Playalinda 
[ Samantha Crane ]

Brenda looked through the trunk, checking off each item as she touched it with her index finger. Beach chair, check. Sunscreen, check. Mystery novel, check. Her husband came bounding out of the house carrying a tangerine colored beach towel. He had a wide grin on his face. She eyed him skeptically, Glenn wasn’t a big smiler, so this grin was disconcerting. She opened her mouth to ask him what he was smiling about but shut it again when he began a breezy whistle. She shook it off and went back to her checklist. Snacks, check. Wine coolers, check. The driver’s side door slammed shut. The car gargled to life then the power window slid down with a whine and Glenn stuck his head out. 

“You all done, hon?” He asked. 

Brenda peered around the car and gave him a glare that said obviously I’m not done, if I was done I’d be in the car. 

“Okie doke.” Glenn’s head retreated. 

She slammed the trunk, took a deep breath, walked around the car and yanked the passenger door open. Brenda could feel Glenn’s excited glare on her as she plopped into the seat. She did her best to conceal an eye roll as Glenn put the car in reverse and backed out of their driveway. 

*****

“This isn’t the way to Crumb Beach.” Brenda’s head swiveled around, looking for something familiar. Glenn had insisted on listening to public radio while they drove and within minutes Brenda had fallen fast asleep. She was awoken abruptly during a commercial break for smoke detectors. That’s when she realized she had no idea where the hell they were. 

“Glenn,” She eyed him, “where are we going?”

The twinkle in his eye made her stomach lurch. 

“Oh lord, you’re finally doing it?”

Twinkle. Glenn turned off the road into a parking lot. The car rolled over gravel, every inch crunching louder as Brenda’s irritation grew. 

“Turn this car around.” 

His smile widened, she could see teeth now. 

“You know this is kidnapping right? You’re kidnapping me.”

He laughed, “No it’s not, don’t be dramatic.” 

“Do not park this car.” 

The car jerked to a stop. He looked at her. He was absolutely giddy. 

“Glenn, I’m not doing this.” 

“Suit yourself.” He hopped out of the car with pep Brenda hadn’t seen in years. 

She sat in the passenger seat fuming, rocking slightly with every bump and thump of the car as Glenn emptied the trunk. When he was done he closed the lid with gusto knocking Brenda’s head into the headrest. Her eyes narrowed, “Motherfucker,” she said as she opened the car door, exited and slammed it shut in one furious motion. 

*****

Brenda stood on the sand berm, one hand shadowing her eyes from the sun and the other clutching her tote bag. She looked down at the water. It was beautiful. She always felt relaxed by the ocean, but just the ocean. Rivers, lakes, ponds, puddles, rain, baths, showers, none of the other water did it for her, just the ocean. She took a deep breath and sighed. She scanned up and down the sand, not a lot of people, mostly men, older men, all naked. She bent down and removed her Tevas then began her descent. Her eyes lazily searched for Glenn. He definitely wasn’t by the rocky outcrops to her left where a volleyball game was well underway, and not too far to the right where a group was tempting fate by BBQing. She grimaced at all the horrible possibilities an open flame could bring to this beach. She shakes the thought of paramedics and firefighters hoisting a naked man onto a gurney from her head. Just then she spots Glenn just on the other side of the empty lifeguard tower. She slowly makes her way over. 

“A little far from the water aren’t we?” 

He shrugged. “You can set up wherever you want.” 

Brenda grabbed her beach chair from the disorganized pile Glenn had made and moved down the beach. She found a spot just out of the tide’s reach. She shook the beach chair out of its holster then threw it open. She pressed the locks on the legs and pushed the chair into the sand. She reached into her bag and pulled out a strawberry-mango-jalapeño-cucumber freeze wine cooler and her mystery novel, Who is Guilty, Is It You?. She smiled at the cover, a gruff detective looking right at her with one eyebrow raised. She loved this book series, had read each of the previous eleven as soon as they were released. A burst of laughter came from the group BBQing. She didn’t want to turn and look at them but curiosity got the best of her. The small smile on Brenda’s face flipped and expanded into an irritated frown. 

“Sonofabitch,” she muttered, her relaxation shattered at the sight of her husbands pasty porcelain butt in a gaggle of other exposed rears, immediately noticeable because of the Idaho-shaped birthmark on the left cheek. He was making friends, probably telling one of his terrible jokes. She dropped down into the chair, scowling as she unscrewed the top of her wine cooler. Brenda threw her head back gulped down the entire wine cooler. She grimaced as the jalapeño flavor scorched its way down to her stomach, then reached for another one.

She opened the novel to page one when a tan blob streaked in front of her. Her eyes peered up over the edge of the book just in time to see a middle-aged pecker bouncing across her view. She blew out a breath, blinked her eyes hard, so many things on this beach she didn’t want to see. She sang a little ditty to calm herself, “Head, shoulders, tide in toes, tide in toes, head, shoulders, tide in toes, tide in toes.” She took a sip of her wine cooler and turned her attention back to her book. It was a dark night, darker than any dark Detective Jeff had ever seen. Another tan streak appeared in Brenda’s peripheral vision and against her will her eyes shot up in time to see a full bush tumble by. She grimaced. 

“That’s it.” Brenda stood up, grabbed the front of her chair, and dragged it a few feet closer to water. “This oughta be better.” 

She returned her attention to her mystery novel. Bad things happen in the dark, Detective Jeff knows that better than anyone. A high pitched scream startled Brenda, her heart jumped, she turned toward it. A tall man with a round belly and no tan-lines had thrown a gray-haired woman over his shoulder and was running down the beach with her. Brenda tried to look away but couldn’t seem to, she watched them as they jogged past her, bare feet kicking up the surf in front of her, floppy balls and tits both swinging in rhythm with the man’s footsteps. 

Brenda buried her head in her book for a moment, to regroup. But Detective Jeff is about to find out that bad things happen in the light too. Brenda nodded her head in agreement. She picked up her chair and inched further into the water, which now lapped at her knees. She had to hold her book at an uncomfortable angle, straight arms, chest-level but she was confident that this area would keep her from unwillingly seeing someones junk bouncing around.  

She was wrong. A cluster of middle aged nudes paraded through the surf just beyond Brenda’s feet. Brenda gave in and watched for a moment. Saggy boobs, perky boobs, tan boobs, pale boobs, man boobs, large bellies, flat bellies, lopsided bellies, penis after penis, one of which was nearly totally obscured by an unruly lack of manscaping. Brenda wondered why they came here without presenting their most manicured selves. The laughter coming from the group told her that it didn’t really matter to them. She huffed out a breath and picked up her chair again. She took three large steps even further into the water. When she sat in the chair the tide tickled her neck. She held her book directly above her head. Detective Jeff had never seen such a sight. Horrible, monstrous things had happened here.

She read uncomfortably for 30 seconds when she heard splashing behind her then whack! A rainbow tie-dye frisbee hit Brenda right in the head. She grunted as she flung it as hard as she could back onto the beach. Her eyes caught sight of her husband, in all his bony, flaccid, glory running to retrieve it. Her ears burned, her eyes flashed red. She picked up her chair and carried it further into the water. When she sat down this time the ocean sighed. 

*****

Glenn pulled on his shorts and buttoned up his shirt. He went to the last spot he saw his wife. Her beach bag was still there. Her chair was missing and she was no where in sight. “Hmmm.” Glenn scratched his head. “She must’ve caught a ride home.” He gathered their things and returned to the car. He stopped for a moment to admire the beautiful sunset but he never saw the paperback novel wash up on shore. 

Samantha Crane is Chicago based writer. When she’s not editing drip literary mag she can be found riding bikes or reading books. Her short stories can be read online at Coffin Bell, Dream Pop Press, and True Chili (Underwood Press).