Kate

“I’m going for a walk. Call me if you need me.”

Mark barely heard his mother’s muffled reply over the soft click of the hotel door’s electronic lock snapping back into place. It was his fifth day here, and the third day the silent pressure of his life had again been with him. Apparently, it takes depression longer to reach you when you fly. It probably missed a connection in Cleveland—that airport is a bitch. Whatever the cause of the delay was, it mattered not, because Mark was there, then, dragging a bag of mixed memories through the bland hotel hallway looking for anything—or anyone—to lighten the load.

The elevator crawled through the air, not unlike his last relationship. She was a brilliant girl, and beautiful, too. Dark hair. The thought flashed through his mind as he absent-mindedly depressed the already-lit button for the first floor. A Japanese couple eyed him awkwardly, but he failed to notice. The problem was dark hair. All his problems started when she dyed her hair dark. Either then, or the two years before when she told him how sad he made her. Yeah, probably the dark hair. The elevator doors slid open.

His hotel was a strange one, with no clear-cut distinction between indoors and outdoors. His room was indoors, obviously, as was the hallway to the elevator and the little lobby he was standing in then, but after turning a corner, he was outside. Walls rose up on either side of him, covered in identical doors, save the numbers on them, but there was no ceiling. Instead, there were just trees and an overcast Hawaiian dusk. Walking past a non-functioning fountain, his mind wandered again. Three days. The fountain worked fine when I arrived, but it hasn’t worked for three days. Her hair can’t be the real reason.

The resort was a large one, and to ease the strain on the laid-back tourists, two methods of transportation were provided: A tram that was always on the opposite side of the resort, or little river-boats that ran through a murky moat of a river. Neither was there, and he still had no clue where he was going, so Mark sat down on a nearby bench and did his best to look attractive. It only took a few minutes of extreme suave for the boat to putter up to the dock. Grabbing his half-empty bottle of Dasani, he sauntered over to the dock and boarded the boat.

He rode the boat all the way to where it doubled back on its course. After the first stop, he was the only passenger aboard, and the dark-skinned boat operator asked him if he had any questions.

“Where do most of the girls hang out around here?” The operator laughed quietly as Mark grinned honestly.

“Either down by the big pool on the south side, or all the way on the north side by the golf-course, sunbathing.”

“None in the middle, then?”

“Not usually, brah.”

Of course none were in the middle. That’s where his hotel room was. That’s where the broken fountain was. That’s where he was.

Since the sun was no more than an orange pushpin on the yellow-gray corkboard that was the evening sky, Mark figured south was his best chance to find someone to talk with. His Dasani was completely empty now, so he tossed it into a wicker trashcan on the way out to the beach walk that circled the big pool. He wasn’t thinking about his old relationships now.

The path lead through a meager menagerie, consisting of a few O’oh, the only indigenous geese on the Hawaiian islands, and a cat or two, across a swaying rope bridge that made his head spin and stomach churn, and over a final catwalk that showcased the large pool in all it’s after-dinner, dusk-lit glory. Two lights shone on the large tile logo that was only slightly distorted by the attempt at a natural looking waterfall, a logo that depicted two dolphins fucking. Mark had never actually seen two dolphins fucking, but if he had to guess what it looked like, his guess would be pretty close to this logo. He laughed.

By the time he made it to the beach, the sun was almost completely swallowed up by the black swells of the ocean. Within the minute, Mark saw the sun completely disappear under the shallow crests of the water that drew a line across the horizon. The sun was not the only thing that stood out in his mind—there were more couples holding hands and bodies here than he had seen on his entire trip, and that bag of depression spilled out over him, covering him in a thick, grey longing that made him shiver despite the warm, tropical night.

All trip long, he had tried his hardest to have a good time. He walked along the cracks and fissures of a volcano, blazed trails through a rainforest, and even swam amongst the most beautiful fish and coral he had ever seen, but every last bit of it felt hollow to him. It didn’t seem right to stand in the light of all this natural beauty without someone else to absorb it, to match it and to outshine it. The seconds, minutes, hours and days all blurred to a soggy memory without someone to keep it fresh in his mind, and he fought so hard to find another singular entity to focus his memories and energies on, making them concrete and real.

A gentle hill sloped up from the rocky beach to meet the buildings to his back, carpeted with soft grass. Mark sat down and looked at his feet. They were both clean, and his toenails were cut close and neat. His right flip-flop was broken, but it still walked fine, if not just a touch itchy. The sun was completely hidden now. As he laid his head behind him and looked up at the cloud-strewn sky, he could smell the oil burning from nearby torches, a scent that mixed perfectly with the salty air to form a perfume matched perfectly with this moment, acrid yet gorgeous.

His mind wandered back up the paths, in search for something he could relate with, and missed the soft footsteps that snuck up on him from above the hill.

“Beautiful night, isn’t it?” His eyes inched open. The sky was still there, but a silhouette obscured most of it—a silhouette with a brilliant smile, long, dark hair, and emerald eyes. She was upside down, suspended by nothing more than fate. “Mind if I sit with you?”

When it came to women, Mark wasn’t completely hopeless. He could charm when urged, and this was definitely an urge. With more charm than a prince, he smiled at the girl and delivered the line he had rehearsed countless times in his mind since she posed the question: “Nope.”

She disappeared, only to reappear to his side, pressing her skirt to her legs as she eased herself down to the grass. Mark sat up and studied the lines that drew her face softly against the torch-lit backdrop. Smooth, dark skin, emphasized by the night. Her face drew a sharp oval against the sky. Tourist, probably. Asian, definitely. Japanese. If he would have looked at her blouse first, that would have been obvious by the cut and styling of the garment. Her head was cocked to a side, and she watched him with a small smile as he studied her. Her eyes shone brightly, the green making the grass seem pale and sickly, and her hair drooped down to form a soft arc where it stopped. Her smile. Stunning.

“I’m Kate.”

Her English was flawless and without accent. Kayt. Not Kah-teh. The voice analysis Mark ran made him slow to notice her soft, outstretched hand. The gesture analysis Mark ran took even longer, making his handshake a slow, retarded affair. His large hands gently cradled hers, and he smiled widely in the dark. “Mark.”

He was in no hurry to release the soft, warm hand, and she reciprocated the recalcitrance as she studied his dark curls and firm jowl. Her hand warmed more than just his hand, flooding his body with warm joy that whisked the thick gray longing away from his body in waves. Five seconds—much longer than a typical handshake, but too short for either of the two. The silence pressured him, and he spoke first.

“Where’re you from?” Mark slapped himself mentally. “Wher’re?” What kind of fucked contraction is that? You live in a trailer or something, redneck?

She laughed softly, beautifully, and smiled as she talked. “Oregon—about an hour east of Portland. I’ve been here for a couple of days, and it seems everyone has been having a blast except for me.” She frowned as soon as the words came out, worry streaking her face, hoping her depression wouldn’t drive him away.

“I feel the same way. You’re the first person who’s talked to me since I got here, other than my family. I’m from Georgia, by the way.”

“I noticed the accent,” she smiled brightly, flicking a long strand of hair behind her as she talked. Mark’s face creased with a slight frown at the non-accusation, and Kate took notice. “I think it’s cute.”

Taken suddenly aback, Mark smirked in place of a suave comment. He stumbled over himself as he asked, “Well, would you like to walk along the beach with me?”

“Not really.” Defeat washed over him before she could even begin her next sentence, submerging him back into the cold, grey wash of misery. He could feel himself gasping as the air was beaten out of his lungs by way of chill. “I’d rather sit here and watch the surf with you. That is, if that’s okay.” Just as suddenly as it hit him, the chill receded.

“Of course—I’d love that.” He looked deep into her eyes, completely mesmerized by the brilliant greens and olives that made her irises into whorls of color and intelligence. She looked back, then quickly down. He felt her soft hand brush against his fingertips. Again, she looked back at him, searching his smooth face for a sign—anything really—that assured her. She found it not in his face, but in his hand as he carefully pushed her fingertips apart and slid his own down between them, the two interlocking in a warm, nervously clammy embrace, finger against finger. A single, perfect smile was shared between the two lonely hearts before they laid back down, soft grass pressing against arms, legs and necks. Mark felt Kate’s hand squeeze tighter as he let out a slow breath and closed his eyes.

As streamers of acrid torch-smoke wafted through the air above him, Mark eased his eyes open. The sun had been submerged beneath the waves for only a few minutes, the clouds had moved but inches, and the grass was making him itch. He smiled to himself before noticing the emptiness of his hand. Pushing himself to his feet, he put his flip-flops on again, carefully guiding his clean toes around the broken bits of canvas, turned to face the path he had taken, and walked calmly away.

A Japanese girl? That usually wasn’t like him, but she had been gorgeous. Perfect, if such a thing was possible. His teeth cracked his face in a forced grin. She had been amazing, if only a passing thought, but, why her? Why then? He held a chuckle in as he muttered something to himself.

“It must be that dark hair.”