The Boy in Goa

The Boy in Goa

         There was one steamy night in southern Goa where I sat on the wooden floor by the bed. The little place was much like the others lined along the beach, rented by the tourists to escape the cities. There was no light, and the sun was just setting. I was crying.

         My hair had been weathered by the beach and my skin was hot because of the sun. We were living out of the backpacks which sat on the little wooden chairs that were painted light green. I could see the orange beach and the strange trees that looked like pineapples through the screen door. There were never many people on this beach, which was nice. Alexei had the keys to our cheap hut. He had gone to the market to steal some food; he had gotten over the guilt of stealing from the locals, we had less money than them. I didn't mind when he disappeared sometimes. I liked to be alone.

         My flipflops were in the tub, they were wet, so I didn't bother to get them. I stepped onto the porch which had two chairs on it and a little plastic table. This place was amazing. The city was a few kilometres away, and there seemed to be nobody around. I felt safe here, which was unusual.

         My tears were stinging my eyes and I walked a straight line towards the warm water. It was deep navy as the sun was setting over the horizon. Saltwater began to encircle me as I made my way into the ocean. Water always relaxed me. The water moved me, as I followed the waves. Sounds of the gentle waves made me forget my life for a moment, focussing on right then, floating alone in the ocean. The trees were blowing in a breeze that was not cool. The air here smelled of heat, and spices and saltwater. Closing my eyes gave me chills because I could not have imagined a more perfect moment. My tears and the ocean were one, I couldn't tell if I was still crying. I could have stayed in the ocean all night, but after the sun was gone, and the whole place was drenched in purple and orange light, my feet took me onto the sand.

         I walked down the beach trying to find my hut. The waves had carried me one way or another. The huts had a light on the porch which was yellow and not very bright. There was one hut with some people on the porch. They were young like me, and happy with the liquid warmth of alcohol. They invited me over. One boy had curly hair wet with water and sweat. There was a pretty girl with brown hair and white shorts. She was from Croatia and didn't speak English. Her boyfriend was tall and thin. There was a dirty blonde haired boy who was wearing checkered board shorts. There were others in and around, but I don't remember them.

         The conversation became blurry to me as I sipped from their drinks. It was lively and my stomach hurt from laughter. I remember it as bright and colourful, when it probably was not. "Why were you crying?" The blonde boy asked me when the laughter and jovial conversation had died down and people were splitting off in the night. "I heard you,"

         I shrugged, "I don't know." I was just emotional. His eyes were not as blue as Alexei's, but his lips were just as soft. His hands held my waist and mine held his cheeks. He kissed unlike I would have expected, he was gentle and passionate and slow. It was a pleasant surprise.

         Our bodies became close, and he pushed up my wet tank top and slipped his hands under to feel my skin. He leaned against the wall and held me close. He smelled tropical and like faint sunscreen. Feeling free and open, I let him pull off my shirt, as I pulled off his. I lived in my bikini and it was like being naked. Skin had never felt so raw. I let him touch and I touched. I let him kiss, and I kissed. And I didn't care to think of anything else but how lovely that moment was. This was a moment for me. It was a memory I would have, and him of course too ... if he could remember. Our embrace lasted a long time. 

         He got me excited, I remember, and then Alexei was there. He was on the sand below the porch shouting. I woke up the next morning in the white light next to Alexei's shirtless body. Mornings were always sweet there, and slow and loving. I told him I didn't remember what happened, and thanked him for coming to find me. The breeze blew the light red curtains and he understood - of course he did. He was beautiful like that. He said boys would try to take advantage of pretty girls, and I smiled.

         Of course I remember that strange night like it was a dream. It was not, because that blonde boy was very real, and I saw him in passing other times. Many other things happened on that impromptu trip, but that was one that changed me. And sometimes I don't know why.

         I wasn't drunk, I still had control, I could have stopped it if I wanted to. But I didn't and I should have. It's not even a feeling of guilt, and it should be. For a wild moment or two I was happy without Alexei - such a strange thing, considering what would happen. I grew in different ways that night, and sometimes I wish I had a picture of that blonde boy, though I know it wouldn't compare to my memory of him.