Ruff Life

Seconds to go! Sabra held her breath. The last curve of the sun hung for a moment over the Gulf, teasing her…and then disappeared beneath the waves. The Green Flash--- didn’t happen again tonight. Crap, she thought. Another beautiful sunset, but no flash! My movie needs a Green Flash for Gramma – and so the kids back home will see it’s real. She panned the camera across the darkening waters to the beach near her and filmed onlookers smacking their hands together in appreciation. Sabra didn’t have her hearing aids on, but the joy she saw was clear. People love this island. Like her, they work or go to school every day and don’t have time to relax and marvel at nature until vacation. She pointed the camera past the sand dunes to the modest homes amid the palm trees and Australian pines behind her. The seaside mansions are farther north. Maybe they get a Green Flash every night. Diners crowded the deck of the Sandbar restaurant. Sabra pressed the zoom button to get a closer look. There was a young man in a Hawaiian shirt playing a guitar while waiters in khaki shorts and flowered shirts swiftly moved among the tables. She panned the camera across the front of the restaurant and lounge…to the side of the structure, where something didn’t seem right. Two males furtively moved along the windowless south wall. They were shirtless and wore oversized surfer swim trunks. Then she noticed the cans of spray paint and realized the boys were writing graffiti on the building. Sabra inhaled and held her breath again steadying the camera to see what they were writing. The stocky boy wrote I-land Thugs while the thin one illustrated the wall with a disgusting four foot high outline of – Eww. A penis. Lovely. Just then both boys turned and stared directly at her. The thickset boy with a burr haircut pointed and threw down his paint can. They sprinted toward her. “Oh, no! It’s Bone!” Sabra freaked. Her feet sucked out of the wet sand, and she ran along the shore toward her grandparent’s condominium five minutes to the south. The soft sand was several inches deep. She ran in slow motion. She pumped as hard as she could, but her feet sank; it was like running in a foot of snow. Her breath heaved. She looked back at Bone and his gross friend Heath. They were at a dead run, gaining on her. At only ten years old there was no way she could outrun the teenagers. What could she do? The onlookers had left the beach as soon as the sun set. There was no way she could make it back. She looked behind her again, her lungs pinching with effort. They were half a football field behind her and grinning like murderers. She took a sudden, desperate turn and raced up the beach to the dunes covered with clumps of four-foot-high sea oats. She kept her head low with the desperate hope they’d lose sight of her in the tall golden fluffs. There was no hope! They were right behind her. Hide! She dove into the tall plants and squiggled around, praying they wouldn’t be able to follow her footprints in the dusk. What if they can hear me breathing? She tried to force herself to calm down. Blood pounded in her head. What if they can hear my heart beating? She was never quite sure how much hearing people could detect, once surprised when told her growling stomach made noise. She settled lower into the mound of sand holding the sea oats. What if they can hear me move? Can they see the sea oats move? She froze, holding her breath, but knew she was shaking like cherry Jell-O. Bone and Heath stopped running. They moved around the plants looking for signs of her. Bone called, “Here Deafy, Deafy, Deafy! We know you’re in here! Come out! Come out, wherever you are!” Heath picked up a stick and poked and thrashed through the plants. She squeezed her eyes tightly and thought about when her mom and dad would let her jump into their bed during crashing thunderstorms. Where is her safe place now? Something moved under her rear end. What am I sitting on? Ghost crabs? Fire ants? Scorpions!? She sat motionless, legs pulled up to her chest, arms hugging them, trying to be as small and invisible as possible, feeling whatever was moving beneath her. Tears poured down her face. She bit her lower lip. Now she could smell the bullies! Sweat. Beer. Cigarettes. Paint…… Lust!