An Approximation of Perfection

You close your eyes, forehead pressed against the glass window. The steady hum of rain felt amplified this way, and you swear you could feel it in your bones. You inhale, hold your breath, and exhale. Inhale, hold, and exhale. Repeat. And repeat. And repeat. 

How long have you been standing at the kitchenette sliding door, outside of which lay the small patch of sandy paradise? 

“Cheer up,” a voice from behind you chuckles, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. It gives a gentle squeeze. “We can always come again next year.”

You turn around, a grim expression on your face as you make eye contact with Marty. He’s recently had a kid, with another on the way, and it irks you that he’s using the same patronizing tone to comfort you that he uses on his son. You tell him as much. 

Marty laughs. “Then stop acting like you’re four. It’s just rain.”

“I guess,” you mumble, resisting a sigh (you’ve been doing that a lot today). You relent and follow Marty out of the cramped kitchenette to join the rest of your group in the living room. There you find Tanya sitting cross-legged on the armchair in the corner of the room, the light from her laptop screen glinting off her glasses. Her eyebrows are brought together in a frown and her eyes are narrowed; she reminds you of a disgruntled cat. Shivam is sprawled on the couch, aimlessly clicking through the limited channels on the television. From the faraway look in his eye, you guess he isn’t actively paying attention, and the hand holding the remote is simply changing the channels through muscle memory. 

“Move,” you smack Shivam’s leg for him to make room for you on the couch, bringing him slightly out of his reverie. He shoots you a scowl but scoots himself to one side before continuing his incessant clicking. You sit down heavily, letting yourself sink into the creaking leather. Marty picks up his book, the same one he’d been reading on the drive this morning. 

Some trip we’re having, you think dejectedly. You feel even more depressed after surveying the room and the unpacked beach equipment, because it looks like you’re the only one who cares. Your eyes once more find a window and glare at the offending dark clouds. Sunny days and clear skies… How could the forecast have been so wrong?

In fairness, the day had begun without a cloud in sight. You met your friends full of excitement and bubbling with laughter. It had been just over a year since the entire group last got together and you missed them much more than you’d realized. Sure, you keep in touch over a group text, but the messages had become few and far between over the years. This was all forgotten as you eagerly updated them on the latest events of your life, no matter how mundane, and they reciprocated in turn. You had laughed when Marty and Shivam fought for the front seat of your old Corolla before Tanya, the groups’ navigator, claimed it rightfully as her own. The drive had been pleasant. The sunshine mixed with the warm air through the rolled down windows, caressing your skin and tousling your hair, only built the anticipation of your beach getaway. 

Gone was the sunshine and euphoria from this morning. You feel ridiculous, still wearing your bathing suit under your dress. An overwhelming sense of dread settles in your gut so swiftly that it catches you off-guard. Marty has a kid, Tanya is working hard on her PhD, and Shivam recently accepted a promotion which required him to relocate four hours further away. And then there’s you, stuck reliving the same day at your dead-end job. 

Is this it? 

Is this the end of you, your friends and your youth? You let out a strangled whimper as the first tear leaks from your eye. It’s a punctured sound, breaking through the dull, monotonous reverberations of rainfall. 

It’s Shivam who speaks first. His eyes now attentive, he sits up with a frown. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“It’s just…” you try clearing your throat, but your voice still sounds thick to your ears. “We never get to do this anymore, you know? And it’s all ruined because of this stupid rain.”

Tanya pushes her laptop to the side, a worried look on her face. They rarely see you cry. Her tone when she speaks is tender. “We’ll come here again soon–”

“When?” you interrupt, your voice breaking on the one syllable. “How many times did we reschedule this trip alone?” You sniffle, begging your nose not to run. “I know you’re all busy… I just miss us, you know?”

“Yeah,” Marty answers after a few seconds. “I know. I miss us too.” You see Tanya nod her head out of the corner of your eye, and your heart clenches at the admission.

Shivam opens his mouth to speak, but closes it again. His eyes are moving around the room, glancing at each of you. “You know what?” he asks, springing to his feet and making you jump. “Let’s hit up the beach. Now.”

“Um, it’s raining,” Tanya gives a snort. 

“Yeah. So?” Shivam grins, a glint in his eye. You recognize that expression, it’s the same impish look that took permanent residence on his face in college. “We were going to get wet anyway, and I’m still wearing my trunks.”

“Really?” You ask, the surprise drying your tears. You receive a nod in affirmation from Marty and Shivam. A flicker of the anticipation and glee from the morning begins to slowly creep through your extremities. 

“I’m in,” chirps Tanya, swinging her legs off the armchair. “In fact… last one in the water buys dinner!” And with a shriek she ran, Shivam hot on her heels. 

You hear the scattering of their footsteps on the kitchenette tile and the sliding of the glass door. Marty yells it isn’t fair and he still needs to change back into his trunks. 

A jolt courses through you and you leap to your feet. You don’t bother to remove your dress and instead chase your friends outside. The rain is relentless, and within seconds you’re soaked, your feet sinking into the ground and the wet sand clinging between your toes.

You hear the glass door behind you and turn to see Marty dart outside – his trunks are on backwards.

Tanya screams; Shivam has thrown a wad of muddy sand at her. She’s cursing at him and you’re giddy with laughter. Your laughter morphs into a screech when you see Shivam turn towards you, each hand clutching a fistful of wet earth.

You run. 

And abruptly you’re twenty-one again, blood pumping with exhilaration. 

The worries of growing older and growing apart, the fear of the future, and the dread of complacency do not disappear, but their voices are silent for this moment. 

Right now it’s you, the beach, and the rain. It’s a little gross, a little uncomfortable, and a little perfect.