“How long are they going to do that?” Sandra asked as she rubbed sunblock on the tops of her bronzed thighs. A bit of sand had crept onto the corner of her beach blanket – it was striped with alternating panels of white and red. Next to her lounged a woman of a much paler complexion. Dark sunglasses shaded the pale woman’s piercing blue eyes, a wide-brimmed straw hat nested atop her medium-lengthed, auburn-colored hair. Her cut was shaped sweetly like the drop of a tear. Her nose, which could have been likened to the cuteness of a button, was softly pointed and kissed with spots – freckles. This nose, this charming nose was buried deeply in the pages of a book.
“Do what?” she asked. Her name was Carolyn.
“Throw that ball back and forth. They’re like a couple of stray dogs…back and forth, back and forth. Don’t they get tired? It’s been hours…”
Sandra was now standing and, using her hand as a broom, brushing the intruding sand away from her red and white beach blanket. She was a muscular girl, and long-limbed. Like armor, her abdomen was rigidly squared into six equal quadrants. Brave beads of sweat decorated her core like diamonds adorn the front of a shield. Her chest was filled fully and scantily clad with a purple bikini top – strapless and with a twist in the middle for design and also allure. She put her hands on the bones of her hips and, intrigued, watched closely the two young men playing catch. The white ball, stitched crossly with red thread, was rocketed from one man to the other with unearthly power.
Carolyn, who had been lying on her stomach – which was not armored like Sandra’s but rather smooth and soft – her feet kicking with each turn of a page, sat up and also watched closely the two young dogs playing fetch. To her, they were beautiful. The way they moved effortlessly. An oversized leather hand fixed on the end of each man’s left arm. It was with this large leather hand they met each descent of the white ball’s many flights. With a powerful right arm they launched the ball, sometimes high, sometimes low, sometimes straight as an arrow, a bullseye. After bullseyes, which were strived for, the two men would gesture varied hand signals at one another. Sometimes the gestures were simple, but usually their thick fingers would move with wild complexity as if they were playing an invisible floating piano.
“Do they know sign language?” Carolyn asked of Sandra.