The moment is perfect; the air is hot and silent like dust on an art house film. Shit like this never happens in reality. Nothing around me but the deep blue sea; hot light sparkles off the water in infinite and complex patterns. I can feel the cold, smooth pressure of the oceans shadowy depths and the jagged heat from the lava rocks we two recline upon. The air between us is literally broiling in tiny ripples like an open oven door.

I smile at her through my blue tinted lenses and she smiles back, taking off her sunglasses as if she wants to say something to me.

I entertain a brief vision of witty conversation, two people rocketing toward the planet of Newfound Love, fumbling and giggling our way along the lines of communication with our mixture of Italian and English, hand gestures and laughter by the sea.

I wonder what here favorite movies are, and what she likes to eat. Do I look OK? Will she want me to meet her family? I wonder where she lives.

I see our relationship unfolding carefully, like a flower. I don’t want to rush this one. I want to do this right. Here is a chance to re-invent myself, and become someone better. She doesn’t have to know about all the horrible things I’ve done. Maybe she just sees someone who will be nice to her, listen to what she has to say and appreciate her for what she is. I imagine the gentle comedic incidents that will happen when she teaches me Italian and the way we will laugh and fondly remember this moment, which hangs in space like a glistening thousand faceted gem, incomplete.

I sit up slowly, grinning confidently at her, anxiously anticipating the song of her voice and the first thing she will say to me. I’ll bet her name is something wonderful. She opens her mouth to speak…

Well, not to me but to her six-foot, two hundred pound boyfriend and his two large companions who are simultaneously approaching from behind me. They are oblivious to our failed relationship, as they approach. When I have finished riding this sick waterfall of collapsing emotions to its end, I sigh with relief for this small freebie, slip on my head phones and slither back to my own world before I get my ass beat.

Thomas McKenzie is currently working for a small branch of the federal government as a photographer, researcher, historian and general techno-bitch, and is awaiting orders to Defense Information School. He dwells in the Pacific Northwest and is probably very angry right now. His work can also be read at www.tlchicken.com under the pen name 'Smokin' Joe Blow'.