The Meeting Point by Olivia Lara

Eleven

There are quite a few people around the beach fire and at first, I feel uneasy. It’s the middle of the night, nobody knows exactly where I am—except for Max—and anything could happen. But they’re all so friendly and welcoming, I start to relax a bit.

I sit next to a guy with a guitar, who tells me his name is Remy. A bit of a player; you can tell ten seconds into the conversation. He also thinks he’s the next Elvis, so there’s that. I try to cut our chat short when he asks me ‘how a beautiful girl like me is alone on a Sunday night?’

Remy stares into my eyes for a long minute before grabbing his guitar and blowing me a kiss. “The next one is for the lovely Maya whose eyes are like the ocean,” he says out loud, and everyone turns to look at him.

He starts playing, ‘Can’t Help Falling in Love’, and while I smile and act flattered, inside, I’m rolling my eyes.

Across from me, on the other side of the fire, a woman and two men are talking and laughing. They seem to be having a great time. When Remy starts playing, they all stop talking, although I’m not sure if they’re listening to him or not. He’s not bad; a bit karaoke-sounding, but not awful. I try not to look in Remy’s direction and encourage him, so I stare at the fire instead. One of the men who’s sitting across from me must be doing the same, because our eyes meet for a second. The wind blows the high flames and makes shadows dance, his face only lit up for a moment. He gets up and walks away and I look away. That was an intense stare. I wonder if he was thinking this is all amusing, with Remy making a spectacle and me being the target.

How wrong is it that I wish Max would look into my eyes like that? I wish he was here and that feeling is getting stronger and stronger as the night advances. I’ve tried to put the thought out of my mind, but this incredible day is coming to an end and the excitement and adventure are almost over and I feel wistful.

I so want to talk to him, to see him. And I love our game, but I wish we could just talk without numbers and questions. Just talk the night away. But I wouldn’t know where to start and what to say, so I go back to the only thing I can.

Give me a number,I text.

33, he texts back.

Oh, this should take you a while to tell me all about. The question is: What’s your favorite day? Of all days. Could be early childhood or anything. I’m sure you have tons.

You’re wrong,he texts almost instantaneously.

You don’t have tons?

It won’t take me a while to tell you all about it.

How come?

Because it’s today. Today is my favorite day, he texts.

I gulp. I’m jumping out of my skin with excitement and nervousness and all the possible and impossible feelings I didn’t even know I could have. Did he say what I think he said? I reread the last messages three times to make sure I didn’t misunderstand. All I want to type back is: ‘Mine too. Of all days. It’s my favorite day, and you are the most interesting, selfless, funniest man I’ve ever talked to.’ I’m holding my phone and in the middle of the song, in front of that beautiful fire, I just start typing and press send so fast, I don’t allow myself to change my mind this time. It’s now or never.

Please don’t take this the wrong way… Is it strange if I say I wish you were here? I don’t know you, but you are the reason for this beautiful day and although I’m not alone and I’m not even lonely—surprisingly for me—I would’ve loved to share all these amazing things… with the person who made it all possible.

This is kind of crazy, isn’t it? And risky. No, it’s not risky. Why would it be? I’d feel it if something was wrong. No, this is me wanting to thank a kind man in person. That’s all. Right. Who am I kidding? I’m dying to meet him in real life because I already feel like I know him. I’ve already been ‘meeting’ him and getting to know him all day. If we were next to each other, we’d just continue where we left off with our conversation. Unless it would be awkward. I don’t know. I hope not. Did I just do this? I check my messages. Yes. Sent.

I take a deep breath and a shiver goes down my spine. I’m so incredibly nervous.

It’s been minutes and no reply. It usually takes him seconds. I ruined everything, didn’t I? Maybe I should text him and say I was kidding. Or ask directly if he wants to meet. Maybe my message just confused him. Can I be that direct though? I can’t. I want to but I can’t. It’s not in my nature. Today, well, yesterday since it’s past midnight, was utterly out of my character. Being alone in a new place, doing all these things, not me.

So, I do what I’m best at. Chicken out. Retreat.

I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel awkward. It’s just that nobody has ever done anything this nice for me and I’m a bit woozy from all the wine and beer. Been drinking a lot at the bonfire. I just meant that I’m grateful, that’s all. It would be totally strange if you were here. We don’t even know each other. Please ignore what I said.

He doesn’t respond to that either. What did I do? That’s why I never act like this; that’s why it’s better to stay in your lane and mind your own. Not dream too high, not imagine crazy things. Magical, over-the-top, once-in-a-lifetime things are not for me.

The fire is getting smaller. Some people leave; others lie in the sand and fall asleep. Remy finally gave up on trying to convince me to go to an after-hours bar and left. Thankfully.

I’m sad. And now I do feel lonely. And stupid. I should leave, get some sleep before my flight. That’s when my phone finally beeps.

Not strange or awkward. I wish I was next to you at the bonfire too.

I can’t help but grin. But what took him so long? He must think about all the things I’m thinking too. He must think this is crazy. We don’t even know each other.

What should I reply? What more can I say? I think my message was clear enough. If he’s not suggesting anything, it’s because he doesn’t want to for whatever reason.

The fire is almost gone now. I’m getting up.

And my phone beeps again.

Give me a number, he says.

Now? He wants a number now? I don’t want to play anymore. Maybe it’s all a game to him, and perhaps it should’ve been for me too, but that bus—ha!—had left the station hours ago.

I sigh, and despite myself, I text: 49.

The question is: Would you ever consider meeting me in person? he texts.

I don’t think I’ve ever felt what I’m feeling reading these words. A mix of disbelief with excitement, joy, nerves, happiness. Is it happiness? Must be. Then I’m starting to doubt everything as usual.

Was that really the question at number 49?

No.

I chuckle, my hands still shaking, holding the phone.

And when I say ‘ever’, I mean today. Just so that’s clear. If you’re not too tired and can make it a little longer, the sunrise on Carmel Beach is a once-in-a-lifetime sight. It’s at six. I would love to… if the answer is yes, meet you there. There are some large rocks—you can’t miss them—and right next to them, an old bench.

I read and can’t help letting out a gasp. My hands are shaking even harder now, and I have a massive pit in my stomach. This is all so new to me—this feeling. And I can’t stand still, but I have to calm down and think.

I walk toward the ocean. In the darkness, the waves swoosh and a shadow moves in front of me. I immediately turn around and go the opposite way, to the beach’s edge and the lights. Once there, I sit on the low concrete wall and start typing. It might be the craziest thing I’ve ever done, but I’d hate myself if I didn’t take a chance on this. On me. On him. On this day.

Sorry it took me a while to answer. I’ve just been thinking. I don’t usually do this; I want you to know that. But there’s something about today that’s different. I guess this is my complicated way of saying yes. I’d love to spend the last hour of my birthday watching the sunrise… with you. I’ll be there at six.

Technically not my birthday anymore, but… still part of the amazing twenty-four-hour birthday adventure, so I’ll take it. I guess any excuse to see him, meet him, is acceptable.

I press send.

And then immediately add: Do you want to know what my question #50 was?