Dude’s Love Story

“It’ll have to show up sooner or later. The way the tides work? There’s no way it won’t. She said she put it in the water at Santa Margarita. I’ll wait. I’ll prove my faith and love by squatting here on the shore until it arrives. I know it’ll be great, everything, everything I ever wanted. It’s like her to do this instead of just picking up the phone or writing a letter. Ok, so, where is it? She’s right, you know? Patience is a virtue I really do not have. This will help me cultivate it. I’ll wait and hope it doesn’t rain, but it’s still fucking cold, damn, why didn’t I bring a wet suit or something? At least wear clothes. OH WELL. OK, so I can see it from up here, but what if I can’t get down there in time to pick it up? What if it gets carried on a current or something and then I never get it? What about the important information she was – she said she was, but she could be lying, that’s certainly, wait, she could be lying about the whole thing, maybe it’s not even. What did she actually say? Did she say she WAS sending it or that she might as WELL be sending it? Oh shit, I hate that. Everything she says is so perfect, so beautiful, I should write it all down for posterity, it should always be remembered, like the words I KNOW are coming to me, here on this promontory of sand. We’re all on promontories of sand, come to it. Everything washes away sooner or later, and I will, too, and who the fuck knows but I’ll die here waiting? Maybe a tsunami will come and wash this whole fragile promontory away and then? She’ll be sorry, that’s ‘and then’. Sorry she couldn’t just pick up the fucking phone! It’s not like… OH well, there’s that patience thing again. If I could just master that! Man, my life would be so much easier, I’d be so much calmer, I wouldn’t blow the little things out of proportion! I’d get the big picture, right?”

Waves hit the beach, wave after wave after wave. Night falls. The stars come out above the layer of fog on top of the ocean. Our hero persists; waiting, waiting for what?

photo-jun-05-10-40-37-pm“This reminds me of something, what is it? Something from college, from English class, something that seemed particularly pointless, and turned out to be totally and completely pointless. Perhaps everything is pointless, actually. Even this, even this, her, she, me, I, us, we – how can I know? There is no crystal ball, no way to read the future. It’s just this. Squatting for hours on life’s sandy promontory waiting for. I could leave! I could leave and come back tomorrow and see if the tide dropped it along with the sand dollars, the shells, the broken glass, the kelp and some guy’s broken flip flop, but…”


“Someone’s HERE?”

“DUDE! Yo!”



“Nothing, I mean nothing so far. I’m waiting for…”

“Christmas? I saw you here yesterday, Dude. You haven’t even hardly moved.”

“No. Moving would be faithless. This is a test of faith.”

“In fucking WHAT?”

“Her. My love. This is a test of faith and a lesson in patience.”

“You’re squatting here waiting for a WOMAN? Unreal, Dude. Why?”

“No. I’m not waiting for a woman. I’m waiting to hear from her, from the one I love, my beloved across the sea.”

“Have you tried email? I hear good things about it. The phone seems fairly popular as well. You want half of my breakfast burrito? It’s eggs and chorizo.”

“Hmmmmm. Wow. Yeah, I’m hungry, I am, but no, no, part of this, I must fast. I must prove my worthiness.”

“You’re more worthy if you’re HUNGRY? Wow. What miracle play did you drop out of, man?”

“I took a vow. I would wait here until I heard from her.”

“Where is she?”

“Santa Margarita.”

“That’s only two miles up the coast.”

“Not that Santa Margarita. The one in Italy.”

“ITALY? And what’s she doing, Dude? Sailing?”

“No, she wrote me a message. I’m waiting for it.”

“There is no fucking mailbox anywhere around here, Dude. How are you going to get a message? You sure you don’t want some of this burrito? It’s yummy and you look hungry.”

“Thanks, that’s very kind, but no. I – well, yeah, just a bite, just tear off a bite.”


“Wow. That is great, that hits the spot. You wouldn’t have a soda would you?”

“Back at my place. You wanna’ come back to my place? I can fix you some coffee or something.”

“No, no, no, I have to wait. It will have to arrive today. I looked at the charts of the tides, everything, and it should be today. Any time now.”

“What IS it for the love of Pete?”

“It’s – wait – that’s it! It’s here! It’s here! I gotta’ go get it.”

“Watch yourself, Dude. It’s steep. Don’t fall or all this waiting will have been a waste of time. Where is it, anyway? What is it?”

“There, see it?”

“That’s TRASH Dude!”

“No, no, no, no that’s a bottle with a cork in it, a wine bottle, our favorite wine.”

“You got a bottle of wine floating on the ocean? That’s not gonna’ happen, man. Wine sinks.”

“No, it’s a bottle that held our favorite wine. Inside, inside, look just wait here. I’ll go get it and…”

“What a FREAK! That dude has been sitting here for three days waiting for a wine bottle to float here from Italy! Some message in a bottle number, yeah, look at that.”

“I can’t get the cork out!”

“Probably swoll all up in the water.”

“What should I do?”

“Break the bottle, get the message.”

“No! I can’t do that! How will I send a message back?”

“The phone? Like I mentioned before?”


12 thoughts on “Dude’s Love Story

  1. Reblogged this on I'm a Writer, Yes I Am and commented:

    A couple of years ago there was a thing called the Weekly Prompt and it was always a challenge and I got good stories from it — I think this is where Dude and Lamont reconnected after who knows how many hundreds or thousands of years!

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