anybody I really missed. By the end of the summer, everyone would have forgotten about me, and I them.
On that depressing note, instead of following the herd of people to the next dolphin show, I wandered to the back of the complex.
Ahhh, there it was, just the place I was looking for. Nestled in the back of the complex was a small rise of bleachers with its own tin roof. I helped myself through the wooden gate. My flip-flops echoed off the aluminum bleachers, but otherwise it was quiet and peaceful. I sat high enough to catch the slight breeze coming over the fence. The bleachers faced a tank that appeared empty. I slung my backpack off my shoulder and rummaged for a pack of peanut butter crackers and a bottle of water.
I was on my third cracker when the gate squeaked on its hinges. I looked up and nearly choked. I immediately recognized the guy coming through the gate. Pretty Boy. The guy who'd received an involuntary haircut. The one I'd saved from a gang of bullies. The one I had given a ride to and hadn’t even gotten so much as a thank you in return. He didn’t deserve to be in my dreams but he had been. I was kind of regretting my choice of paint color. It had made him impossible to forget.
He looked different. Maybe it was because he could walk a straight line. He appeared fuller, and his hair was already skimming over the tops of his shoulders. He had on a shirt this time, a wife beater, and while wife beaters and guys who wore them usually weren’t my thing, I wasn't against enjoying a little arm candy—cannonball shoulders tapering into finely sculpted biceps with that traceable vein running down its length.
He crouched on the platform beside the tank and dangled the fingers of one hand in the water. Then he waited, and waited, oblivious to the fact that I was watching. It was then that I realized the tank wasn’t empty like I’d first supposed. I’d heard the high-pitched staticky sound when I'd sat down and assumed it had been coming from the speaker system, but now I realized it was coming from inside the tank. I craned my neck and saw a gray mass floating against the side of the tank closest to me. Pretty Boy splashed his hand, creating ripples over the pool. If he was trying to get the dolphin’s attention, it wasn’t working. The dolphin didn’t move. Pretty Boy’s shoulders slumped in obvious disappointment, though he sat patiently with his elbows resting on the tops of his bent knees. He wore a stack of bracelets on each wrist, thick bands of leather strung with what looked like tiny pearls.
Heaving a sigh, he rose to his feet and grabbed the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head. I’d seen this guy’s chest before along with his ridged abs and his perfectly smooth, sun-browned skin. I’d had my hands on that skin for a few short moments, which I’d admittedly replayed in my head a few times since.
Before I could ogle further, he dove into the water in a perfect display of agility and grace. Ten! I wanted to yell, but so delicious was this venture into voyeurism that I remained quiet.
He glided under the surface of the water so smoothly that if I hadn’t seen him dive in, I wouldn’t believe him to be human at all. The dolphin was not immune either. It took a bit of coaxing, but eventually the dolphin responded, venturing from its corner. I held an anxious breath. This was important somehow and I inwardly offered the dolphin encouragement.
They started off with lazy circles around the perimeter of the pool. Gradually they built up speed, but the dolphin held back, and I wondered if maybe she was sick. I didn’t know how I knew she was a girl, but I was certain she was. There was something in that high-pitched noise she made that sounded sad, almost lonely.
Just about the time I started to wonder when Dolphin Boy would come up for air, he propelled himself onto the platform in one swift motion. He landed on the edge, feet dangling in the water. He stared straight at me as if
On that depressing note, instead of following the herd of people to the next dolphin show, I wandered to the back of the complex.
Ahhh, there it was, just the place I was looking for. Nestled in the back of the complex was a small rise of bleachers with its own tin roof. I helped myself through the wooden gate. My flip-flops echoed off the aluminum bleachers, but otherwise it was quiet and peaceful. I sat high enough to catch the slight breeze coming over the fence. The bleachers faced a tank that appeared empty. I slung my backpack off my shoulder and rummaged for a pack of peanut butter crackers and a bottle of water.
I was on my third cracker when the gate squeaked on its hinges. I looked up and nearly choked. I immediately recognized the guy coming through the gate. Pretty Boy. The guy who'd received an involuntary haircut. The one I'd saved from a gang of bullies. The one I had given a ride to and hadn’t even gotten so much as a thank you in return. He didn’t deserve to be in my dreams but he had been. I was kind of regretting my choice of paint color. It had made him impossible to forget.
He looked different. Maybe it was because he could walk a straight line. He appeared fuller, and his hair was already skimming over the tops of his shoulders. He had on a shirt this time, a wife beater, and while wife beaters and guys who wore them usually weren’t my thing, I wasn't against enjoying a little arm candy—cannonball shoulders tapering into finely sculpted biceps with that traceable vein running down its length.
He crouched on the platform beside the tank and dangled the fingers of one hand in the water. Then he waited, and waited, oblivious to the fact that I was watching. It was then that I realized the tank wasn’t empty like I’d first supposed. I’d heard the high-pitched staticky sound when I'd sat down and assumed it had been coming from the speaker system, but now I realized it was coming from inside the tank. I craned my neck and saw a gray mass floating against the side of the tank closest to me. Pretty Boy splashed his hand, creating ripples over the pool. If he was trying to get the dolphin’s attention, it wasn’t working. The dolphin didn’t move. Pretty Boy’s shoulders slumped in obvious disappointment, though he sat patiently with his elbows resting on the tops of his bent knees. He wore a stack of bracelets on each wrist, thick bands of leather strung with what looked like tiny pearls.
Heaving a sigh, he rose to his feet and grabbed the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head. I’d seen this guy’s chest before along with his ridged abs and his perfectly smooth, sun-browned skin. I’d had my hands on that skin for a few short moments, which I’d admittedly replayed in my head a few times since.
Before I could ogle further, he dove into the water in a perfect display of agility and grace. Ten! I wanted to yell, but so delicious was this venture into voyeurism that I remained quiet.
He glided under the surface of the water so smoothly that if I hadn’t seen him dive in, I wouldn’t believe him to be human at all. The dolphin was not immune either. It took a bit of coaxing, but eventually the dolphin responded, venturing from its corner. I held an anxious breath. This was important somehow and I inwardly offered the dolphin encouragement.
They started off with lazy circles around the perimeter of the pool. Gradually they built up speed, but the dolphin held back, and I wondered if maybe she was sick. I didn’t know how I knew she was a girl, but I was certain she was. There was something in that high-pitched noise she made that sounded sad, almost lonely.
Just about the time I started to wonder when Dolphin Boy would come up for air, he propelled himself onto the platform in one swift motion. He landed on the edge, feet dangling in the water. He stared straight at me as if
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