Horizon

"Thanks a lot," he said, all squinting eyes and balled up knuckles as he settled down in the foldable plastic chair. It sunk precariously close to the sand under his weight, and for a second Melanie thought it might break.

She sunk into her own chair without a word, closing her eyes. She kicked off those old sandals and dug her feet into the sand, feeling soft grain and broken shells between her toes.

The mild breeze and overcast sky had already shifted to a cloudless, lurid blue by the time the two arrived at Salta Bay, despite it being almost 7o'clock. It was at Bryan's insistence of them both urgently needing a break that she had come, but the weather was less than ideal.

She did not realise she had forgotten to bring sunglasses or a hat until the sun's harsh white rays blotted her view of the ocean, forcing her to turn around and cover her eyes with a towel.

"Thanks for bringing these Mel," She could hear Bryan yawning and picking up a towel, "don't know what we'd do without them,"

No matter what Melanie said or did, Bryan had always ended his sentences with a thanks. She supposed this could be a viewed as a positive for most of the time.

Every text he sent to her ended with a thank you. Every email he sent to his colleagues, always of the upmost politeness.

When they had first met, 15 or so years ago, he had asked her to go to the movies, arms scratching with nervousness, and she agreed. He had replied: thank you.

After that, when he had asked her to come to his house for coffee afterwards and she agreed, he had replied: thank you.

When she fractured her ankle on the way up to Gilless cliff, on that hiking trip 6 years ago, he had said "thanks for coming with me anyway."

A year after that, when they had argued in the Hungry Boars cafe at the end of Pare avenue and she had stormed off in anger, he had said 'thanks for the dinner.'

But it rubbed her the wrong way. And she didn't know why.

Despite the years of being together, Melanie could still not understand the meaning of Bryan's thank you. Was it an oblivious nicety on his part? Sarcasm? A habit carried on from childhood?

What had started off as a charming habit when she had first become acquainted with him in college, had strangely and quietly rooted itself in her, growing into a suffocating irritant over the years.

Worse, it was nearly impossible for her to physically voice these feelings out to her friends, who would scoff at the complaint. She could already hear Rachel laughing as they had brunch at the horribly overpriced Grind latte cafe: "Too polite? Melanie, I wish I had that problem...". Try as they might, perhaps they were not able to understand her.

It was odd to even herself that she should find this habit of his so frustrating.

The sun was gradually growing hotter, its vibrant light piercing through the towel in uncomfortably bright orange, peach and yellowy hues. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine the cool, still darkness. How was it so hot at this time of day? They had deliberately come at the time where the weather was supposed to cool and dampen down a bit, in time for the sunset.

Maybe it was impossible for other people to understand how she felt being around Bryan, simply because they had never experienced it. Even if they had, perhaps it was impossible to voice this kind of frustration. This simple habit of his - saying thank you - would sometimes suffocate her. Even she herself did not understand exactly why a harmless 'thank you' could tick her off.

She sighed, sinking into the seat again. A light snore sounded to the right of her. Bryan had already fallen asleep peacefully in his chair despite the harsh weather, and she wondered how he could do it so easily. That had always been Bryan alright. Able to sleep like a rock through the toughest of conditions, while Melanie tossed and turned.

Perhaps it was just Bryan's reflex to say thank you, she mulled. Perhaps, he was just accustomed to it, that's all.

She wiped her sweating forehead with the back of the towel, but as she took it off she found that surprisingly, the harsh glare of the sun was finally beginning to soften. Squinting her eyes at the horizon in front of her, she discovered that it had melted.

The sky had mollified into a fantastic collage of mild lilac, mauve, taffy pink and butter yellow. The colours surrounded the sun, a brilliant glowing beam that reflected a hidden watery underworld of unknown depths.

Below, a tranquil blue montage of waves rolled back and forth softly, as if rocking a sleeping baby, and in the distance, if she squinted, she could see a small blue speck on the ocean. Perhaps it was a boat, gliding smoothly across the rippling iridescent line that separated the two universes.

And it was beautiful.

And she thought to herself: perhaps it was simply just what he really wanted to say.

Who said it again? She was suddenly very sure, very sentimental, and very hopeful that, someone in some plane of existence and span of time, must have said: when you love someone, it is an acknowledgment of their person.

With every memory, an acknowledgement, a thanks, even the not so good ones. Loving someone was acknowledging everything, she supposed, looking at her sleeping husband with a sudden fondness who, by now, was snoring almost comically with his mouth open wide. He had fully tilted over his chair, exposing red arms and neck to the sun.

She woke him up with a quick tap and handed him the sunscreen. It was a shame he missed the view, she said, the sunset had already changed colour.

It's no matter, he said. "Thanks a lot, Mel."

"No problem," she replied, and smiled up at him.