The Final Word

Sand sticks to the beer can as she raises it from its resting place; tipping its rim at her mouth and letting the bitter liquid spill in. The fizz makes it bearable for her – bearable enough. Beer isn’t worth it to her. She doesn’t like the taste and it doesn’t make her drunk. She bought it so that he would think she was cool.

It seemed ironic to drink something to impress someone who saw her naked every night. There was no shame between them – simple comfort – and yet she wanted to fit in with him and drink some beer with him.

He was more than her boyfriend, he was her counterpart; he knew her in and out and then some.

They had been through a lot and yet nothing at all. They never were a couple with relationship problems – they were there for each other in a way that was never questioned or doubted by either one of them. And yet they had their moments, like this one, where the energy between them suddenly didn’t make sense. Every now and then, something would go wrong and misunderstandings would occur and detriment and leave a silence between them that felt like two years of silence.

She gulps down the beer – hoping that if she drinks it faster it might get into her blood and make the moment she is distilled in easier to deal with. She loved him more than humans can love and yet in this moment she felt stung by him.

It was her fault, entirely. She was the one who was always talking about the future and he always listened, even though it probably scared him anyway. He never added much, and she wanted him to, so she made him feel lousy for a mere grain of his existence – a simple aspect of his personality.

She could never understand why he wouldn’t talk in situations like this one. They had been there before – tears brimming on her eyelids, blurring the images before her while the knot in her throat begged her to ask him why he hadn’t spoken yet. Usually she did. Usually she badgered him to speak until he was too afraid to open his mouth; she treated him as though he should fix her on command.

This time she had made up her mind that she would resist the urge to poke and prod. She needed him to open his mouth first and she would sit with that sandy damp can in her hand, sipping that beer, for as long as she had to. She didn’t want to break the silence between them because to her, the entire problem was caused by his inability to speak to her.

And so she sits, waves crashing before her, a beautiful setting she had dreamed about going to. They bought the beer to have fun, and they sat down to have a heart to heart conversation under the stars.

She tips the can up to her mouth for another gulp, wondering if she looks like the kind of girl who would sit on a beach drinking a can of beer. She tips the can up as she wonders how they’ll say goodnight to each other tonight – if they’ll still be mad when the lights are off.

She wonders if he’ll still lay his arm across her body tonight as she drifts asleep, even if he hasn’t spoken to her yet. She smiles, because she thinks he will.