I was searching. I wanted to believe — my romantic ideals wanted to believe — there was someone who could offer me the security and understanding I longed for. It was tough. It was tough to look, it was tough to realize, tough to accept that if it ever was going to happen, it wasn’t going to be during beach week straight out of high school. Curiously, that didn’t stop me. In fact, it might have made me look even harder. Just to prove them wrong. Them? What an absurd concept. As if the Fates honestly gave one damn about me and my quest for the perfect girl. As if there was a perfect girl. As if I was going to find her. There and then. The romantic in me though felt differently. He wanted her, like nothing he had ever tasted before. It wouldn’t happen. I knew before we even left my parents’ house on Sunday morning. And getting to the beach only reaffirmed it for me. This was to be a bridge for me, yes. But nothing all that life-changing. Nothing that profound. At least in the extreme I was searching for it. I was an idiot.
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