Long Beach

I first visited the beach town of Long Beach, NYC in 2019 and was struck by how quaint American and Hallmark it was.

(13 minute read)

The waves were loud that subdued evening. Light had receded and the pale orange of the retiring sun cast a mood of retrospect on the stretch of sand, fueling the romance of the wistful. She was frolicking by the fringes of the waves, yelping each time the cold hit her ankles. He watched from a distance, bike in one hand, Pepsi in another. The wind was feisty as she steadied her camera tripod, running to and fro the spot she had marked X by dragging her feet on the sand. She stood some 3 metres from her tripod, jumping in a variety of gaily poses, throwing the occasional pensive stare. He thought she looked better with her smile.

She repeated her cardio photography, and he marveled at her enthusiasm. Each time she returned to her camera, something fell short for she continued jumping in the air, adding a hand to her short ponytail, her pocket, holding the edges of her tee. He took a swig of his Pepsi and removed his sunglasses. Long Beach was proffering her its cinematic best, unlike last week when rain gray engulfed the town in a dampened mood. He never made it past the boardwalk and spent the days mostly holed up in his room, playing video games and drinking beer. Now, as he enjoyed his town’s biggest showpiece, she angled to the front, standing straighter, hip twisted uncomfortably. The poses were clearly staged at this juncture, the casual theme replaced by the poise she now parlayed.

She was tanned in the evening light. A honey brown that seem to come from good genes and a healthy diet. She was Asian, slim like they always were and attractive in the nonchalant way of a girl in denim shorts and a loose ponytail. She appeared happy finally for she nodded briskly at her camera and folded her tripod. She stood facing the sea, her legs smooth and shapely against the orange expanse of the sky. Next, he watched as she produced a beach towel from her knapsack and laid it out on the sand. She fell heavily, the sigh of relief almost palpable to his ears. Hands planted to the ground, legs outstretched, she contemplated the sunset in a solitary repose of elegance. Will’s heart began to beat fast. This was where he would come in.

That was how he met Juanita. A spicy Columbian woman with a body made for the ravenous appetites of a blue-collar man. She was beautiful inside and out and when they cuddled at night, she would tell him of her plan to save up money and start an empanada business. Sex was satisfying and he earned the bragging rights of dating a hot woman, a leg up in the domain of male achievement. The guys at the aircraft where he worked looked at him different and his voice grew louder at work and the bar. Juanita and him spend many nights at Moko, drinking and dining with friends, his hand draped possessively on her shoulder, experiencing the pride of a puffed up lion each time men eyed his girl in her low cut top and tight jeans.

Six months on, they broke up. Chemistry had played its course and the lack of compatibility spelled their demise. Conversations revolved around the routines of their work and which amigo was making eyes at her. The burden of a relationship took its’ toll on his patience. Like most men who so desperately wanted to feel like a man, he offered to pay for her rent and all their meals in a foolish act of self-sacrifice, to which Juanita promptly accepted. As time went by, she seemed less grateful, her curt tone and late-night headaches becoming more frequent

Predictably, she was the one that ended it even if he claimed the initial twinges of boredom. “Our relationship was over for months,” she said the day she came with her suitcase while her sister waited outside. “So who is he?” he shouted angrily. “One of those assholes at the beach club?”  She never denied nor showed regret. “You were gone a long time,” she said callously before turning away, as if talking to a child with unfounded fears of a ghost in a cupboard. The sheer ease in which she removed her clothes from his cupboard infuriated him. Watching her in her ski pants, the fullness of her bottom taunting him and likely now under the protective eyes of another man fueled an ugly anger exacerbated by betrayal. In the past, he had criticized fatter girls for donning clothing made for smaller girls with better legs. He had told Juanita how good she looked and both would bask in the superiority of having fit bodies and good taste. She looked like a tramp now. An ungrateful, opportunistic Latina! A tramp who wore ski pants to titillate the roving eyes of white men. Perhaps if they looked longer, they would imagine her shape and softness. He banged the table and pushed her out the door, clothes spilling from her bag. She screamed Spanish expletives and he shouted back a string on insults that included prostitute, loose and bitch. Plenty of fucks.

A year on, he remained a loner with a boner. Not much happened in a year but plenty happened in one night. Strange, how life could be beer and parties one Friday and then empty and bleak the next. He shook away the depressive thoughts. They were always beckoning at the edge, egging to fall over and consume his sanity.  He had promised his mom he would have a nice walk on the beach. “Maybe you’ll see a nice girl,” she had said before he left. Mom, who never liked his girlfriends and said nothing but disapproved when he brought girls to his room. He had remained single and busy since Juanita.  The bars were filled with girls in tight dresses and the beach was a silent Tinder match hoping to happen. Once, he sat down once with an attractive junkie on the beach. They had spent the evening bemoaning the impending death of her relationship, her burgeoning debt and her boyfriend’s propensity for checking out Instagram models. Junkie was hot but her anxiety was not. He was in no mood for drama and unstability.

But today was a different day. He parked his bike and watched her bring herself down to her towel, hands folded behind her head. She swung one leg in the air and crossed it on her knee. He released his bike and adjusted his cap. He would have to try. Steadying the pounding of his heart, he jogged casually to the water’s edge. The cold shocked him, giving him more bravado to raise his voice. “How’s the water today?” he asked, face turned in her direction.

Two seconds passed as she ascertained if she was indeed the recipient of his comment. In the clear view of her face, he saw auburn hair, a pouty mouth and a gold dragon around her neck. “Pretty cold,” she replied. Nonchalance. Yet an openness. Her pink tank top had “Positive Revolution” on it.

“Did you get in earlier?” he asked.

“Just wet my toes is all. It’s too cold for me.” There was a slight smile. She spoke in an accent he couldn’t place although her ease in English was evident.

Heart still beating, he came closer to her. She had turned back to face the sky, indicating her preference to be left alone. “Just do it Will,” he told himself. He could always walk away and forget it ever happened. “Hey I don’t mean to be direct, but since it’s Pride Week and you’re in pink, are you here for the parade?” he asked in a breath.

She stared at him startled, her humoured expression youthful in the orange light before laughing invitingly. “No, I’m not here for Pride Week.”

“You’re not lesbian?”

“I’m straight.”

“Hi, I’m Will.”

Swensen was from Malaysia, a country with a time zone 12 hours ahead and a weather that challenged Long Beach’s hottest days. She was 28, alone on holiday and ran a business back home. Will didn’t ask what. From the looks of her – bohemian and child-like, it could be an online business selling crafts, beads or yoga lessons. She would be here for two more days before heading to NYC to continue the rest of her holiday.

He sat nonchalantly beside her towel, asking “May I?” when he was halfway down. She said sure without offering her towel. That’s in, I’m still in boy. They spent an hour and a half on the beach, Will filling her on Juanita because that’s how you impress girls. By telling them about the hottie you broke up with. But standards had to be established. He told her how he wasn’t most guys with tendencies for hot girls devoid of anything else. He told her of the parties he went too and how beautiful people always appeared after 2am. He told her of his workmates who persuaded him to the nightclubs to check out frisky 22-year old girls.
“These fellas have girlfriends, man that’s so not the way,” he berated. She nodded, no displayed gratitude at his good-boyfriend quality.

She was an intent listener, detached and articulate. She looked like the type of girl who went to college and wrote assignments, a far cry from the girls he dated, their writing repertoire limited by the abbreviations and emojis on text. He kept on a steady chatter, partly because he was a talker and partly because he wanted to keep her. He prided himself on talking well to girls and having no trouble in getting a relationship. She never interrupted except to blink or draw a breath. Surely, her engagement meant something. “I hear black guys are better in bed?” She said she didn’t know.  He said he was intimidated by her. She smiled generously without allaying his fear.

Impressing her took precedence. Will bragged about his 2005 Honda truck and his ability with women. “I’ve dated models. I’m not gullible with women,” he said knowingly. “Neither am I, with men,” she replied. Will gulped. He chatted even more after that, redemption in full gear.

The sky was getting dark and a chill had settled on the beach. Will gave Swensen his number, too shy to ask for hers. “I’ll text you later,” she said. He watched her leave the boardwalk, placing her headphones on.  Had he made an impression on her? He got on his bike and headed home. Dinner would be waiting and nothing else much.

Pasta was on the table when Will got home. Mom had put aside a plate of three fat meatballs and a heap of ravioli. No one said anything when he entered except Mom who looked up momentarily before returning to her crossword puzzle. Dad was reclined on the sofa, fixated on a game, sputtering an angry commentary on yet another fail pass. “Who we watching?” Will asked and no answer was forthcoming.

At 80, Will’s dad was as good as they came. He was a retired technician at the Kennedy airport and spent his days keeping score of the Giants and pottering about the house, looking for excuses to be handy. Will had the typical acrid relationship with his parents, one borne out of a child never moving out. The lack of appreciation, the curt tone and never being present. When Juanita came about, he spent most days at her place, returning only to take a bath or to recuperate when they fought.

Will wasn’t the most pleasant son to have. He bought groceries and helped dad with car when there was a need, but truly, he coasted as a son. He never offered to clean the house, he greeted Aunt Maggi when she visited for 5 second before disappearing and never made an effort on their birthdays.

At 40, Will had been reduced to being dependant on his parents. One month ago, a random police check after drinks at Moko had taken away his license and set off a nightmare of legal counsel and court dates.

“I’m not drunk,” he had said defensively. “You can tell just by talking to me.”

“Sir, step out of the vehicle,” said the officer. Will swore. “What’s that you said sir?” the officer asked icily.

“Let just get this fucking shit over with,” said Will unpleasantly.

It was his temper that landed him in trouble. Polite subservience would have prevented the ugly ordeal that sent him home with a record. Drunk Driver. A label that cruelly yanked his happiness in routine and driving the supermarket. Catastrophe turns one grateful, making a dead-end job come alive in all its ordinary glory. The ingratitude of receiving a monthly paycheck turns into gasping desperation when one is marched away from servitude.

“I’m not drunk man!” Will yelled. “Look at the breathalyzer goddamnit. Why you asking me to do it again?”

 “Cause I just told you too and you do it. And it’s officer to you” said the officer silkily. There was an eerie calm in the officer’s demeanour as Will’s near future played out in his mind. He relished Will’s hysterics when the breathalyzer indicated 8.6 on the second breath. Will yelled and argued, with the officer walking off calmly. “Shout all you want sir, the breathalyzer doesn’t lie.” He knew these Will types. Loud, boorish and fucking cowards deep down. His cousin Jeremiah worked in Kennedy airport where discrimination was openly felt. It grew worse when Jeremiah dated a white woman. Will was likely one of them who scorned black folk along with his white buddies. The culture of white superiority was hardwired in Kennedy. Will had to be a saint not to be one. The superiority they felt and the judgement they passed. Giving this one an unfair hardball was the fairest thing he could do for his black brothers.

Will’s life went downhill from there. He became angrier. He offended the counselor when asked why he drove drunk. He accused her of being patronizing. He recounted the story of being victimized by the black police officer over and over without realizing the counselor was no longer listening. “As long as you don’t admit or act remorseful, you’ll never get past a judge,” she said evenly. Will slammed his fist on the table, shouting his defense yet again. “But I wasn’t drunk goddamnit!” He told his story to anybody who wanted to listen. At work, before he was made to resign for no longer having a driving license. At Moko, to the young girls who entertained his advances. To family who came to visit on Saturday and to anyone willing to listen. To mom and dad who listened repeatedly and took his side. “That officer’s an asshole,” growled his dad. “And that counselor,” said mom. “She doesn’t sound qualified.”

Going through the humiliation of a record and a loss of income humbled Will. Hunched on bed beside a quiet phone sobered him. He spent 2 days in his room, mom knocking during mealtimes and leaving a tray outside.  Life or the lack of it flashed before him. He never worried about buying a house because here he was, grown and nowhere near stellar in life, living off a house the never paid for. He drove a truck he loved because he never had to pay much around the house. Yet he shouted at dad for using the wrong sponge to clean his truck. Mom for asking him to fetch the barbecue set from neighbours across town.

Two days holed up in his room sprung on regrets, epiphanies and sorrow. A new Will emerged. He started cooking and cleaning the house, playing cards with mom, following dad to the supermarket, entertaining his parents’ friends who dropped by.

In the evening, he’d taken to riding the bike on the boardwalk and sitting on the beach. It took his mind off his troubles and half hoped he would meet someone. Half because despite the joblessness, he was lonely for the company of a woman. And now he had met Swensen who would be leaving in two days. Life wasn’t making it easy.

Will opened the fridge and winced. Beer had become a luxury when he no longer contributed to the household. He drank sparingly at home, ensuring dad drank more. It embarrassed him to ask his father.  But there was a big game tomorrow. Dad would want it too.

“Dad, we’re gonna need more beer,” he said hesitantly.

“I’ll take you,” came the immediate reply.

++++++++

There she was sitting by the Fish Shop. Denim jacket, blue headband and poring over a platter of fries and salad. Long Beach was a small place but running into her a second time must count for the great unknown in the sky plotting serendipity. He waited 10 minutes if a friend or boyfriend would show up. But no. It was just her, eating her fries and looking at her phone.

“Swensen?” he said a little nervously.

She was momentarily confused before the look of recognition came. The smile was a second late.

“Hey I replied you but it never got through,” Will said. “I told you, my phone’s a dinosaur. It can’t reply international numbers.”

“No problem,” she said, the familiar smile returning.

“Did you wonder or you didn’t care?” he asked.

“I wondered,” she said in a voice that proved nothing.

“I’m gonna show you what I wrote just to prove it.” He said coming over. He’d sat upright when her text came and texted immediately only to curse a moment later. His outdated phone with no wifi or 4G permitted only local numbers and ensured he was blissfully unaware of social medias, its buoyant culture and receiving Swensen’s text. “Godamnit, gimmie a break God!” he cried, resending his message. Surely Swensen was interested in him, or she wouldn’t text. Old Willy boy always had it!

She smelled like fresh waterlilies today. She had a blue armband around her narrow wrist. He came close, his t-shirt touching her jacket. “I’m so tired and am thinking of getting a massage. Going to boyle some water now,” was his unsent text message.

He looked at her hoping his message would arouse something, a smile at least. She squinted for a split second before nodding at him.  “You believe me?” he asked, unconvinced.

“I believe you,” she said.

They spent the next two hours on the beach, sitting on Swensen’s towel, him huddling close to her. He held her arm playfully and leaned in to her cheek, “I don’t want to let you go,” he joked. She laughed and pulled away slightly. It didn’t bother him. Asians were generally more conservative and he quite liked it. He told her about his drunk record and the devastation of losing a job. They spent half an hour dissecting his problem. Again, Swensen was an avid listener, asking the right questions and proffering the right encouragement. “It’s not a good situation but it’s not completely bad too,” she pointed out. “You have a lot of help. You’re focusing on all the bad.

He asked where Malaysia was because his interest in her was growing as the sun went down. She explained that it was between Thailand and Singapore. “Oh I’ve heard of Thailand and the beautiful women there,” he cut. Swensen cut right back. “And we’ve got 3 races in Malaysia although there’s a lot of racism happening at the moment. Actually….

Wwill swooped right in. “I have to admit that when I go to New York, it sometimes doesn’t feel like America,”

“You’re kidding me,” she said animated.

Will shrugged. “Hey sweetie, it’s my country, I can’t help it.”

She shrugged back. “I guess you only speak one language. And only have white friends.”

“Sweetie, I like Asians and Latinas. Particularly Asians.......”

“Hmmmm, cause it’s your fetish,” she said matter-of-factly. Will shook his head and came closer.“No it’s not. A fetish is something I can’t have. But I have.”

Swensen made a face, “Sexual attraction to other races doesn’t mean you’re not a racist, but anyway!”

Will went on a spiel of politics and bad experiences with certain communities. She listened without interrupting. He liked her listening ability. He felt heard that evening. Felt a little bit loved.

When they bought tacos later, Swensen offered to pay. “I got it.”

Will was moved. “You ever thought of marrying and having kids?”

“It’s not my thing, but who knows in a far off future,” she replied kindly.

“Wow,” said Will getting a little heady. “You could almost be my perfect match,”

Swensen laughed and drank some water.

He didn’t want to let her go. He was talking but he was anxious about maintaining her in his life. Could they end the night with a kiss? She would be leaving Long Beach tomorrow. Back to NYC. Back to Malaysia. She had allowed him to come close, but her face had remained away and serene, looking at the dark sky. They walked on the boardwalk where his bike was chained some distance up.

“I had a really nice time tonight. I hope to see you tomorrow to say goodbye,” he said. “Let me say goodbye to you before you leave.”

“I’ll text you tonight,” she reassured. He hugged her and kissed her on the cheek. She smiled and waved as she set off.

Will rode home thinking about her. Perhaps he would buy a calling card and call her when she was in NYC. Maybe they could work something out long distance. She looked like a free spirit who didn’t care much about money or status. Once he had his drunk record clean, he would focus on making things work with her. She appeared to like America, and he could convince her to stay in Long Beach eventually.

Will partied at a club that night. Kissed a few girls, drank too much. His best friend Robbie hauled him home, Will calling out Swensen’s name and singing “Party in the USA.”

+++++++++++++

She never sent him that text. Not that night or the next morning or the day after. He wrestled with himself, wanting to call but the embarrassment of rejection held him back. Hadn’t their two nights meant something? Connection like that didn’t just happen. Maybe Swensen got practical and didn’t want to be hurt. Maybe he should have toned down his player ways. He stared at her number many times, daring himself to call.

A week later, armed with a better lawyer, strict order to stay quiet, the judge let Will off in court. Will almost cried. His driving license would be released and he would receive a legal letter to help reinstate his job at Kennedy.

“Let’s go celebrate man,” cheered Robbie who had drove him to court.

“Hey man, you got Facebook?” asked Will jumping into the passenger seat.

“The whole world does but you,”

“Do me a favour man, check out this girl for me, Swensen from Malaysia.”

“What the…….. that girl you met at the beach? What’s her last name?” Robbie fiddled on his phone.

“Shit! I don’t even know” Will gasped. “Hang on buddy,” said Robbie. “I think I got it. That her?” He handed Will his phone.

There she was on Robbie’s screen. “What do I do?” he asked. “Just click on the profile man,” said Robbie starting the car. “Here, I’ll do it imbecile.” A few taps and a quick scroll “Hooooooo,” he gave the phone back to Will. “Your girl looks busy man.”

Shock came slow as the pictures began telling their stories.

“You know, we should get Todd out for drinks this weekend. He did an excellent job with the judge,” Robbie said putting the car in reverse.

Her familiar smile. That petite frame. That auburn hair.

“You think Todd wouldn’t mind introducing me to Andrea? I know she’s a little young for me, but hey, me and you Will, we roll like that don’t we?” Robbie laughed and hit Will on the shoulder.

She wore nice clothes. She had many friends. Pretty girls. Will felt his breath coming in heavy.

 “You okay man?” asked Robbie.

She drove a bright red sports car. Read Richard Dawkins, Went for a lot of meetings with people in suits and ties. 

“Wanna stop by Laurel’s?

She was a feminist. She gave speeches to huge crowds.

Embarrassment was working its course and sweat formed around his forehead and underarms.

Her New York pictures came up. Swensen standing in various landmarks in New York. She wrote long captions. She made friends with a Brooklyn artist.  She sat by the public library to write a story. She saw a Jack Russell and thought of her dog.

Then he saw. The same denim jacket and blue headband on the boardwalk. Standing poised and staring mischievously, the sun on her skin. A photo she had taken when she was in Long Beach. Will clicked on the photo, heart on fire.

Her caption read: “Long Beach is like a town in a Hallmark movie. I even met a white supremacist, boy, does he talk too much.”

Will put the phone down. “I need a drink bad Robbie. Real bad.”

The End