Beach Day - Malcolm Albright

The shells were half buried, hiding in the sand from nimble fingers and chilly waves.  Occasionally, a blue or coral glint would catch the light, giving away their hiding spot. It was then that we would begin meandering towards it, deciding if it was good enough for the collection we had been hoarding.

“Why this form,” Malcolm was asking. The evening was coming upon us. A cooler dip from the harsh midday sun. “When you chose to come down and join us in the realm of the living, why did you choose the body you did?”

We paused. He crouched down, digging a scalloped edged shell from beneath the sand. It was chipped in the corner and yet somehow struck me as absolutely perfect.  

“What?” I teased. “Don’t like what you see?”

A chuckle escaped him as he dusted the grains of sand from the seashell, his lips curling into a small smirk. “You know that is not true. Stop fishing for compliments.”

“Compliments go a long way to getting what you want.” Not that I would ever deny Malcolm. We both knew that the man was my weakness. Even back when I was nothing more than a light in the dark..

“You’ve gotten what you’ve wanted,” he chided. “Several times over today, if I recall.”  

I laughed loudly. Malcolm’s penchant for delivering his words with such a dry cadence never ceased to delight me.

“I’m curious,” he said, standing and tucking the seashell away. “As someone who has changed their form a bit, why did you choose this one?” He gestured to my body, his eyes following the lines that he knew so well.

Reaching down, I threaded my fingers through his own as we continued to walk along the beach. “I’m not sure there is an exact reason,” I confessed to him. “Mostly, I think that I chose the kinds of things I admired.  Someone who was able bodied enough to traverse the world. A form that was adept at keeping up with others. Hands that could hold and give comfort. Ears that listened.”

There was something about my words that spoke to Malcolm. He had always been a person that consumed whoever he was speaking with. His gaze formed in such a way that it felt as if there was no one else in the entire world. 

“And everything else?” he asked, gesturing to my hair. The color of my skin. The bridge of my nose.

“Fashion,” I laughed. “Different little features to try on and change when I see fit.” The waves lapped against our feet, covering our already pruney toes. “Would you mind?” I asked him. “If I changed the way I looked every few years?”

“No,” he said, the sun catching the line of his jaw. “Who am I to judge? Besides, looks mean very little.”

“Let me guess. It’s what’s on the inside that counts?”

“The inside is a series of organs and intestinal tubes. We’re all the same there,” he shrugged. I noticed how he turned his face up to the setting sun. He was not a man who was supposed to live in the dark.  “No, for me, it’s how a person conducts themselves. That’s what matters.”

“How so?”

“Well,” he tugged at my hand, leading me over to a bent coconut tree. The two of us hopped up on the leaning trunk, feet skimming the beach.  “Someone that conducts themselves morally. Ethically. I tend to have more respect for them. Someone who conducts themself without reproach? Probably not going to give a lot of time to.”

“You sound like you’ve had experience with that.”

“I was that,” he confessed. “I was someone who went out into the world and caused harm and felt no remorse. I took what I wanted. Said what I wanted. I didn’t care who it hurt or the lives it may alter. I only looked out for myself. And even when I knew I was wrong. Even when the evidence was right in front of me, I dug my heels in and made others feel lesser just so I wouldn’t have to admit to making a mistake.”

I could see it. The hint of fire behind his eyes. The self hatred for a person he had been so long ago and yet couldn’t seem to shake.  “You’re not him anymore,” I said softly.

Lifting my hand, he brushed his lips to my knuckles. “I know that,” he whispered. “And I make sure to remind myself of that. But, that is why I also don’t care what you look like. Grow a second head. Have scales for skin. Look like the most basic person in all the realm. It will never matter to me how you look, Lamplight. It will only matter who you are. And I’ve got to say, I really like who you are.”

“I really like who you are too, Mal.”

When his arm wrapped around me, I leaned in. The warmth and protection he so readily gave made me almost dizzy with affection for him. I wondered if he knew. If the sentiments he gave me he believed for himself. Because I loved him. I loved him like he was the air I breathed. Malcolm spoke frequently about how I had saved him. Time and time again I was his guide in the dark.  But I wondered if he knew how much he saved me. Just by enacting such simple acceptance.

Leaning forward, I captured his lips against mine, licking the salt from his lips. He sighed against me, his hand splaying against my back, pulling me close and refusing to let go. I felt his tongue come out to trace against my own, softly exploring and taking his time.

Beneath the setting sun, we sat. Exploring each other. Understanding who the other had grown to be. And in the dying light, I clung to him, silently letting him know just how precious he truly was.