or should it be a river - as in 'Down by the River'? / a mixtape story with a mixtape.

The pier was on the other side of town from where he woke that morning. It was a hike but the trek had been a peaceful and quiet one. 6 am on a Saturday morning was probably one of the quietest times in this city. Tree leaves circle skating on the street was the only voice he heard. Distant car engines were somewhere else. He went by way of the traintracks: walked by a handful of his friends huddled in corners and under blankets, found a half smoked pack of cigarettes beneath a busted pay phone, and saw a dead dog. Train wrecked. No one he passed woke up; it was too early. On weekends, everyone sleeps in, he thought to himself. Except me. He continued on towards the water. His luck was up so he started in on one of his new cigarettes as he caught site of his pier. Some people adopt children; he adopted places.
As he rounded the corner and saw the three benches which looked out over the ocean, his heart stopped short. There she was.
There, with headphones on.
A small grin crept up from behind him.
It had been 2 years since they chose this bench looking out over the ocean. Before this place, it had been the back of the distillery, before that the top of the abondoned By the Sea hotel, and the city before that, the end of the alley on 104th street where the water kissed the land. A couch they claimed as their own had been left there and stood always dry under a loading dock roof. History. Today, Pier #6. And here she was, at this hour of the morning, cause she knew he was coming.
There was a certain sixth sense she had which he secretly counted on when his logic came up short. He believed in this and he believed in her, and so without fear he stepped towards the bench where she lay. The morning stood gray, not dismal but still. Early morning gray. Silence. The painkillers he had taken when he woke started to kick in as the clouds sailed softly overhead.
She was awake, not asleep. A beer in her hand. An empty can beneath the bench. She had on her purple winter coat. The one he had "bought" for her at Macy's on her birthday. She looked warm in the wind. Despite the location being so close to the ocean, it was relatively safe from the cold sea winds. At the end of the day during the golden hour, the place was another planet. For the past two years, everyday at 5pm, they'd been leaving the rest of the planet behind as they watched the day end here on this bench. He remembered these times as he silently sat down by her feet. There was a hole in her sole; she took off her headphones.
(New shoes, note to self.)
Even though they were both old enough, they still parented each other.
hey,
hey.
He enjoyed commas, she spoke in periods.
(Shit, I shoudn't have come,)
He lit the first cigarette and handed it to her, then lit his own.
Thanks.
She passed him the can of beer she had beneath her coat. He nodded his head in thanks, and gave it back after a heavy sip. And they both sat there, looking out over the water. Again. It didn't seem to get old. Through different oceans, different winters, different years. There is a point, he thought, where two people lose the need for speech, and when he was honest with himself...it kept him calm.
(You are the most beautiful woman in the world, and the glue that's kept me together, in sickness and in health.)
They both thought. He observed the ocean gently crashing into the pier below. She wondered what color this day would be and what shape it would turn into. They thought of each other. She sipped more beer. His eyes became slightly lazy and his chest let go. When she spoke it sounded like an echo:
So, what do you want to do?

I don't know, get some breakfast?

No. I mean what do you want to do about …stuff.

She sat herself up and from her bag took out another beer and passed it to him. He opened it and took a long drawn out drink. He wasn't gone yet, but he was drifting.

Why do we alwayss have to talk when we're drinkinng?

Silence,

Why, when's a better time for you?

(I hate when you talk down to me. It's your worst feature. You have no right to talk to me like that.. Shut it woman. Fuck off.)

No, it's just, I don't know,

I think maybe we should spend the day on our own.

Oh, you mean like just you and I? That's ok, I found a new place we could eat breakfast, passed by it last night. And there's this empty warehouse Kevin took me to the other day I wanted to show you.

No. I meant maybe we should spend it separately on our own.

Oh right, sure. that's fine.

Silence. Birds coasting by. Ships moaning.
He realized as the pills filled his lungs, he probably wouldn't have been a good time today anyway. He'd just be out of it. Again. The water replaced the leaves as dominant sound of the morning. As he closed his eyes, he remembered his dream; once upon a time; to own a boat and sail from ocean to ocean. How he saved up about 2 grand when his life changed in one day. The day he met her. The day he threw anchor. It's funny how dreams turn into reality and then into dreams again. It's funny how you can live your dream and then it turns into something else. The next thing you know you're turning reality into fantasy.
His fantasy's always saw themselves realized. The way she saw fantasy was more in the line of unicorns and bullshit. His dreams were grounded in reality. He made them happen.

So, see you later?

Fine.

Ok.

He lifted himself off the bench and thought the places he could go. There was the 5th Street park; no one would be there at this hour. Lucky had said there was a free breakfast in the rec center today around 10. That was only two blocks away from the park. Meet up with some friends and see her tomorrow sometime. He walked away from the ocean, the bench, and her, ready to take on Saturday with a vengeance.
She stayed sitting on the bench for a time, clutching the bus ticket in her pocket. She started to cry as she took a last look at the ocean. She stopped herself, turned around and started walking towards the bus station. Beer can in hand. Departure time: 5 pm. She turned on her cassette walkman and played the mixtape he had given her for her birthday. She would have plenty of time to listen to it in the coming days on the bus. It kept her calm.
http://www.mediafire.com/?sh8toxcezct