I stared out across the water. The moon was full, small wispy clouds drifted past like cobweb scarves. There was a strong breeze carrying the scent of salt through my hair. I stepped into the surf. The water was cool as it curled through my toes. It was a relief from the burning I felt inside - the sensation of needing out of my own skin. I kept staring out to the point where I could no longer tell the water from the black night sky. The moonlight made it look surreal like a painting. 

    I took another step. The another. The sweet, cool water lapped at my knees. I closed my eyes as  a small wave slapped my thighs, wetting my skirt. I opened my eyes and the moon was as bright as it could be, casting a glimmer across the water. The tiny lights of the shrimp boats  glimmered in the distance. I could just keep walking, I thought. The thought that I was secretly a mermaid crossed my mind. I would walk till I could no longer touch the bottom and then magically, I would be able to breathe. I would transform and swim into the abyss and leave everything behind. 

    I started forward again, willing myself to the sea. 

    "Hey!"

    I stopped and closed my eyes. My reverie was over. There would be no magical transformations tonight. Still, I didn't allow myself to turn. 

    "Talia!"

    I breathed in the thick. salty air, as if I could drown in it. Exhaling, I turned toward Scott up on the beach, He had brought out two folding chairs and it looked like he had a bottle of something with him - most likely Jameson. I dropped my eyes to the illuminated swirls of sea foam that swirledaround my legs. 

    "Come back! I don't want to have to go in and get you when you fall."

    I looked back up. He was sitting now, obviously ready to rescue me at a moment's notice. He took a long swig from his bottle, then set it in the sand and laced his fingers behind his head, watching me. More deep breaths. I started wading back in to the shallow of the beach. As I stepped onto the dry sand and made my way to the empty chair. Scott looked up at me and grinned his sloppy grin.

    "Were you gonna walk to Jamaica?"

    My mind instantly drew a map and I snorted before I could catch myself. Cuba, you idiot, I thought. I was headed due east. I covered it up with a fake sneeze.

    "Hey - I brought a little something to help us chill."

    Scott reached down and held the bottle up to me. I shook my head,

    "No, I'm good," I said.

    He patted the chair and cracked his usual grin. "Sit down. Relax."

    There was my problem, all wrapped up in a wickedly handsome body. Scott was attractive in that tall and stong way, but he was broken inside. Abusive parents, non-exisitent childhood, anger - you name it. He had a menu of baggage I couldn't even begin to identify with, and much of I am sure I didn't even know about. He was sweet, though. That made it even harder. 

    He took another long drink from his bottle of Irish whiskey. And there was my other problem. His diagnoses read like a list of degrees. PTSD, OCD, anxiety, bi-polar - yet he didn't go to therapy or even take medication. He relied on the alcohol to numb his feelings and cloud the world in a bearable haze. I knew about his emotional struggles going into it all, but the alcohol was a fairly new deveolpment. I reached over and grabbed the bottle. "Don't take it all," I chided as I took a mouthful.

    He cocked his head to the side and considered me a moment. "Well, drink up then!" he laughed. 

    We sat on the beach for an hour or so, talking about nothing much, when he abruptly stood up and stretched.

    "I've got to go lay down, I feel like crap," he mumbled. We had passed the affectionate stage of his inebriation and moved on to negativity. I took in a breath, about to try the "maybe if you didn't drink so much" comment, but thought better of it and exhaled. He looked at me crossly, "What?"

    "Oh, nothing," I covered. "I was going to agree with you"    He nodded and grabbed the nearly-empty bottle, tilting his head back to drain it. He turned and stumbled through the sand to the stairs, then trudged up toward the condo we had rented for the month. I looked down. As usual, his tunnelvison allowed him to forget he was leaving me with the chairs. I sighed and started to fold mine, but then stopped. Turning, I carried it to where the surf was just breaking on the shore. I planted it firmly in the wet sand and sat, once again letting my mind drift as I stared out at the inky horizon. I fell asleep, and dreamt I became a mermaid.

    "I have it on good authority, you know. Soccer chairs don't make good boats."

    The voice behind me startled me awake.I was cold.  Where was I? I looked around and rememebred the chair on the beach. I sat up and saw the surf had risen and was nearly to my knees. The waves were stronger, splashing into my lap.

    "Need help?"

\    I turned and saw him. He was standing behind me, just beyond the reach of the water. The moon was low in the sky, but I could still see his face. He was smiling. "Tide's coming it. I'd come on in if I were you."

    I stood, just as a large wave rolled in and knocked me off my feet. Before I could wipe the salt water from my eyes, strong hands were on my arms, helping me to my feet. I blinked and wiped my face with my hands. "Whoops!" I sputtered. 

    The stranger chuckled and grabbed the back of the chair. He lifted it with one hand and took my elbow with the other. "Hang on to me. It's getting a little rough out here."

    We waded back to the shore where he set the chair down next to the other Scott had abandoned. I saw his jeans were soaking wet. "I am really sorry. Thanks for rescuing me." I glanced up at this face. He was stunning. He smiled and reached out to wipe sand from my cheek.

    "Well," he smiled, "I couldn't let you stay there. The world needs as many pretty girls as it can get." His icy green eyes bore right through me. I was speechless. Who was this guy?

"I-" The words weren't there. My heart was fluttering and my breaths were coming quickly.

 "Sit down a minute," he said. I complied as he grabbed the other chair and carried up to the half-flight of stairs by the condo. He returned and crouched down in front of me. "You okay now?"

   "Um, yeah. I'm good," I said quietly. "Really, thank you."

    He half-smiled and seemed to think for a moment. He stood and took a step back. Before he turned, he hesitated. "Mermaids don't really have it all that good, you know. Besides, solid ground suits you." He smiled to himself and turned. I couldn't do anything be stare in surprise as I watched him walk down the beach toward the dark.

    "I have always wanted to try this place!"

    Scott pulled me by the hand down the pier toward the building perched precariously on the end of the long, wooden structure. The faded orange Captain Joe's sign was testimony to the fact this was a local hang-out and not a tourist trap. We walked in and were greeted by four sets of untrusting eyes hovering at the bar. True to his nature, Scott was oblivious to their judgemental stares. He greeted the room warmly.

    "Howdy, folks!" 

    I slunk behind him as he made his way to a table and sat down. He plucked the menus from the center and handed one to me. It was nothing more than a brown paper bag with seven or eight handwritten items on it.

    "Well," he said, arching one eyebrow, "There's so much to choose from, I'm stumped!"