birthday at the beach
short fiction - by Dean Ryan
Today is John’s birthday. He’s digging sand out of his ears and finding it all around the apartment. He’s sorting through mounds of campfire-smoke-infused clothes—also filled with sand. Basically, there is sand everywhere.
Last night Leah and John had a bonfire at Ocean Beach to celebrate his birthday. It was cool (more like cold—cold would be more accurate) but oh so much fun. All the funky-bent-corroded-steel fire pits were taken, but as they learned from their last bonfire adventure, it’s apparently acceptable to just dig a new fire pit in the sand and have at it.
They got the fire started just after sunset. This time they had four bundles of fire wood purchased from a nearby gas station at their disposal. John hoped it would be enough for when Adam and his girlfriend, Mi-Mi (that’s right, Mi-Mi) arrived. The fire started right up (unlike previous outings). They were relatively well stocked with beer and wine. Once they got the fire roaring, Leah ventured out to find food. John snapped open his first cold beer.
There were maybe ten or so bonfires spread over a 200 yard span of beach, some with huge blazing fires and large congregations of people, and others (like John and Leah’s) that were smaller. John nestled his butt in the cold sand and warmed his bare feet by the fire. There was something about a sunset beach fire on the outskirts of the city that was so comforting and relaxing. The whole place had a festival/tribal like quality to it. There were packs of people huddled around fires. There was music playing. The sky was clear and a few of the brightest stars were out. And the rumbling/rhythm of the ocean was constant, still visible just under the horizon.
Fast forward a few hours…well on his way to getting drunk and now with a sandwich in his belly, John was feeling for Leah’s slim waist through her puffy down vest. Mi-Mi arrived with blankets, booze, and two-thirds of the ingredients for s'mores. Then, shortly there after, the star of the evening made his appearance—Adam, with his guitar on his back.
Oh man, they sang it all—Bob Dylan, Tom Petty, Chili Peppers, The Wood Brothers (Liza Jane, a crowd pleaser), Journey, and Nirvana—as they fed the fire and drank away. Few things are better than a gathering of friends and uninhibited campfire singing. Adam’s guitar playing and singing were clearly far better than the others, but he didn’t seem to care, happy to please the now well-intoxicated group.
“Oh lil liza, lil liza jane”
“Oh lil liza, lil liza jane”
