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I haven’t been backto this beach since I disappeared for five years, only to return home begging for forgiveness.
Leaving had been my first taste of freedom and independence, so coming back from Vegas was like waving a white flag. Defeated, I realised I couldn’t make it out in the big-wicked world alone. My father acted triumphant, a sneer behind his smile. I needed him, and eventually I would need a man to take over that spot. The lectures from my mother continued for weeks, followed by clothes, shoes and bras being stuffed into a garbage bag. I would have a tight curfew until I could get back on my feet again.
That’s what you get when you’re the youngest and the fuck up of the family. The quiet whispers around me made my skin prickle as I ordered my coffee at the local café. I gave the barista my name and sat at a table alone, killing time until my appointment. Five years working as an escort in Vegas aside, I grew up in Crystal Cove and had the adoration of quite a few people that lived there. After my shortest and final marriage, I stayed in Sacramento, hoping to rekindle my love for photography and art. And that was where I met Kostas.
We would live here, back at Newport Beach where I came from. Eleven years was a long time. A strange feeling of nostalgia washed over me as I entered the salon that I regularly visited when I was young. Theresa, the salon owner, guaranteed to have the latest gossip, and I’d likely give her gossip in return. She opened her arms to me for a hug, and I obliged.
“Alyssa, you look sophisticated, as always. It’s so good to see you.” She sat me down in front of the tall row of mirrors. I braced myself for her interview. I didn’t know many hairdressers who didn’t have that on their resume.
“What’s new? What brings you back home?” She ran a comb through my wet hair and parted it down the middle. My past was a complicated topic, and one that was hard to explain in a few short sentences.
“Three men promised to love and honour me until death-do-us-part, and every one of those marriages fell apart, somehow.” I said, looking at her face fall in the mirror. She gave me a sad little head tilt. I didn’t think it was sad anymore. I watched each marriage crumble, and it became something of a comical routine. I just wasn’t cut out for the marrying gig.
Holy matrimony didn’t mean the same to everybody. To some, marriage was nothing more than a hat you wore around town. Others took it so seriously that it formed their entire existence. Even at a young age, occupied by dolls and fairytales, I was taught to choose one person to love for the rest of my life. One person who would give support, friendship, and in a perfect world, wealth.
It wasn’t long before I was sneaking out, running away and telling little white lies. I did my best to avoid; it was my thing. At a young age, I knew doing what I wanted made me feel good. Punishment always followed. My parents drilled it into my brain each day at breakfast, from the time I hit puberty on. I needed to marry a wealthy man who could take care of me. Have beautiful babies, a handsome husband and an award-winning smile for the photographs.
Well, it turned out I didn’t make a very good stand in. To my parent’s disappointment. Everything I touched, I destroyed. Not because I was unlucky, but because I wanted to. The more they pushed me into marriage, the more I wanted the exact opposite.
To be free.
“What will you do now?” She asked, snipping off a few ends of my hair. Black featherlight strands falling to the floor. I smiled at my reflection, feeling more myself than I ever had in my life.
“I’ll just be tying up some loose ends and starting a new life.”
“There isnothing I want more than to run away from this place and never look back. Move to LA and become a movie star.” Leo announced, staring out into the bubbling sea and crashing waves. His inflection was feminine and dramatic, but it made him interesting.
If I ever needed confirmation of my bisexuality, he was sitting right next to me. We grew up together in Sacramento, went to the same middle school and high school. When you go through puberty together, your friendship was on another level.
“Already did it, bro.” I laughed, raising my drink to the ocean. Sweat trickled down my chest and my Armani Exchange sunglasses slipped down my nose, slick with sweat. I’m thankful I’m not in jail. Instead, I’m lying on the beach sipping lemonade spiked with vodka, since sober isn’t in Leo’s vocabulary. But something about this place didn’t feel right. Like a puzzle piece that just didn’t fit, but we forced it.
Jail was a wake-up call.
“Bro, this is half fucking vodka. Damn.” I lifted the tumbler away from my body and made a face. Leo chugged his and let his eyes follow a tall blonde dude walking by. “Hi.” He said, peering over the rim of his sunglasses. Mom left us all about a year ago. We should have seen it coming, because after elementary school, she was never around.
Excuses, excuses. She always had a reason to leave, a meeting or a new job prospect. Dad said she’d shacked up in a tiki hut somewhere off an island in Fiji with a scuba instructor. Dad yanked Jeno and me out of Sacramento High with just one month left. It didn’t help matters I had just returned to school after serving time for stealing and destruction of public property.
Whoops. I cared little for my snarky history teacher, so some of my friends and I added some graffiti to his car. I wouldn’t have got caught if it wasn’t for my fucking Nirvana hoodie. Rookie mistake. I left it in the cafeteria and went back for it after we finished. The cops were already there by the time I ran out the gym doors. Why dad moved here, I was still trying to figure out.
Newport Beach was my mother’s hometown. She grew up in Crystal Cove, with all the amenities being a rich kid offered. Beaches, shopping and cocktails. She had a simple life. She told me she wanted to do things on her own, with no help from her parents. She liked rock music and fast cars. Any bad-ass bone in my body was from my mother. My father was a coward in my eyes. I never remembered coming to visit as a kid. Probably because our mother married a Greek while on spring break, a man who didn’t have a trust fund attached.
She ran away from this place and never looked back. The few memories Jeno and I have of Hannah are cloudy. And now we’re back in her hometown without her. For what? I sat back in my chair, told myself to chill. I needed to trust the process and soak up the beach-babe eye candy stretched out in front of me.
It could be worse. Dad could have moved us to New England.
The only benefitto this fucked up situation was the fact I would attend UCLA in the fall.
I just had to hold out for that, and then I could relax again and sink into my normal uniform; introverted and anti-social. Dad had yet to reveal the reason or the location of our new home. He always had to make a big deal out of anything. As if it was his job to make up for our mother’s absence.
I inhaled the sea-salt air; the breeze blowing the soft ash blonde waves back away from my face. I leaned my forearms over the glass balcony that stretched out over the sandy white beach. I closed my eyes and took a moment to listen to the waves crash onto shore. I pictured myself inside of a book. Standing on the jagged rocks of a raging sea- Iris Murdoch’s novel, The Sea, The Sea, permanently etched in my brain when I thought of the ocean.
My attention to detail and impeccable organisation ripped down the beautiful image of peace, reminding me I needed to find a job for the summer.
“How are you liking it so far?” My father’s assertive voice came from behind me, and he came to stand beside me on the impressive hotel balcony.
“It’s tranquil. Beautiful.” I said, pushing my black-rimmed glasses up on my face, the breeze moving them down the bridge of my nose. He stood still for a moment, observing the setting sun.
“I have so many memories of your mother here. Almost all of those instances unfolding right down there on that beach right there.” He fingered the sprawling landscape below us.
