Her hair was soft and golden blonde,
shimmering in the sunset. His was thick and black like a horse’s mane and it’s
where he got his nickname from. Her skin was milky white, against her conservative,
bright, floral dress that was flapping in the wind on her long pale legs. He
sat, the complete opposite to her, skin tight from a dark tan, in denim shorts
he had cut from old jeans and his bare chest showing the creases of his toned
stomach. The two sat side by side in weathered old deck chairs humming away to
the tune Mane strummed on his guitar. The strings vibrated strong into the
evening in time with the crickets buzzing away in the wild grass. The wind was
whipping up blowing a sweet sent of salty air from the beaches down below along
with the heat that was radiating off the hot sand.
“The Gods are starting a fight…” Mane
commented pointing to the blackening sky.
The girl, whose name was Lizzie looked up
boldly to the sky and smirked.
“No” She laughed, “They’re hungry.”
Mane laughed along with her, so taken by
her different views on the world. Where
he had been brought up, among the pine trees and rivers in America he had been
taught that thunderstorms meant nothing but trouble and here Lizzie was,
completely amused and relaxed by it.
She held a Polaroid camera neatly in her
hands. It was a gift from Mane for her birthday and although he really couldn’t
afford it, he had made sure he had given her the best present he possibly
could, even if it meant washing dishes at the town pub for the next 40 years of
his life.
She snapped away two pictures quickly, one
of Mane smiling down at his guitar and another of the wide, open field before
them.
“Don’t waste the film” Mane joked a slight
hint of worry in his voice as he thought about the fact that he wouldn’t be
able to afford to buy her more.
Lizzie looked at him, eyes gleaming and it
wasn’t until the raindrops, like tears began to run down his chest, pooling at
his belly, that he realised what she was grinning at. The skies
opened quickly letting rain hit them like small bullets. Mane pulled his chair
back under the cover of the veranda and tried to compete with the needle like
sound of the rain hitting the earth around them.
Lizzie stood from her chair and spun a few
times, hands out stretched like a sacrifice. Mane began to strum harder and let
his voice break out loudly in song along with her spins.
“Dance with me!” Lizzie yelled above the
thunder.
Mane continued to sing as lightning lit up
their surroundings like the brightest day in spring. Lizzie’s mouth dropped as
she lifted her camera to try and capture her awe, the beauty of her surroundings.
“Dance with me!” Lizzie called again, this
time as she unbuttoned the back of her dress, letting it slip awkwardly to the
ground.
Mane watched her in amazement, his heart
pounding as she danced away to the drums of the storm, nearly naked.
Slowly he lifted from his seat and set his
guitar aside. Lizzie barely noticed the ring of his music washing away with the
rain.
He watched her grinning under the rain,
counting as moments flew by before he reached 10 and ran to her, scooping her
up in his arms.
Together they danced, hand in hand, bare
skin upon bare skin, with not a care in the world, to the song of an empty
stomach.
