Twee Meisjes op het Strand

Author’s note: Joke is a female Dutch name (pronounced “Yoke”), nothing funny :-)

The mist obscured the horizon, and the fine, persistent rain, driven by the wind, felt prickly. The Ostend beach that October was as dark as a Léon Spilliaert painting. Waiting there alone for her lover, Joke had walked sideways, barefoot in the foam. But when the downpour—“de drache” as the Flemish say—began, she sought refuge in the dunes.

“I do wonder what is that mysterious present I shall be given.” said she to herself.

As she rounded a bend, she spotted a crab. Excited, she grabbed her phone to photograph it. She approached slowly, zooming in. "SAY CHEEEESE!" The crustacean fled.

"Verdom!" she swore in Dutch.

She looked up from her phone and saw a figure in the distance—blond curls in a navy-blue raincoat. The silhouette stood still atop a dune, exuding power and majesty. Joke felt admiration and emotion toward that woman, even a bit of pride. For a moment, she believed she saw a few tears in her brown eyes, but it must have been the rain.

"I hear the people of Namur are always late! Aren't you ashamed of proving all our clichés right!" Joke shouted at the girl in the raincoat.

Then Joke sprinted towards her. With more ferocity than Sébastien Chabal, she tackled her girlfriend to the ground. The two young women laughed heartily, their chests heaving. Joke passionately kissed Charlotte, whose lips tasted a little like sand.

"POUAH!" yelled Joke, wiping her lips with her sleeve.

"Oh yes, you clever girl! Pushing me into the sand, I taste like sand!" Charlotte retorted.

Joke knelt while Charlotte lay on her back in the wet sand. This time, Joke was the one standing over her. She gazed at her lover for a long moment. If five minutes earlier she'd been thrilled by her strength, it was now the vulnerability of this little blonde from Namur that gave her heart its pacing. Joke got down on all fours and flashed Charlotte a wild grin.

"I might actually still want a taste! Never stop at first impressions..." said Joke in a femme fatale voice.

But something stopped her in her tracks, even frightened her. Charlotte usually responded to her advances with more lewd comments that more kisses would have silenced. The kisses would have intensified, and until that very evening, the two girls would have become one, here in the sands of the North Sea. But this time, Charlotte just looked at her sadly. Bored. Even old. After long seconds of these observations, which strained both young women, Joke resumed:

"You said you had something for me."

Suddenly, the young Flemish woman became aware of the bad premonition she had already had the evening before. It was Wednesday evening. Since they lived far apart, in two different linguistic communities, the two lovebirds only saw each other on weekends. It had been six months since their love story began in the dunes of the Belgian coast. It was a first experience for both of them. The beginnings had been tentative but already passionate. Now everything seemed to be on track, and they were even discussing the future. A month ago, they had achieved the immense victory of their parents' meeting. Joke had always wondered which would be worse for her parents: that she was dating a girl or that she was dating a Walloon? And yet, things had gone so well. Amid the meal between the two families laughing and debating, Joke had felt so... at home. Still, she had a bad premonition yesterday.

But then, that Wednesday evening, Charlotte had sent her a message saying, "Hey hi! I'd love to see you tomorrow around 4 pm, in our dunes, I've got something to give you."

Joke had found it very strange that her girlfriend didn't go to school on a Thursday to see her when they would be seeing each other in three days. But still, she'd only been worried for a few seconds. Instead, she'd been trying to figure out what it was that she had to give her so much. She loved presents!

But this concern, however slight yesterday, was now unbearable due to this never-before-seen expression on Charlotte's face. Joke’s voice was now full of gravity:

"Charlotte, you said you had something for me."

Charlotte said nothing. She took an envelope out of her handbag and handed it to her girlfriend. No sooner had Joke opened the envelope than she knew. No sooner had she begun to read the first line than she burst into tears. At first, they were timid sobs, still hesitant, still hopeful, then, as she finished the letter, her tears changed from imperceptible drizzle to the terrible Belgian downpour like the one sweeping across the dunes today. The tears made Joke hiccup:

"Are you sure?"

Charlotte nodded with the same air of dismay that befits a doctor announcing a relative’s death. Still crying her eyes out, Joke lay down in the sand and clutched Charlotte's leg. She looked like a little child clutching her mom's leg on the first day of school. Charlotte straightened up and tenderly massaged Joke's black hair. She was trying to soothe her; she wanted to be nice to her, she felt so guilty.

"S-so... was that our last kiss?" said Joke.

"I'm so sorry... You're a great girl... I've never met anyone like you. I so wish..."

Joke stared intensely into space. Charlotte continued:

"And I'm sorry to tell you this in a letter.”

"I know. I couldn't have said it to your face either... but thanks for at least handing it to me."

Joke was now looking at Charlotte with a tender nostalgic gaze. They embraced in the rain for several long minutes.

"Je t’aime."

"Je t’aime aussi."

"Ik hou van jou."

"Ik hou ook van jou."

Then the two girls on the wet sand parted, and as they parted, they seemed to tear each other apart. They stared at each other for so long that when the “drache” finally stopped, they didn't dare to do anything.

"You're stupid," said Joke.

“What?"

"Choosing the place of our first kiss to give me our last. I knew you were a melodramatic artist, but not this much."

Charlotte laughed, reassured to see Joke's biting irony again.

"How long have you known?" said the Flemish woman.

"I don't know how long. Recently, or sometimes I feel like I've always known. These last vacations have given me time to think."

"Tsss you when you think too much."

Then it was Charlotte's turn to cry.

"I don't know if I'm cut out for love, man or woman. But I'd rather we stopped now before it hurts you too much."

"Don't you think I've had my doubts too? Who put this in your head? Your parents? Or is it society in general?"

"Nah, it's got nothing to do with that... it's just how I feel. Oh, please, Joke, don't do the angry thing, it's not how I want to remember… us."

"I’ve got it! You're seeing a guy?"

"Joke! No! I mean it! I love you! It's just that with a girl... it can't... it can't ever be the same. I'm lost and I don't want to hurt you. Rah it’s me that’s getting angry!"

Joke didn't answer. She just wanted it to stop, and so did the rain, and a brave ray of sunshine was even lighting up the dunes. As usual, the flat country knew how to turn from rain to shine.

"Do you want me to stay with you?" asked Charlotte.

Joke still didn't answer. So many things were going through her mind. She hadn't just lost a companion; she'd lost a future she'd learned to rely on. She had felt her life so solid, so comfortable. Now her life seemed unpredictable, meaningless.

And since Joke didn't answer and was content to watch the sun slowly set over the sea, Charlotte went away, still crying. Then suddenly, Joke stood up, caught up with Charlotte, and kissed her, one last time. Just so that their last kiss would not be like the others; so that it would be special. But the kiss was cold, taken by the use of force, it didn’t feel like a kiss. Charlotte was shocked. Without a word, Joke left Charlotte alone in the dunes. From a Spilliaert painting when it's raining, the Ostend beach at dusk looked more like a James Ensor painting: colorful and absurd at the same time. But it was short-lived, and Belgium soon reverted to the darkness of Léon Spilliaert.

At night, Joke walked along the dike for a while and stopped at a bar. She asked for a Yper and sat down alone in the back. She'd chosen this bar because the atmosphere was suave, almost intoxicating, like when she used to listen to Arno stoned on her sofa. They played a colorful and melancholy song: “Twee meisjes” by Raymond van het Groenewoud.

Twee meisjes op het strand

Two girls on the beach

Ze lezen modebladen

They read fashion magazines

Het branden van de zon

The burning of the sun

De wijzers houden op

The clock hands stop

Memories surfaced of her and Charlotte playing on the beach, on their beach.

De dag brengt ouderdom

The day brings old age

De nacht brengt vreemde uren

Night brings strange hours

De deken is zo zwaar

The blanket is so heavy

Een bladzijde slaat om

A page is turned.

When the singer fell silent and the musicians embarked on a warm, hypnotic instrumentation, Joke, already drunk, burst into tears.