a beachtown. he pulled someone from the water earlier that night. i had seen it from the boardwalk, not entirely sure what i was watching, except that he ran in with all of his clothes on so it must have been important. she was drowning, trying to drown, succeeding. and he carried her out, arms behind neck and knees, the way you're supposed to post-rescue. she was small and limp, just a shadow barely covering the width of his chest.
he didn't know that i saw. and i was too scared to keep watching.
later in the beach house, we are sitting around a long dinner table. he is sitting to my right, facing away and i reach out and grab his arm, like getting the attention of a friend. he is cold, the kind of cold you feel when you can't get completely dry. and i can tell by the way he is looking at me that i have left my hand there too long. i stammer for words but they escape me. i smile, still holding his arm i smile- i know you're a hero, even if no one else here does, hoping he can read my mind. he smiles back, or at least i think he smiles back - it's the faintest upturning of lips that it's hard to say for sure.
he turns back to our host, i retract my hand, wanting our interactions to mean so much more than they do.
