Sun. Sand. Surf. A typical Australian day, I think. Girls in bikinis, guys like you, and girls like me. Actually, that day, it was just girl like me. The day was last year, a Saturday, I remember it all too well. I tell my friends I remember it because of the reef, or the sand, or the jetty, but it was you. Really. It was. We all gathered there, the day before 2007, me, my family, my cousins, your family, and you. I've talked about you so often, it seems silly, and my friends tease me so much. I haven't seen you since. I remember your face, though, your hair, wet and plastered to your head. You had a six pack because you were thin, but you also exercised, giving it that fullness that made you so much more real. Your smile was pretty, braces and all, and you smiled so much that day. You didn't surf that day, you kayaked in the wave-less water. We swam out to the reef and I sat on the rocks like a girl and shivered at the shapes under water. You kept diving down, saying that there were fish and cracks in the rocks and plants down there. I was happy up on top, I didn't know you enough to follow you where my imagination forbade me from going. Later in the day, you made my cousin take me to the jetty. You wanted to jump off it, so you did. You did a kind of bomb, straight down into the shimmering green water. The coast guards had turned their heads for those few moments; the rocks were five meters away. Of course, we followed you in, but we didn't jump, and I had to take off my glasses first. (How I hated those glasses! If only you could see me in the ones I have now.)
We flirted with you, my cousin and I, though I said little, and you didn't seem to notice me. Looking back, I understand why. I was boring, unskilled at flirting and my cousin was good at it, and her Colorado accent seemed so sexy that day. I didn't like the beach, because of the shadows under the water, so I seemed too fragile and stereotypical for you to notice. I'm not. Please, please, I am not.
I know your name and I have searched for you, but you are like the invisible man. You leave no traces barring the memories and taste of salt and the feel of sand. I remember you because you were decent. You talked, trying to find out about us. If I could, I would talk back, I would ask you everything, I want to know about you. I want to know if you are worth dreaming about. I want to know if you are worth remembering. | 
