“Do you ever get vertigo from staring too long at the stars?” A warm breeze blows the couple back on their heels. His neck is craned backwards while he stares up at the sky while she watches pebbles roll down the cliffside—they hold each other to avoid tottering over the edge. After a moment, she insists, “Get back. You’re too close!” She clutches his shirt so hard that a few buttons come undone under her grip. “Can we please head down to the beach? I doubt we’ll blow over on our way down, plus, I’ve got you to help me.” He smiles and nods, guiding her down a narrow gully. The sand gives way under their feet as they gently slide down the bluff. On the beach, they walk toward the ocean until the water laps between their toes. She relaxes her hand in his, rhythmically tapping her finger against his hand gently in time with a Bossa Nova song: pat, pat, pause… pat, pat. The warm breeze turns into a wind, becoming more intense—her loose pants flapping in the wind, his form-fitting khakis unaffected. The moon illuminates their surroundings. “I can’t believe we made it this far,” she whispers, looking back at the bluffs, then playfully adds, “You got me out of the apartment after all.” He brushes her hair, saying, “Well, I appreciate you doing dangerous, stupid things with me.” She playfully whispers something in his ear, then kisses him.
After standing for a moment in silence, she asks, “What do you think we’ll do now?” He cocks an eyebrow, “Now or tomorrow?” She responds cooley, “I’m talking about us a million years from now.” The tide builds as the waves crash harder along the shore, forcing the couple to move backwards; the crashing waves excite bioluminescent algae and the ground glows with a fluorescent blue sheen. “I have a hard time thinking just about next week, and a month is as far away as that shooting star.” He points at the extraterrestrial visitor igniting the night sky; for a moment, they stare at its fiery tail, but she then gasps and points down at a small crustacean skiddling across the sand, heaving a large shell as it urgently struggles towards its next destination. In a fake posh British accent, he begins to narrate, “Who knows where it’s going? It’s pursuing its next meal, or perhaps a conversation with a fellow bottom-feeder? Is it pursuing its long-lost love? Perhaps it’s something more logistical: seeking to switch shells and investigating the available shell real estate in its neighborhood. While they are slow, they have more to say about the less they’ve seen, focusing on what’s nearby, and not the stars that light the night sky.” She mocks him for his deranged rant, gently slapping the back of his neck, “You’re an idiot.” More shooting stars fall, causing the sky to shimmer, the fire trails almost smearing the sky as they leave dark clouds that distort the starry sky above them.
She snuggles against him while they sit in a secluded spot further down the beach, still overlooking the ocean, watching the stars disintegrate and the ocean replay its greatest hits. The moon is a firm presence, brightly insisting that it can do as well as the sun, casting shadows behind everything daring to question its authority. Large objects begin washing up on the shore, trinkets from other couples’ belongings which leave ghostly trails as they roll over the luminous algae. He bends over and picks up a trinket, a golden locket. Inside is a small photo of a couple holding a boy whose features are corroded by ocean water exposure. “Do you think we’ll have a child?” She hugs him tighter, “Only if he has your ears.” He responds warmly, then massages her head before biting her ear and insisting through clenched teeth, “He better have your ears…” They laugh and continue watching as larger objects wash up on the shore: a bathtub, a gas stove, a couch. Further along, he points at a large structure in the distance, “Is that an entire house? Who do you think used to live there?”
“That looks like a house.” The two stand on their secluded section of the beach, watching as more elements resembling components of a home wash ashore. The beach algae glows so brightly, spotlighting the home against the competing glare of a now-jealous moon. “How long have we been here?” he asks while they tentatively approach. “We left our phones in the car,” she responds—holding his wrist as they stumble over sand dunes to reach the entryway to the home. The structure is elevated by driftwood, piling up underneath, serving as a supporting structure to keep everything away from the rising tide. He offers her his hand, lifting her beyond the driftwood up to the front door. He eyes the qualities of the wood and integrity of the foundation, deciding, “The wood is in surprisingly good condition—a little wear and tear here, some barnacles there, but nothing that isn’t fixable with a little elbow grease.” They open the door and enter.
Her face contorts into an awestruck grimace, “How do you think this all came together? We were there, but I don’t remember seeing it all, well, come together…” Her voice trails off as she looks into the back room and gasps, “A library? I love it!” She’s careful to avoid a gaping hole in the hallway leading to the library, seaweed dangling over the side, still dribbling seawater into the ocean below the pile of driftwood. “It has my favorite books. Even that trilogy I just read! A little wet, but not all that bad.” Meanwhile, he’s in the kitchen marveling at its layout, “I love the gas stove, a little rusty, but with some work, I could probably manage.” They admire the spaciousness of the living room, the number of bathrooms, and the fully furnished bedrooms—all while avoiding the rusty nails protruding from boards that didn’t come together just right.
“Let’s get home before the sun rises,” she suggests, as they finish their tour; but before they can exit, the home groans as boards begin to crack and creak. Looking down, they notice that the ocean floor is no longer visible, “Oh, fuck! The house has drifted offshore!” They rush to a window and observe that the shore is well beyond a mile away. “We’ve gotta swim. Come on!” He grabs her arm, “Hang on, look!” A closet, missing its door, reveals two tackle boxes and fishing poles. “There’s no way. I’m not that good at fishing!” He pulls her aside, “We can learn! You said you always wanted to learn!” “Yes, but I don’t want this to…” The house groans again loudly as a wave hits the side of the structure, rattling the boards within and causing another door to creak as it opens, revealing camping supplies, along with a gas tank and strikers. “This is insane,” she yells frantically, pulling her shoes off, preparing to jump in. He lets go of her arm, gently grasping her hand and saying softly, “Please, let’s try this. You like the place. I like this place. It needs some work, but, come on… I’ve got the best person by my side to do this with. Please.” She stands there for a minute staring at the ocean, then at him. Her panicked expression slowly morphs into a smile. She hugs him and puts her shoes back on. “Well, let me get that pole from the back. I hope you’re good with fish tonight.”