Page 25 of Rhymes with Metaphor
“As long as we don’t go too far,” said Juliet.
Reg watched them go, not wanting to be a third wheel.But equally, not wanting to be a second wheel with Joel.He risked a quick glance over his shoulder and saw that Joel hadn’t touched his sandwich.Martin and Juliet were still in sight.Before he could change his mind, Reg got up and walked across the sand dunes to the main road.The road was gritty with sand and tacky with heat, and he remembered summers here in his boyhood when he and Martin would run along this road with their shoes off, enduring the painful heat of the asphalt.
The shop selling bathing suits and water toys was closed, as was the clothing store and most of the restaurants.He went to the convenience store he and Martin had nicknamed “The Flake Store,” because the woman who owned it believed in moon spirits and was always reading their auras for them.A hot dog stand operated from a window in the side of the store, but the window was shut, so Reg went inside.The store was blissfully air-conditioned.Mrs.Franks was on duty behind the counter.
“Hello, Mr.Reginald,” she said.“Your aura’s looking blue today.”
“It always is, Mrs.Franks.I know the stand isn’t open, but could you make me a milkshake?”
“Vanilla or hoisin?”she said.
New Bug was irritating, but Reg didn’t hate him.“Vanilla, please.”
By the time Reg had gone back along the road and over the dunes, the milkshake was melting, Joel was asleep again, and three seagulls were deconstructing his uneaten sandwich.Reg chased them off and nudged Joel with his knee.When Joel was conscious enough, Reg handed him the milkshake.Juliet and Martin were barely in sight.
Reg settled himself in his chair and shut his eyes.He could hear the bubbling sounds of Joel drinking and hoped the milkshake would stop him shrinking to nothing, like one of Alice in Wonderland’s cordials.
Reg shot out of his chair and crashed around looking for a pen and paper, which didn’t exist because this was a fucking beach.He strode towards the water, but Martin and Juliet were now gone.He snatched up a stick of driftwood, knelt in the sand, and used his forearm to sweep it flat.With the stick, he wrote a poem in the sand.But because the sand was dry, it wouldn’t hold his letters properly, and a light breeze kept disturbing the surface.He became more and more frantic as he wrote.
“Reg, what are you doing?”Martin shouted.
“Have you got a pen and paper?”said Reg, not looking up.
“In the glove compartment in the car,” said Martin.
“Please get them and bring them to me,” said Reg.
He heard Martin approach.
“Don’t come any closer!”said Reg.“You’ll disturb my words.”
“Relax, Reg,” said Martin.“It’s a lake.There’s no tide coming in to wash it away.”
He heard Martin’s footsteps receding, along with Juliet’s voice.“Does he have a fixation for water?First my shower and now this.”
Martin came back a few minutes later with a scrap of paper barely big enough to hold anything and an old pen that didn’t write properly.To make it worse, the words had stopped flowing, and Reg could barely read what he’d written.
“Good,” said Juliet.“You ate your sandwich, Joel.”
“The seagulls did,” said Reg testily.“I bought him a milkshake.”
Juliet shook the cup.“It’s empty.You got him to eat something, Reg.”
“We should start calling him ‘the Joel whisperer,’” said Martin.
Reg contemplated punching him.
