I called her the beach girl because I didn’t have anything else to call her. I saw her every day when I sat out watching the Gulf and the beach with my morning coffee, enjoying the early morning before I went in to start work.
I’ve lived here for almost twenty years, since I was eighteen, and thought I knew everyone in my little corner of paradise. But I had never seen her before she just appeared one day – and every day after that.
Since I work from home, I always dress in a white linen jacket and tan slacks with an open-neck blue shirt on work days. I find it helps me take my work more seriously than if I dressed in pj’s or a sweat suit. Not that I ever wear sweats anyway, but still.
She always appeared from the south, walking north, and always just before I went in, like clockwork. I tried waiting sometimes to see if she ever walked south later on, but I only ever saw her at that one time of day, and always walking north.
She always wore a white bikini. She was tanned, had golden hair, worn loose, and was beautiful. She never held or carried anything, and always had an enigmatic smile on her face, regardless of the day. Whenever I saw her, the opening lines of “Girl from Ipanema” always ran through my head, the Stan Getz version that opens with humming.
Over the weeks, we began to make eye contact, and then gradually, I started smiling at her. Her smile never changed, but she always met my eyes, and it seemed as if they twinkled when she looked at me…but it might have been my imagination.
I felt in my bones that she was a free spirit. Maybe she was a spirit in truth, as I could never discover anything about her, no matter whom I asked. No one ever seemed to know her or see her – except me.
Over time, I noticed that she walked closer and closer to where I was sitting, and farther from the sea, as if she were breaking free of its pull, and I wondered.
Finally, one morning, I called out, “Good morning!”
She tossed her head in acknowledgement, and continued walking, but I was sure her smile might have broadened, just a tad. But she didn’t answer.