#asksanibel

"You've really never been to the beach?" 

Sanibel is looking at him with an expression just this side of mock horror, and Pangur finds himself rubbing at his elbow in mild shame. "Well, I've kinda... I just never had the chance. Life kept me busy, you know?" But his friend is shaking her head, as though this is the worst thing she's ever heard.

"Pangur, we live like, an hour from the ocean. You've loved here, what, your whole life pretty much? And you've never been to the beach." She continues shaking her head disbelievingly throughout the whole thing. "This is a, a tragedy. I'm declaring a state of emergency, ok? We have got to get you to the beach. Like, ASAP." She crosses her arms and looks at him with what is probably supposed to be determination or something, but there's a glint of excitement in her eyes that's distracting. 

Pangur waffles halfheartedly for a moment, but it's clear to both of them that he's already given in. "I don't wanna take up any of your time or anything, I know you're busy a lot..." Sanibel opens her mouth, a protest in her expression, and he adds quickly, "But! If you really think I should... I'd love to go to the beach with you." He offers a smile, and she smiles back, dazzling as always. 

"You're gonna love it, Panny," she tells him. "Trust me." 

- - -

They end up booking the weekend at a tiny (and rather shabby) motel that's right on the beach. It's still off-season, just barely, so the rates are low enough for them to afford, and the weather is almost warm enough to fool them into thinking it's summer. They head out Friday afternoon, Pangur at the wheel and Sanibel navigating. The drive turns out to be a little closer to two hours than one, but they spend the time chattering amiably or listening to the radio. When he can spare his eyes from the road, Pangur glances over at his friend, and catches her leaning against the door with her bare feet tucked up on the seat, a serene look on her face as she gazes out the window. He has to look away again quickly because there's a semi coming up on their right, but the image of her curled liked that, with her rose-gold hair glowing in the late afternoon light, stays in his mind for a very long time after. He thinks, privately, that she must not be quite of this world. Her beauty is just a bit too ethereal. 

The sun is setting by the time they pull into the parking lot of the motel, check in, and bring their loaded backpacks up to the room. It's not quite fancy enough for a balcony, and there's only one bed, but they've been lucky enough to be given a window that looks out across a stretch of scrubby dunes to the beach. There's no time to admire it though, because as soon as they drop off their luggage, Sanibel is dragging them both outside so they won't miss the sunset.

They shed their shoes at the end of the path, a safe distance away from the water line, and Sanibel heads straight for the water. It must be cold, since it's only May, but she doesn't seem to mind. Pangur just stands, watching her, transfixed by the endless scope of the ocean stretching out behind her. It is endless. He can see all the way to the horizon, to where the sun is perched on the very edge of the water, melting into it and bleeding light across the waves. It's so terribly bright, and Sani is now just a dark smudge against the sunset, but he can't look away. The sky stretching over his head, the ocean out in front of him, continuing on to his left and right, all the way to the edge of the sky, it's immense. It's almost unreal. 

Eventually, Sanibel notices that he's still standing up by the dunes and comes to join him. She doesn't say anything, but there's a funny, knowing little smile on his face. At first, Pangur isn't sure what to say either. So they just stand in silence, watching the sun sink below the waves, and Sanibel reaches over to squeeze his hand. 

They spend some time kicking around in the surf after the sun disappears, in the last bit of light. Well, Sanibel kicks around, with her cutoffs rolled up above her knees, and Pangur wriggles his toes and dances a little on the cold, wet sand, picking up little pebbles and bits of seashells between mad dashes away from the incoming waves. When it gets too dark to see, they totter back up towards the dunes and sit in the dry sand, Sanibel with her legs across Pangur's lap so he can help rub some warmth back into numb feet, and lean back to gaze up at the stars. Maybe it's his imagination, or maybe it's something to do with light pollution, but they seem so much brighter from out on the sand. Brighter, and so much more to see. Like the sky itself, they go all the way to the horizon, unhindered.

"This is really, really amazing," Pangur says, his thumbs rubbing circles in the arches of Sanibel's feet. "Like... Really amazing." He doesn't have words for how amazing it is. "Thank you for bringing me here. It's really..."

He doesn't finish that sentence, but Sanibel must understand, because she chuckles and bit and scoots her feet out of his grip do she can flip around and lean against him instead. "You're welcome, Pangur." It's hard to tell in the dark, but he thinks she might be smiling. "I thought you'd like it. I'm glad you do. I've wanted to come back again for ages, but like, it's no fun alone. And I didn't really have the motivation to find someone who would go with me, until you. So, thank you." She leans her head on his shoulder (bicep) so Pangur moves his arm to wrap around her. Even though her feet were chilly, her body is warm. 

He mutters, "'S nothin'," and then feels embarrassed about not saying anything else, but still doesn't know what to say. Instead, he tips his face down so he can rest his forehead on her crown and let her wispy hair tickle his nose. She hums, or giggles, or maybe both, and eventually they end up just laying back together and staring up at the stars. When Pangur feels like he's about to fall asleep, he reluctantly rouses them both, collecting their shoes as he guides them back to their room. It would have been nice to just fall asleep outside, but it's still may, and Sanibel might have caught a cold or something, with her feet all damp. 

Neither of them have the energy to do much more than rinse their feet and change before they collapse into bed, but he figured that's fine. One night of skipping out on tooth brushing won't hurt them. He falls asleep quickly, with Sanibel tucked in his arms, and dreams vividly of endless starry skies. 

- - -

They spend the almost whole next day at the beach. They eat stacks of pancakes for breakfast at a little diner that overlooks a small river flowing into the ocean, reveling in mediocre, too-sweet carbs and off-season quiet. They take their syrup-sticky fingers and faces down to the shoreline and splash around in the chilly water until they're salt-sticky instead. They spend hours just walking up and down the sand, exploring, taking in the view, collecting shells and stones and bits of glass and other treasures. There is no hurry. Here, nothing is pressing. It just is. 

They build an elaborate, sprawling sandcastle that consists mostly of mounds and trenches, and decorate it with some of the less precious things they've found. By the time they're almost ready to sit back and admire their work, the sea has begun sending out questing waves to wear at their progress. And though they scramble to repair the damage, they eventually have to concede to the inevitability of high tide. So they make a great ceremony of trying to fight back the waves, only fun because they know it's pointless, and finally end up with the rolled-up cuffs of their pants soaked and sand up to their elbows (not to mention places besides, where it certainly doesn't belong). 

Windblown and sandy and faintly tacky, they return to the car as  the shadows begin to grow long, too chilled to brave another sunset on the beach again. Sanibel drives them to an empty parking lot behind a stretch of dunes, where the sun glints blindingly off a long strip of silvery water, and they eat the lunch they packed and forgot until now. 

When they're finished, the sun is blazing up red and the sky is an abstract painting of purple and pink and gold. Sanibel climbs out, brushing crumbs off her wrinkled capris, and pulls her windbreaker tighter, walking to stand in the middle of the empty stretch of asphalt. Pangur opens his own door, but ends up just standing and watching her, leaning on the roof of the car.

This time, she's only partially silhouetted. Face to the sun, she has been washed with gold and orange highlights, and outlined in deep purple shadows. The light glows through her hair in translucent streaks, and a lengthened mirror of herself stretches out behind her. 

In that moment, he thinks he was probably wrong before. It's not that she isn't of this world; Rather, it's that she is so of the world. She belongs in the sunlight, in the bright gray of a rainy day, in the moonlit and star-strewn night. She belongs to the forest, to the ocean, to the fields. To the little garden patios and hidden parks of the city. She matches what she sees, and reflects back only the best parts of it, filling herself with the beauty of the world. It's why she shines. Her glow is everything that is good on the earth as seen through a shimmering kaleidoscope lens.

He loves her. He loves what he sees when he looks at her. He loves what he hears in her voice, and the words she speaks. He loves her existence, and how it fills him up with so much light and air that he feels he might just float away. He loves her as she turns and smiles at him, oblivious to her own radiance. He hopes that, someday, she will see it too, the way he does. 

- - - 

Their bodies are tired and just a bit sore, calves and ankles protesting the work of keeping their balance on constantly shifting sand, but elation still thrums through their veins, burning away all traces of exhaustion. They laugh and talk all the way back to the hotel, reliving the adventures from their day, and tumble through the door on the tail end of someone's joke, giggling. The car was full of sand from their feet and their clothes, and the carpet just inside the door is quickly becoming gritty. Fearing having to sleep on sandy sheets, Pangur calls for a bath

The shutdown is immediate. Sanibel does not need a bath. She is perfectly fine. She can brush off the sand with a towel, change her clothes, and be ready for bed. She says this, and seems perfectly convinced of it. 

Pangur is skeptical nonetheless.

"Don't you feel kind of gross?" He questions, "We were out there in the wind and all, and there was definitely some water getting kicked up by the waves... I feel pretty sticky, don't you?" He does, he feels gritty and grimy and salty all over, and the thought of warm water on his gently groaning muscles seems heavenly. He moves into the small bathroom, flicking on the light, and behind him Sanibel groans.

"I don't want to take a bath though, I don't need one! And I just showered, like, yesterday. Before we left. Panguuurr..." The latter part is a whine of dismay as her companion turns on the water, blatantly ignoring her.