The dance of the seagulls

The evening was marked by a clear sky of bright dots, vast space, and a bright moon impressing its splendor upon the bodies down below.  The location had always been a place of dating and romance.  Redondo Beach pier, it had always been a delight to lovers.  The waves in the distance washed over lovers on the sandy shore, sitting below the glow of the stars.  Seagulls danced in the wind up above, floating effortlessly waiting for morsels thrown to them by passers by.  In this particular evening a perfect match persisted.  The couple had clearly been lovers romancing under the stars.  Two lovers engulfed in their love and in a motionless dance, in a display of passion and tenderness, one body catching the scent of the other. 1

While walking on the pier one beautiful California night, I caught sight of a most unusual couple sitting at the far end of the pier walk.  The night had been the clearest I had seen for days, and there must have been but two puffs of clouds in the sky.  The stars innumerable that evening and the moon in her fullness, blanketed rays of light and splashed a touch of white onto every passing face down at the walk that evening.  Not meaning to interrupt the pair, I sought the comfort of one of the many cemented steel benches that littered the long pier walk. It was a spot to sit and observe this love affair.  Nestled down with a hot chocolate in hand, I could see from a short distance that they were both young, and perhaps in their late teens.  They appeared Asian, a boy and a girl.  2

He was dark haired, of light complexion, and slim.  His face seemed shaved and gentle.  Smooth black hair stroked his eyebrow with every passing wind.  3

Her face was clear and white like fresh snow in the morning hills.  Her jet black hair cascaded down her shoulders reflecting the soft evening moonlight.  Both were beautiful.  Both were in their prime.  Their countenance clearly that of two people entranced by each other’s stare.  It was a stare of love.  Their silence pierced the cool evening.  Their lack of words was replace with hand gestures and gentle body contact.  Streams of silent words seemed to flow from one to another.  An outflow of affection emanated from each of their faces.  His face was but 6 inches from hers, and seemingly desiring more than just her stare.  Occasionally he would raise his face to the sky as if comparing what he saw in her face with the beauty that lay above him.  I too followed suit and peered at the evening lights, but their sparkle seemed somewhat weak in the presence of their love.  In an instance I saw his right hand raised to her face.  He paused.  It was just a second but he proceeded to move a lock of her hair away from her face.  What an awesome sight to see.  Like spider web threads in the wind, the locks of her hair waived at him, inviting his touch.  No words, just a call of her eyes, meek, gentle. Her slender back arched and pointed in his direction, wanting of warmth.  Her skirt, a white and pink blend of silk flowers fluttered like seagull wings in the thin air.  Her blouse, a red blend of silk and rayon beaded top with ruffled arm cuffs, danced to and fro revealing slender arms underneath.   Her eyes, dark in the distance but soft and cat like, stared at his, careless of sights and sounds or splashing waters nearby.  It was not long before his right hand reached over and held her left.  He brought her hand close to his face, brought it to his lips, to his nose, and her eyes grew open like blinds in a living room window.  Her color seemed to change.  White became pink, and pink became red.  She flushed, sighed, smiled at him.  It was one of those smiles that spoke of tenderness as when one caresses a baby.  He held her hand as if cradling a snowflake, strong to support it but careful not to crush it.  Memories of my own youth flooded my mind.  The wind intensified a bit, and their hair appeared to unite into a blend of chocolate and caramel.  I took a sip of my drink, and noticed that it was getting cold.  I could see old Tony’s sign in the distance, still lit after so many years. 4

For a moment the lovers were distracted, their world broken by the silent call of a passerby.  A merchant from a nearby shop approached them.  He must have seen them from his niche a distance away.  Going over to where they sat, he brought with him a makeshift rack and displayed before them an array of scarves.  The intricacy of his collection amazed me.  He showed numerous styles.  I could see a myriad of colors flapping aimlessly on his wooden frame.  I envisioned each one wrapped about her beautiful neck, and I wondered if she would choose a red one, or perhaps a blue.  The young man looked at his lover for direction, looked for pleasure in her response, but with a gentle shake of her head and a fluttering of her hair she declined his offer.  With a waving hand the boy motioned the merchant away and turning back into his world, smiled at her.  She was his world.  Their world had become my world.  Their dance was the graceful dance of two seagulls I once saw at this same beach.  Their courting was, a collage of moves, of questions, and of messages sent one to another.  Their dance was a play of love.5

The number of visitors began to grow, a couple here, and a skate boarder there.  Two bikers dashed by, fracturing the tranquility of the evening.  It jolted me from my trance with a reminder that we were not alone.  An older couple strolled by the young pair, and made notice of the lover’s presence.  With a quick glance, the young man nodded his head as if with a greeting.  They continued on their own journey down the pier walk, whispering among them selves, occasionally glancing back in the direction of the lovers.  I could see little smiles in their wrinkled faces, and imagined the memories that could have surface upon seeing the younger couple holding hands.  The young man again returned to his mate, and I could see a concern on his face growing with every new distraction.  He motioned to the girl for a walk, and they reluctantly picked up and moved to another spot further down the pier.  They walked by each other’s side.  Their slender bodies swayed almost rhythmically with every step, each one clinging to the other as if for dear life.  With synchrony to their pace and the tightness of their hold a sense of intimacy was revealed.  I wondered how intense their love was.  They looked young and inexperienced, and yet images of an imaginable future raced through my mind. His arm held her waist, protective and gentle.  Like an orchestra director her body moved side to side in a graceful motion.  I did not want to miss anything, so I followed them from a distance.  We headed to another area of the pier.  There again we found the tranquility of the night.  They did not notice me just ten feet away.  Hidden in the darkness I continued to observe their story. I listened as the splashing of waves clapped against the seashore nearby.6

A homeless person in dire straits came near to them once.  He had a ragged look to his wardrobe.  He probably had not had a change of clothes in months.  I could sense from my spot a smell of ammonia.  Unashamed and with desperation on his face, he extended out a cracked hand to them.  I could read a story of need and want on his face.  It spoke a tale of many travels into dark alleys and cold nights.  Despite the darkness in my own area I could make out his eyes, blue, or perhaps green.  Clearly he had once been a good looking man.  He may have even held a good job, or supported a family once in the not so long ago.  I could not tell.  He carried the failures of his past and the ignorance of his future with him.  His only baggage was a shopping cart.  In it he dragged his belongings, his livelihood, old clothes really.  Like a scar upon his face, his eyes spoke volumes.  He seemed to be asking for money or for food, I could not tell which.  With a second of hesitation and a look of wonder, the young man unwrapped his arm from around his lover.  Reaching deep into his jeans pocket he took out some coins and dropped them in the beggar’s hand.  A smile developed upon the poor man’s face, a mix of glee and success.  He seemed overjoyed as if having achieving a victory against an invisible enemy.  He probably had tried a dozen times that night to reach out to someone and failed.  Tonight, however, he would eat a meal. 7

The lovers continued on with their dance.  They stood up and began to walk down the pier to an area that led in the direction of the beach.  Hand in hand they strolled slowly staring on occasion at the night sky over them.   I could tell that she had her arms crossed about her chest as she walked.  He had his hands in his pockets, shoulders constricted and shriveled by the chill in the air.  Her black hair dangled from her head, flipping and flopping.  The night was starting to get cold.  Where were they headed, I wondered.  A woman walked by with a child in a stroller.  The girl took notice and motioned to her lover the passerby.  Yielding, they walked over close to the carriage, and with a raised hand greeted the stranger.   The lovers bent over the carriage smiling and giggling.  They seemed to desire peek into the stroller and see who ruled behind that canvas shell.  I was missing out; I could not see the baby’s reaction to the two lovers trespassing into his little world.  As quickly as the stroller came, it left the couple and child and his mother moved away. 8

I saw that he kicked something on the road.  The object clanked along ahead of them, and I could hear her giggling and raising her hand to her mouth.  He seemed to take advantage of this and placed his arm around her shoulder.  She did not resist, but stopped, turned and looked into each other’s face smiling then unexpectedly, he made the last stretch and softly kissed her right cheek.  I could see her eyes closed and then open with a glow and with excitement.  They butted heads lightly, as if to read each other’s mind and then turned, held each other in an embrace; her arms over his neck, and his hands on her waist.  They continued on their way.  Soon there after, they must have finally noticed me following them, they glance back once in my direction.  They must have noticed me because they picked up their pace.  I must have disrupted their world, and the look on their faces revealed a sense of worry.  I quickly pulled back and lagging behind I change my course.  I could see them growing more distant from me as the seconds passed; two tree like figures moving quickly in the distance.  I could see their play, their dance of love, coming to an end.9

I will always remember that evening at the  Beach pier.  During the whole episode, the couple must have spoken but five words, and yet books could have been written on what transpired before me.  Mere words would fall short in describing their gestures.  Their facial expressions and body movements alone revealed vast information regarding the intensity of their affection.  The backdrop for their romance was a location replete with symbolism; the crisscross of the pier structure depicting strength, the plated wave panels over the structure paralleling the freedom of their love.  The interaction they held with the merchant was a wordless transaction, filled with color and excitement.  The old man’s gestures, and the young man’s response, coordinated and played like a musical piece. A painter could not have captured the rhythm of the seagulls flying above their heads.  On that night there was an eruption of passion, a fire that could not be quenched.  There were non verbal interactions of strangers and lovers, poor and rich, star lights amidst darkness; interruptions that resulted in the orchestration of emotions.  In the center of all this, sat two young hearts beating in unison.10