Santa Cruz

That weekend Darlene and I went to the beach. The weekend after we met. In February in Santa Cruz, the beach is gone. Every fall in Santa Cruz, the waves take the beach away. The water level doesn't rise, but the sand level drops. The sand level drops to a point where the rock that holds up the sand emerges like bones through a rotted carcass. Maybe that's not a good analogy. The rock would show like the backstage of a defunct play, where the props and struts and scaffolding that hold up the gay false fronts are visible in their sad utilitarianism. Some kind of ism.

But that was my first year in Santa Cruz, that time down on the beach with Darlene in February. I had come in the fall and it was a stormy year, so I had never seen the wide white summer sand beaches. All I knew was the folded black soft rounded edge pillow rocks and tall cliffs that narrowed the beaches of West Cliff Drive in Santa Cruz. I only saw the beach, the woman, the town, in this winter season. In this winter light. In this gray overcast blustery wan world. Only saw one season of them. And she was bright, so bright, was Darlene, then. Sunshine through the clouds.

I brought my camera to the beach, that day. And I took a whole roll of pictures of bright, beautiful Darlene. When I brought the pictures to work and showed them to Arthur and Merry and Hal, Merry looked through them and nodded.

"Isn't she beautiful?" I said. I knew the answer.

Merry nodded and looked through the pictures.

"Her face," I said, "It's like some model's face."

Merry looked at me and then at the pictures. She turned to Arthur who was sitting right there at the lunch table.

"He's in love, all right." Merry said, just like that.

* * *

Darlene

Here's what I saw when I looked at Darlene. When I first met Darlene, I mean. Here's what she looked like to me. Darlene was shorter than me, so I looked down on her face looking up.

Darlene's hair was dark blond parted in the middle light flyaway hair that flowed and floated past her shoulders. Darlene's face was a round freckled face with round cheeks inflating like little balloons under her eyes when she smiled. Darlene's eyes were light hazel colored eyes with no mascara or shadow or eyeliner. Darlene's eyebrows were soft light brown eyebrows that moved around when she talked. Darlene's nose was a round and kind of upturned just a hint but not enough to be piggy nose, with nostrils shaped like mirrored commas or apostrophes with their tails on the outside pointing in. Darlene's lips were soft naturally pink lips with no lipstick. Darlene's teeth were straight white teeth with just a hint of overbite. Darlene's smile was a big smile that showed her pretty teeth and included her whole face. Darlene's chin was a wide with dimple in the middle chin.

Here's what I didn't see when I looked at Darlene, that first time. Makeup. I didn't see any makeup. I liked not seeing any makeup.

Here's what else I didn't see when I looked at Darlene, that first time. Weight. She didn't look overweight to me. She looked just fine. Round in the right places. I'm not attracted to really skinny women. She was not skinny, but she did not look overweight to me. Not that it really matters, I told myself. Weight, I mean. It's the person inside that counts, I told myself.

Here's what else I didn't see when I looked at Darlene, that first time. Desperation. Neediness. Maybe I couldn't see through my own. Maybe the hollow empty feeling we both had sucked us together like two vacuum cleaners fighting over a dust ball. Maybe that's not a good analogy.
Here's what I thought I saw when I looked at Darlene that first time. I thought I saw love. I thought I saw security. I thought I saw sanity and settling down and finding a solid base in life. I thought I saw beauty and generosity. I thought I saw a soul mate.I did see all those things. A little of each. Some of it all. It was all there. But there was other stuff, too. Stuff you can't see on top. Stuff you can't see in a week or two months or even a year. Stuff you can’t see in an even longer time, when you don't want to see it.