Bill Butler was born and raised in Manhattan. He eventually relocated to Scottsdale, Arizona, where he worked as a Rehabilitation Counselor. After years of helping persons with a disability become gainfully employed he decided to write. Eight of his short stories have been published.
“I’ll take wine with ice.” Margo plopped down on the couch.
Surprised, I asked, “Ice?”
“I like it that way.”
“Me too,” I lied, trying to mirror her. With two glasses of pink wine in my hands, I sat with our thighs almost touching.
The scent of coconut sunscreen wafting from her warm skin reminded me of a long-ago afternoon on an empty beach. A steady breeze blew out to sea, perfect to fly my red kite. I was a lonely child connected to the wind by a tugging string. In those days, before everything changed, splashing waves were music. The ocean pulled as the hissing surf receded, sucking moisture from the sand.
“Come back,” the sea whispered. “I will carry you under and out. Relax, let it happen. Transform in the cool green darkness, become part of everything again.”
Standing on wet sand, flowing water tugged at my ankles. I resisted the invitation.
“I will always be here for you,” it whispered.
Even now the gentle spring breeze made promises it would never keep.
Margo touched my forearm. “Where were you just now?”
I looked into her soft brown eyes and for a moment saw it. “Your sunscreen reminds me of something.”
Her smile wrinkled the corners of her cheeks. “Something good?”
I set my glass down on the wood coffee table.
11/10/2020 03:46:46 am
OMG. My heart is pounding. So powerful!
6/6/2021 06:13:55 am
I hope for her sake that the story is not true.
10/31/2021 01:58:40 am
Thanks for the clever comment
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