Chapter 2a

He drove around aimlessly, not even sure why he had gotten into the truck. He realized then that he was looking for her, hoping to run into her again. Oh sure, he thought to himself, and then what?! He’d just walk up to her and say “Hi, remember me? I freaked you out a couple days back… Can we hang out?” Or “Hi, will you go to dinner with me?” Yeah, sure, like any of those would work. No, he had screwed up, and screwed up big time. There was really no point in hoping to see her; nothing to fix what had gone wrong.

He pulled into the Schooner Cove parking lot. Shit! A silver FJ Cruiser was parked there. It had to be hers, there were not many trucks like hers around. He admired the looks of it, knowing it was like his, only all new and retro, but he smiled despite everything, thinking of yet another similarity between them. He blew out a breath feeling like a fool, why was he even thinking about things like that. He pictured her face, as he had done so many times. His heart tightened at the idea of never seeing her again. Knowing he would regret it later, he pulled into an empty spot and headed down the trail to the beach. His thoughts of her continued... What if he ran into her on the trail, what if she saw him? She would know he had followed her and dislike him even more. She might even phone the cops, he was really acting like a creep, he’d deserve to be arrested. Clenching his teeth, he continued down the trail to the beach. He was momentarily blinded as he came out on to the sunny beach from the dark woods. He kept to the edge of the tree line to stay out of sight, feeling like a criminal doing so. Wishing he had never come, he looked down the shore as his eyes adjusted to the brightness. Seeing no one, he walked down the beach a ways, and stopped to sit on a log, lighting a smoke to calm his nerves.

The wind began to pick up, blowing the clouds over the sun. He could feel the rain in the air, knew it was coming soon. Butting his smoke, he stuffed the butt in his back jean pocket as he decides to leave; he sees how ridiculous he is acting. As he stands and turns, his eye catches a head of curls far down the beach. He squints, trying to pick up more detail. His breath hitches as he realizes it is her.  Her head is down; she is walking away from him, farther down the beach, down near the water. It is low tide. She seems to be looking for something. She stoops, picking something up, replacing it closer to the water, turning towards him she squats down, holding her camera low, close to the sand.  She stays that way for some time, moving to sink one of her knees in the wet sand, she shifts position and takes pictures from the new angle. 
Again he is entranced by her, standing there watching her every move, unblinking. As he looks on, she throws her head back, lifting her face to the sky as her body heaves with a huge sigh. Her curls float around her head in the increasing wind, giving her an ethereal quality. As he feels the first drops on his back, he sees her face change.  Her other knee drops to the sand, she tosses her camera back behind her arm, under her coat and wipes her hands across her face. He longs to go to her. The gesture agonizes him; he can’t help but think she looks so very sad. Did he do that to her? He shakes his head, dismissing the thought. No, he’s just projecting his feelings on to her, she’s probably just enjoying the weather. 
As he tears his eyes away from her, embarrassed that he has gone to such lengths to see her, something blurs in the corner of his vision. A large dog is bounding toward her. His jaw tenses as he feels protective of her, and she does not notice the dog. It’s a big male Rottweiler, and he begins to move in her direction as it continues running at her. He stops, seeing her rise up slowly and deliberately, turning towards the dog. She seems to be looking at the sand in front of her when he sees the dog slide to a stop a few feet away from her, almost exactly where her eyes were looking. The dog sits, looking submissive with his stubby tail wagging slightly. She looks up at the dog, turning her head to the side, he sees her smile and hold her hand out slightly from her body, palm down. The dog goes to her dipping his head and dropping his tail. She puts her hand on the dog’s large head and holds it there momentarily. As soon as she lifts her hand, the dog trots away in the direction he came from.

He stands in awe of her, knowing she did not know that dog, knowing that Rottweilers can be quite intimidating, yet she showed no fear, instead she seems to control him with graceful ease. It was fascinating to watch. He realized she does not need his help, she was quite able to take care of herself.

He walks towards the trees, and when he is between them, he stops. He turns slowly almost against his will and his eyes move towards her. She is now standing, her face tilted up to the sky, the rain drenching her. She looks so beautiful standing there. He wonders why she is not running for cover from the rain, as most females do. A little itch in the back of his brain reminds him she is different. He shrugs it off. Yet, there she is, dripping wet, looking like she is totally enjoying it. She looks like an amazon warrior woman, tall, proud, and fearless. He feels another urge to go to her. No! He shouts in his head. Not going to happen. He turned back to the trees and not following the trail, he walked through the quiet woods back towards his truck. There’s nothing he can do to fix this. He’s just got to stop being a fool, and forget he ever met her. He frowned as he climbed back into his truck, pulling back on to the highway, he decides he needs more paint supplies, and turns off in the direction of Nanaimo.

As he drives, he remembered something his grandfather said to him so very long ago.  “Don’t dwell on the negative Daniel, things will only get worse if you do. There is always more than one side to a story, try to look at another side, try to find the good in everything and everyone.”  He smiled, his grandfather had always taught him so much. He had tried to follow his words, and whether he did or he didn’t, he always saw the truth in them. Now, his thoughts listless, returning again and again to the events of that wonderful, horrible day. If only he hadn’t behaved like such an idiot around her, what had he been thinking letting himself act in such a forward manner towards her. Of course he had freaked her out, maybe she’d even thought he’d meant to... oh dear god, is that what she thought? What had caused him to act like that he’ll never know. He had been so intrigued by her, so incredibly drawn to her, he’d spoken and acted before he could stop himself. It just happened, as if he were in a dream, directed by forces beyond his control. And dammit, it was as if he’d met her before, as if he already knew her somehow. Everything about her was so familiar at the same time foreign. He was so confused. The emotions he felt were so uncomfortable to him.

He tells himself she is better off not knowing him, reminding himself of the other failed relationships he’s had, how the women found him boring, and eccentric, his artistic soul pulling him in different directions than ‘normal’ people. They had wanted material things, stability, partying, flashy cars and to go to the big city. None of them could figure out why he lived out in the middle of nowhere as they called it, with nothing to do. She came from the city, she would probably feel the same over time, bored, wanting. Something tugged at the back of his mind, insisting she was different, that she was so very different from anyone he had ever come across. He shoved that thought away, knowing it was better this way. He reflected on another piece of advice from his grandfather, Not to worry about what other people thought of you, but to just do what feels right, what makes you happy. He had tried to follow those wise words his whole life, but he still felt uncomfortable being different from everyone, sometimes he felt like a freak.

He stood back from the canvas, tilting his head while he scrutinized his work. The painting was pleasing to him, the beach in his mind was coming through well on the canvas, colours and tones just right. He knew it was like putting salt in a wound, but it also felt like a release, to pull the image of Florencia Beach out of his brain, and get it on the canvas, letting it go. Letting her go. It had been a few weeks now, and he was pretty much back to his old self, he still thought of her, but it was easier now, like she had been a great character in a story he had read. Feeling finished, he tossed his brush in the water bucket, stepping farther back and taking in the whole image he had created. Satisfied, he sighed, and taking a smaller brush, signed the bottom left in deep purple acrylic.