jml297

‘And that’s when I told her that I wasn’t going to be her bridesmaid. I mean, I know we’re not meant to outshine the bride on her big day, but no way am I wearing a taupe coloured dress. Dean. Dean! Have you even heard a word I said?’

Sara reached across the table and clicked her fingers in front of Dean’s face. He was staring at something behind her, and when she moved into his line of sight he shook his head, as if coming out of a trance.

‘Sorry, Sara. You were saying something about a tarp – is that part of the venue setup for the reception?’

Sara whined in frustration. ‘No! Not tarp, Dean. Taupe. Taupe! It’s bad enough that my sister hates me enough to make me wear a drab dress. You could at least listen to me.’

And with that, Sara pushed back her chair and clip-clopped over to the restrooms. Dean didn’t watch her go. His eyes were back on the painting. It was a narrow rectangle, softly lit by the restaurant lighting. There was a long stretch of sand, and he could nearly hear the pounding of the waves as they crested and crashed on the shore. It was set against a darkening sky, and somehow it seemed familiar to him. It pulled him in, and he could almost feel the tug and pull of the wind, cool against his skin.

Dean shifted closer in his seat, eyes searching for small details. A tiny blur on the left-hand corner, perhaps a handful of seagulls or terns, swirling and squawking as they searched for food in the falling light. Further along the beach there was a small figure, a child maybe, hunting for shells and other treasures offered up by the sea. He closed his eyes to lock the scene in his mind, momentarily feeling the coarse comfort of wet sand between his toes, the salty-brine scent of the wind.

‘Dean. Dean!’

A hand on his shoulder, pushing him back to the present.

‘If you were too tired to take me out tonight, you could have just said so.’

Dean blinked, coming back into the room. Sara was leaning over him, blocking the view of the painting. He smiled at her and gestured towards the chair. ‘All good. Let’s order – I’m starving. Did you see any fish on the menu?’

Sara pulled a face as she sat down and flipped the menu open. Dean’s eyes moved gain to the painting behind her, a feeling of peace settling upon him as Sara began to talk once more about the dress.

This was written to a prompt at my local writing group.

Photo: Nobbys Head, Newcastle