Surell

I tried to write this like I've theorized Neil Young songs are written.

On the Beach

The storm clouds were rolling in, just as the waves were only feet ahead of them. It was mesmerizing, how they roared in so relentlessly only to topple over themselves; it was nearly comedic, though, how they remained ever persistent in the act.

There was a leftover taste of New Orleans cigar in his mouth. It was only a day old, but he wasn’t given a package and thusly had to keep it in a napkin from the café. He figured it would have been good with the world’s finest coffee, but the waitress insisted he not smoke it on the business’ grounds. So now he smothered its embers in the sand, and took a sip of the beer he snagged from the beach house.

She had seemed irritated all night, red in the face, he supposed – and not just from the sun. Her whole body was just about fire engine red by this end of their week in paradise. The peeling on her back had begun, and it was taking some familiar shape he couldn’t quite put his finger on – or on which he couldn’t quite put his finger. She was staring out at the waves, her eyes intent but still so resigned; distant. He often wondered what exactly lied behind those eyes; recently, he began to wonder who exactly my lie there.

He checked his phone, and found it was getting late.

Then he went to plant a kiss on her check. She faintly smiles, but returned no other affection.

“I’m getting a little peeved at this point,” he thought aloud. She sighed, and he kept his gaze down to the ground, between his legs.

“Well, what do you want me to do?” she inquired, still irritated.

“Nothing, you don’t have to do anything.” She shook her head, bewildered with him. After a few moments, he offered a proposal: “I just wish you’d return the affection every now and then.” At this point she pursed her lips, and seemed to begin to speak, when the first raindrop of the evening struck her nose. The next, a more forceful drop, shot to his head, and they understood that they should head back inside.

On the way back, he whistled “I Want You” by the Beatles; meanwhile, she had scattered segments of Panda Bear’s “Bros” on repeat in her head.


Upon entering the beach house, they found the boy of the cousins asleep on the couch, with his favorite show playing in front of him. They thought he’d want get his sleep for the trip back, and left him there with a worn smile on their faces. As they climbed the stairs, he muttered something in protest to something, and rolled over.

As well, the agonist informed his lady, “You’re starting to peel pretty bad, baby.”

“Yeah,” she sighed, “I guess I’m starting to come out of my skin-“ then she quickly corrected “shell. Sorry, I’m exhausted.”

“Long week for sure,” he replied. “But it’s been really great, right?”

“Mm-hmm,” she nodded sincerely. They finally reached their newer room, the aunts’ former room, which reeked of cigarettes even though it was a non-smoking estate. He wondered, though, how many cigarettes could have culminated in this room, still lingering from guests long gone and forgotten by the house- all except for the stench.

He put their unfinished beers down on his acknowledged bedside table. He took a decent gulp of his, and mentally bid adieu to his now disposed-of cigar. He began to dress into his nightwear as he noticed her in the bathroom, already dressed down, but looking into herself at all different angles. When her back was to him, he guessed the shape to be a triangle; however, he found the corners weren’t quite sharp enough to be a true triangle.

As he began to get all underneath the blankets, she approached the bed, and started taking out her contacts. He watched her passively, and took another sip of beer. He went to kiss her on the neck, but she bent away from him. So he scooted over a little, pouting, and finally burst, “What the hell is so wrong with me?”

She kept on with her preparation, and replied, in a low voice, “Nothing.”

“Well, it’s sure hard to tell,” he retorted in a dry tone. She quietly put her solution into the case, sealed the lids, and went to lie away from her bedfellow. The rain was falling gently outside. After a short silence, he asked with insidious tone “Who the hell are you thinking about over there?”

She wearily replied, “Jesus, no one!”

“Then what is it?” he demanded. Here she turned around quickly, with mist in her eyes, and shot out:

“Look, it’s not a who, it’s not a what, it isn’t even something definite! It’s entirely abstract, and I wish you wouldn’t press me so hard on something I can’t understand.”

He was stunned with her retort. Nonetheless, he still mustered up: “Well, it’s torturing me as much as it is you, so I wish I could at least get a little insight into the whole thing…”

She sighed one final time, a deep breath for courage, and finally said in a low, shamed voice, something he could only associate with a blast of thunder that came a little after it. Immediately afterward, her eyes poured out all she felt, and her sobs spoke more than any of their communications.
Yet again, he was stunned, whilst edging near physically torn. An anger hissed inside that almost made him sick to share his bed with her- he muttered a few of his harsher feelings under his breath as she cried; but at the same time, he was overcome with pity for her helplessness to the situation; and at that same time, he was drowned in remorse, for all the pettiness he’d shown her over a little attention.

Unconsciously, he went to hold her, and stroke her back. She cried freely, comfortably, on his shoulder. All his frayed emotions seemed to hush.
Her crying finally let up, and the room was perfectly silent, save the sound of breathing and a few coughs and sniffles. He stroked her hair as her breathing became steadier.

Nervously, he asked if she was feeling better. She nodded, still on his shoulder. He gave her a small hug, and she leaned back to look him in the eye. His were worried; hers were clearer. She said she was going to clean up for bed, and he said he’d wait for her. She thanked him, and got up to go, but first gave him a kiss on his cheek.

As she walked toward the bathroom, he supposed he could tell the shape now.

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