Just Be

Sand clings to the wheels, brown on black. He matches his breath to the rhythm of their gritty squeak.

It’s come to this. After years of hiding. Pretending. Denying who they really were, even to themselves. Slowly succumbing to the reality but still enduring set-up-dates by business associates and well-meaning friends. Family dinners without each other. Keeping up appearances.

And then, finally, defiantly “coming out” before the term even existed. Waiting for the oh-so-gradual shift in society to catch up. At last, that trip to the Cape. Saying their I-do’s. A pedi-cab ride through the streets of Provincetown in matching tuxedos. A kiss that seemed to say they had arrived.

A rare smile comes at the memory and he lets it stay. He puts the future on a shelf. Closes the door to the harsh, finite reality. They have this weekend—maybe as long as a week.

For now, they can just be.

Just be.

Two women pass by. Glistening with oil. Sandals slapping wood.  

He pushes the wheelchair to the end of the boardwalk.

Stops.

Puts on the brake.

Deep breath and then another.

Breeze thick and salty-sweet.

The screeches of gulls competing with volleyball cheers.

Typical travelers.

Tropical drinks.

Waves rising and falling.

Rising and falling under a radiant sun.

He bends down.

“You good here?”

A nod. Gray eyes still holding the flicker that first drew him in.
Hold onto this moment.
Slip it in a pocket.
Fragile as a sand dollar. 

He nods in return. Adjusts the blanket. Stands to face the sea.

For now, they will just be.