Page 7 of The Last Sunrise

A motorbike honks and makes me jump, startling me from the memory. Coming to, I look around, ignoring the stares of locals as they make sure I wasn’t hit by the bike. I gather myself, or attempt to, even though my hands are still shaking as I step onto the sidewalk and the shore comes into view. The beach isn’t as crowded as I’d assumed it would be as I make my way down the white, soft, warm sand. The cove is lined with rocky cliffs, and I watch as a handful of people jump off them and into the bright blue water. I feel the tiny flakes mold around my feet, step after step. Umbrellas and blankets are sprinkled along the small coastline. Bodies sprawling out in the scorching sun, soaking up the rays, enjoying their day. It takes my brain a few seconds to realize that most of the women are topless. Well, okay… I look down at my white swimsuit, a one-piece that goes all the way up to my collarbone. Of course Amara would send me to the nude beach. She’s probably cracking up right now imagining me here. Embarrassment warms me from the inside out.

Texas obviously doesn’t have nude beaches, but we sure have a ton of laws against women’s bodies. I shake the frustration of that away and spend a few seconds considering what it must feel like to have the sun touch my bare skin. The idea grows on me, and who knows? Maybe a few weeks in Spain will have me topless on the beach, my scars out in the openand all. The thought makes me laugh to myself, and I try not to look too long at the naked bodies and make my way closer to the water to find an empty spot. No way am I leaving this gorgeous place.

Who cares if everyone except me is naked? Bodies are bodies and this is a new experience, which is all I want for this summer. The white sand sticks to the crevices in my sandals, so I shake them off, knock them together, and toss them into my bag as I walk closer to the water. The shoreline is incredible; it’s more like a pocket beach, hidden in the middle of a long coastline. The waves gently brushing against the shore. The skyline isn’t blocked with huge sprawling hotels. The sound of the waves caressing the sand and the voices around me is alluring, lullaby-like. I wish I could bottle it up and take it back home with me. Listening to ocean waves on Spotify to fall asleep just isn’t the same.

Finally, I find the perfect spot between two couples, giving them enough space to not feel bothered by me. I dump my bag out onto my towel and sit down on it. After lathering more sunscreen across my skin, I open my book. I’ve been so mentally distracted by the overwhelming pressure about my future that I’ve barely been able to read or dance, two of my favorite things in the world. I turn to my dog-eared page and try to transport myself to a world full of dragons and magical romance. The sun is so bright that even my sunglasses aren’t helping much, so I try to squint while reading the pages. I’m so distracted by the lively voices around me, mostly in Spanish and full of laughter, lightness, and vibrance, that I find myself rereading the same paragraph over and over before shutting the book and putting it down.

Keeping my eyes off strangers’ bodies, I look up at my surroundings. Everything feels so vivid, so colorful and alive. From the orange umbrellas to the rainbow of beach towels, fruit carts, bathing suits, and skin. The couple closest to me are captivating. The woman has long black hair and dark skin touched by the gods. She’s glowing as she props herself up on her elbow to look at her lover. He’s beaming back at her like she is the sun. My heart aches. He laughs, wrapping his arms around her back, pulling her to his chest, and she says something that the wind erases before I can hear it. They are so intensely enthralled with each other; I can physically feel the passion between them from twenty feet away. The two of them are in their own world, and I find myself a little envious. What must that feel like? To be someone’s sun?

I tear my eyes away from them and look to the British couple on my right. They couldn’t be more different, beers in their hands and sand sprinkled across their skin. They’re loud, arguing over the song playing from their portable speaker. She swears it’s a classic, he swears that it’s shit. Their voices are louder than the music they’re debating, speaking in English, and finally the man agrees that the woman is right, and I look away just as she begins a little dance on the blanket they’re standing on. I feel incredibly lonely as I stare out over the water. It’s not as simple as wanting to be with someone at the beach, kissing them or arguing in the sand, it’s more that the choice and possibility of having an epic, brain-chemistry-altering, lifelong love story have been taken away from me.

I’ve been working really damn hard to grow comfortable with the idea that I will never have the thing that people wantthe most and being okay with it. I’m mostly there, resigned and accepting my fate, but I’m only human and have my moments. There are many types of love anyway, and I’m going to start with myself. According to the TikTok and Instagram Reels I’ve been consuming, that’s the most important anyway. I get myself situated and open my book, trying to become lost in the pages. After a couple of chapters, I get to a confession of love from the main male character, one that makes my heart race and ache, one that I’ll never experience. I slam the book closed and roll onto my back.

Ending my pity party, I stand up and look around again. Tons of left belongings are sitting on towels, cell phones and laptops are left abandoned under umbrellas, so I decide to ignore my mom’s voice in my head telling me to never leave my stuff unattended. I look back one time, just out of habit, and let the ocean call to me, drawing me in. The water is bath-water warm as it touches my toes. I take another step.

The waves are predictable, and I love them for it. Each one touches me differently, then disappears, but always comes back. I walk out farther, until my body begins to float under me. I try to relax my mind, shutting out all the noise, and focus only on the sound of the water rushing around me. I lift my legs up and push my body out. The salty water tastes like a candy I’ve missed since childhood, and I lick my lips again before going completely under. When I rise, I let the water carry me and turn on my back to look at the bright sky as I float. There are only a few clouds above me, one in the shape of a rabbit and one that reminds me of a teacup. Silly, juvenile thoughts of rabbits drinking tea and sharing with me fill my head and I don’t resist them. Instead I revel in them, smilingand imagining things that are whimsical and allow myself to explore them. I’m Alice in Wonderland, without the potions and shrooms.

After what only feels like a few minutes but also hours, the sky begins to turn a light shade of orange above me. I keep floating, the waves slowly bring me to the shore, and I make my way back each time. I have no concept of time or rules or schedules. The sun is setting, and I want to watch it from the shore, so I finally decide to get out of the water. My skin is pruned like raisins on my fingertips and toes and my hair is heavy from the salt water as I make my way to my towel. The beach has mostly cleared out; both couples are gone now, no trace of their love or affection left behind. I wring out my hair and rub my burning eyes with my wet hands. When I open them, a man is standing in front of me. My eyeline is at his chest and I trace up to his face. He’s looking at me like he’s concentrating on an essay or trying to figure out how to interpret an abstract painting in a museum. I’m not sure if I should speak to him or not, if it’s safe or not.

“Can I help you?” he says, accent thick but clear.

“No, I—” He looks directly into my eyes as I respond, and my chest tightens. “I… it’s nothing, I was just looking… at him?”

He turns to find a nude, older man, who I was certainly not looking at and is so far from believable that the man laughs, “Is that so?”

“Uhm.” I want to crawl into the sand and never reappear. “I mean I was looking for my stuff.” I scramble.

“Is that not your stuff?” He points at my hotel-branded beach towel that I’m standing directly on.

I feel so flustered, maybe because Amara is the only person here who I’ve spoken to without my mom’s presence?

“Technically, yeah, but… I was just making s-sure,” I stutter, and notice his grumpy expression.

It annoys me, and I flip my tone to sure, sarcastic, and strong. “You were the one standing here in the first place,” I remind him.

He continues to look at me with a blank expression.

“What are you looking at?” I put my hand on my hip, tilting my head dramatically. If he can be rude, so can I.

“You look familiar. Are you sure we haven’t met?”

“Oh, I would remember if we had.” I give him my hardest glare, hoping it’s half as intimidating as I mean for it to be.

The setting sun casts an orange glow across the stranger’s skin. His hair is dark and messy, curling at the ends and touching his forehead and the nape of his neck. His eyes are the color of fresh, frothy espresso. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone who looks like he does, like he was made to stand in the sunset. I look down his chest, down to his faded navy-blue swimming trunks and to the book in his hand. Out of nothing but curiosity, I look for the title, only to find that it’s a crossword puzzle book. The book is in English: the black-and-white boxes are easily detected, no matter the language. Is he American? He doesn’t seem American. The book is worn, the pages curled at the sides, the binding bent many, many times.

What kind of person does crossword puzzles on paper these days? Before I can answer my inner monologue, he smiles at me, and my toes curl in the sand. I smile back at him, instantly abandoning my feisty attitude, watching him as he turns and walks away, disappearing as if he was never there in the first place.

I blink a few times, still in a daze from floating in the water for hours, and the strange encounter with this random man. Feeling a little dizzy, I sit down on the pillowy sand. I gulp down the water in my bottle from the hotel and close my eyes, remembering how free I felt in the sea and how attractive that man was. Weird? Yes. Hot? Also yes. I’ve never been instantly attracted to someone before, but I guess my Season Two Summer is in full effect—that, or being in the water for hours brought me to a new level of exhaustion. But I decide that Season Two Ry would have sauntered over and asked him back to my room. Lost in my ownfake it till you make itfantasy that I coined from TikTok, I set my eyes on the lowering sun. Long after he’s gone and the sun sets, I find myself still thinking about his eyes and how a simple gaze made my body react. Maybe it was that he was clearly arrogant, something I wish I could be. I’m confident, sure, but that free feeling of just not giving a shit about other people or their opinions of you—what a dream.

Feeling like I need a bit of reality to bring myself back to solid ground, I reach into my bag and find my phone. The screen is pitch-black, which is strange since I didn’t turn it off, so I press the side buttons and wait for the little apple logo to come on the screen, but nothing happens. I wait a few seconds and try again. Still nothing. Because I fell asleep on the window ledge last night, I didn’t plug my phone in.

Well, shit. I look around at the empty beach and gather my things. I shake the sand from my towel and roll it back up, shoving it into my bag. I try my phone again, hoping for a miracle. I’m out in a new place with no clue how I got to the beach, let alone which way I should go to get back to myhotel. I’m so dependent on my phone and technology that the idea of trying to find my way back to my hotel is embarrassingly terrifying.

I cross the street where I came from, trying to remember something, even a tiny detail of my surroundings on the way to the beach. I remember the smell of the food cart, the sound of the sizzling meat on skewers, and the crunching of ice being chipped away and rattling as pieces of it hit the concrete, instantly melting. I remember the fish lying on that ice and the friendly look in the vendor’s eyes as I passed by. The sounds of scooter horns, and the way the stone street felt beneath my sandals was as clear as the daylight was, but none of the buildings or streets look familiar as I wander. I turn right, then left, then right again. I’m lost.

I look and listen for English speakers who could possibly help me. I don’t even remember the name of my hotel, so I pull out the key and read it. Hospes Maricel. The streets are becoming more and more empty as I roam, a clear sign that I’m going in the opposite way of my hotel’s busy area, and I become unable to ignore the bubble of panic growing inside me. I pass a pay phone but have no coins, and I only know one phone number by heart and it’s my mother’s, the last person on the earth I can call right now. I’d rather sleep here on the street than call her and tell her I’m lost on our first full day here; she will tighten the reins even more if I do that, and I want my freedom. I need my freedom. A man and a woman stumble out of a restaurant, and I try to get their attention. They wave me off, too busy holding each other and pointing up at the sky. A car honks and I jump out of my skin.

Why am I being so skittish? I wanted adventure, I wanted to explore. I’m a capable adult woman, and I’ve been through way worse shit than being lost on a street, I remind myself as I try to ask another person for help.

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