We were together and I wanted to be your wife someday and I still do, and now we’re not together, and there’s no way of knowing if we ever will be again. The only reason I know I loved him is I still do. I always will.

I decided though, I’ve got to cowgirl up and take advantage of my youth while I still have it in my hands, before it’s a crushed little organism whose guts I find smattered on my palms. I like my life, but not enough, because I settle. All I envision of myself lately is someone who murders dreams before they get going and I don’t want that anymore. I need time to learn how to nurture myself and have a damn fun life. I don’t want to frown at the absence of flowers and exclusivity and sacredness anymore. I want flowers and dinners and sacredness and a ring someday and that’s what I’ll damn get — and if I can be alone and learn to love myself instead of run around and kill time jerking off with someone else before I get that, so be it. There’s nothing wrong with jerking off with somebody, I’m just bored of it. His body odor smells good to me but what smells good too is the coconut almond scent of this oil all over me, my sweat, my vape, what sounds good is the music I put on and no one else. What looks good and respectable to anybody looking at a girl like me is my driven, lean body all laid out on this luscious towel on the oven of the beach, no one holding her down too long.

This is all just a rite of passage I haven’t been through yet. It’s the first few days of my life because of all this. All I’m doing is living out the modern female’s big tradition. I’m turning 20 this year and I can’t wait until I’ve lived a little more, been a line cook at the brewery a little longer, been checked out and looked up and down by the rich older scruff at the bar a few more times, gotten a few more summer school assignments turned in, cut my hair again but only trim it on the long ends because these bangs are too damn short and need to grow out, and you’ll have an opinion about it if changes too much before we’re back in touch but I needn’t think about that or care because that defeats the purpose. I need to make some fucking money. I’ll take the advice of my aunt Yunilda and start rummaging through estate sales and resell the good shit I find at them once I get my first paycheck from the brewery. And some of that money might go toward the tank of gas I use to go to Santa Monica, if I still have any of it when I crack and give up on standing on this edge I’ve created.