When I woke up, my mum was in Sydney and I was wherever. And I needed to get some fresh air for the hangover tearing through my skull and stomach. I felt pretty terrible all over and hoped the water would help soothe me. The microwave said the time was Nine Thirty-Seven. I always wake up early after a night of drinking for some reason. That’s okay. I prefer to have more hours in the day. Be more productive. At least that’s what I say – usually my days aren’t overly productive at all. Too much thinking, too little writing.

Without any clue as to what time Katya might get up, I had decided to just go for a swim and return whenever. So I went into my bag which was still at the kitchen table and took out two towels and a pair of board-shorts. Whilst fumbling through it, I noticed all my notebooks (minus the poetry book) still there. I hadn’t given Katya any stories to read – and in the mood she was in, she hadn’t asked. Where the poetry notebook was, I didn’t know. I guessed I’d left it out somewhere while drunk. I told myself I’d find it later.

What was on my mind was Katya, as usual. In my stupid drunken way, I’d upset her. Her family was obviously as sore a spot for her as it was for me. My mind in overdrive, I was worried. She seemed to forgive me easily, but how many careless remarks could I make before it was one too many? I figured getting out of the house for a while would be good. She wouldn’t have to see me straight away. She’d have time to calm down. I hoped.

Changing into my boardies, I slung my towels over my shoulder and took a notebook and pen in hand. I exited through the door we entered through last night and left it unlocked – just incase Katya wasn’t awake when I returned.

The day was beautiful, with the daffodil yellow sun out shining, glowing over me with clouds slowly moving away from it. The sky above save those few clouds was clear and as vast and blue as the ocean I hoped to soon be swimming in. Walking around the outside of the house now with the benefit of daylight, it wasn’t so impressive. In fact, it was a little insulting. Deceiving. Sure it was big and laden with expensive tastes, but what else was there to it? It didn’t feel homely, nor comfortable until I’d become drunk – and that makes me comfortable anywhere. I’d been looking at the house so long as I walked, I’d hardly noticed when I was out front of it, standing on sand.

This is ridiculous, I thought. The house is isolated from the rest of the world, too good to be obstructed by any other places near it, I supposed, and the sand practically leads from the water to the front door. This place must be their pride and joy, I thought, and then thought of the way they’d treated Katya. Fucking rich morons with their whacked out priorities.

The feeling of the sand under my bare feet was heavenly. In the city it is too easy to forget little pleasures like this. I make it a point not to. At least, I used to. I dropped my notebook and pen to the ground before taking a towel and laying it on the sand. The other towel, I chucked on top of it – and then I turned to the water. And something suddenly struck me. I was alone. There was no one else on the beach – it was wonderful. I’d never been the sole being in an area so immense before. It was humbling. And I couldn’t wait to get in the water. So I ran.

The thing about running is: it’s the best form of therapy around. Better than talking about your problems, better than writing about them, better than dwelling on them. Running is the ultimate solution because when you run as fast as you can, you aren’t thinking, you’re just moving. There’s no time to ruminate over your problems – all you know is that you have to keep moving. Foot after foot after foot until eventually you’re kilometers away from your troubles, and when you stop, you’re spent and have no energy to think about anything. It’s enough to breath.

So I ran and was free and was happy and then was in the ocean. Instantly my hangover was eased. My headache, though still apparent, was relieved greatly by the extremely cold water and my stomach pains virtually disappeared. Whether this was the healing power of the water cleansing me or just the coldness of it distracting my mind, I didn’t know. I didn’t care. All that mattered was that the pain was gone.

I dove right under the water and kicked myself forward. When I arose for a breath, I rolled over and just let myself float wherever the water wanted to take me. This was letting go. This was life. Alone with my thoughts and drifting – even with my body full of intoxicants, I was clear. A clarity the noise of the city made impossible to find. A clarity that many would forget or never know existed unless they allowed themselves to drift. Like a scent through the air. Just drifting away and finding themselves. Finding myself.

I was thinking about last night. I was hoping Katya would forget about what I’d said, or feel better about it in the morning light. My mind wandered though, into fantasies. Visions of her yelling at me, screaming like she had at her father. Telling me I was out of line and to get away and out of her life.

Overthinking. The curse of a writer. You leave civilization to escape the noise, but when you’re alone, you can never escape your thoughts. When you’re drifting, you’re sometimes taken where you don’t want to go.

Write, I thought. I’ve got to write. Mr. Salinger’s speech came back to me sharply. Come to class and work or don’t bother coming at all. Maybe, I hoped, if I write a whole heap of new material, all may be forgiven. Possibly I can salvage the year. Possibly I can be productive. So I rolled around in the water and waded until I was facing the beach. Katya’s house seemed so much smaller, yet still stood out all alone. I’d drifted quite far, but it wouldn’t take long to swim back. I ducked my head, started kicking and moving – like on land, I moved as fast as I could. Soon enough I was back on land walking to my towels, leaving a trail of drips behind me. Soon enough the water would wash over them and they would evaporate, rendering all signs of my time here dead and non-existent.

When I got to my towels, I picked one up and dried myself. I was a little cold now out, despite the sun, but I put it out of my mind as I lay down on the other towel and grabbed my notebook and pen. Writing is so easy when you’re away from the city. It takes no effort. No thought. You can just start.

And so I wrote.

I wrote short story after short story, poem after poem. My notebook was filling up with words streaming freely from my mind to paper. It was feeling great and I was becoming increasingly happy with the work I’d have to show Salinger when I returned to classes.

Then an idea hit me. A realization, more so. For my Professional Writing and Editing class, I was meant to be working on a novel for the elective Novel 1A. Since I hadn’t been writing much this year, the last thing on my mind had been writing a novel. But now it was crystallized in my mind. The perfect story.

Owen and Katya. Based in reality, once I got past all that had actually transpired, I decided I’d draw a fantasy for us. An adventure. I didn’t know where we’d go, what we’d do or how the story would end – all I knew was that I had to start writing. And once I started, I couldn’t stop. It was flowing so naturally that I lost time. When I was finally broken from my trance, I’d written three chapters, and the beach had a new attraction.

“Hey.” Katya was nearing with some towels in her left hand, the guitar in her right. She was smiling and radiant and free of any ill effects from the alcohol, it seemed. Looking up from my pages, I smiled. How could she be so chirpy when I’d felt so sick? My smile grew when it dawned on me that Katya was less dressed than I’d ever seen her – only wearing a two-piece bikini. Jesus Fucking H. Christ. I wouldn’t be able to swim for a while.

She placed her guitar down and then laid a towel on the sand. When she sat down on it, beside me, still smiling, I wanted to leap on her and never stop touching. When our eyes met, nothing else mattered. I’d known this girl six days. Six days, and I felt more in love with her than I ever had felt strongly about anything. Or anyone. She’d come like an angel, rescuing me from myself – the despair I was marred in. She made me a better human being. She made me care again.

“How long have you been out here?” she asked.

“I dunno.” I answered vaguely – “What’s the time now?”

“About Two Thirty.”

I was astounded.

“Two Thirty? Shit, I’ve been here since about ten.”

Her eyes grew wide. “Wow. You just been writing?”

“Uh-huh.” I held up my notebook and showed her how much I’d written. She was impressed and I was proud. “How long have you been up?” I inquired.

“Not long. I just had a shower and some breakfast before coming out.”

Breakfast. I realised I hadn’t eaten all day – and I wasn’t hungry. Writing and with Katya, my needs were satiated. I was content. Staring up at the sun, lying on my stomach, this was close to a perfect condition. Katya and I, alone, isolated together.

“So don’t people come ‘round to this part of the beach?” I queried, the lack of bodies here striking me odd.

“Not often. It’s a big beach, as you can see.” She opened her arms and motioned to the stretching sand around us. It went on forever. This place was infinity. Suddenly there was a spark from wherever inside her mind and she had to get her apologies off her chest. “I am so sorry about deserting you last night. I was really drunk, and I remembered just this morning how rude I was.”

I shrugged on the outside, breathe sigh after sigh of relief on the inside. “It’s okay. I was tired anyway.” I replied coolly. She relaxed as any tension she may have imagined washed away from the moment.

“Do you mind if I play guitar for a while?” Katya’s lips parted, making words as she already began to pick up the Maton.

“Not at all. That would be nice actually.” She courteously nodded and started playing and I soaked in it for a while before continuing with my story. Our story. Unfolding around and through us. The cadence of her music with the sound of the waves reaching the shore made the writing even easier. Doing this, it was all I ever wanted to do again. Katya wasn’t singing, just playing. Whether that was shyness or just what she wanted to do I didn’t know. I didn’t care to bother her by asking either. I wanted nothing to stop this day. I wanted it to stretch on forever like the land all around us. I just lay, left hand writing, right hand all running fingers through the soft sand. My novel was writing itself as Katya just strummed and watched the horizon. We did this for hours before she put down her guitar and got up. I didn’t know what time it was, but wherever we were, time had no meaning. I looked up at Katya was her bare feet took her slowly away. She was heading to the water and turned to me, walking backwards as I picked myself up. Her smile enticed me as she teasingly asked:

“Are you coming?”

This was instantly the sexiest thing she’d ever done. I wanted her more than anything in the world. I was with her, yet still ached with longing – and this was the first time she’d been so outwardly flirtatious with me. Was I coming? Just try and stop me, world.

I was up quickly and caught up with her. She put her arm around me. Skin on naked skin. It gave me shivers. As we neared the water, Katya kidded:

“You know, you look quite cute in those boardies.”

I smiled and tried not to blush, while the workers inside me fanned themselves, dripping with sweat. Any other time, ‘cute’, especially from a girl was a damning indictment. No one fucks ‘cute’. But from Katya it was fine. More than fine – completing. With you I feel whole, I thought. With you I’m only with you. No distractions, I told myself. We were now ankle deep in water, moving in deeper.

“Well?” Katya said, freeing me from my mind.

“Well what?”

“Well, now you’re supposed to tell me how good I look. Don’t you know anything!” She joked and gave me a slight push in jest. I chuckled.

“Yeah, but you always look good, so it doesn’t count.” I replied dismissively, in equal jest but completely serious. Katya stayed silent for a few seconds before:

“Hey, look at that!” She exclaimed excitedly, pointing to my left in the distance. I turned my head to see and within a second was face first in the water. She’d tripped me, and by the time I was up, she was moving, deeper and deeper, laughing and taunting me. Wanting a chase.

I closed my eyes, immersed myself in the ocean and kicked forward. Invisible to her, I opened my eyes underwater. It hurt, but I needed to see where she was. Ahead of me. Moving closer and closer and closer until I was the one with my head out of the water and she was the one gone under. I’d pulled her down by her legs, tripping her like she’d done to me. Soon she was out.

“You’ll pay for that one.” She warned and then lunged at me. She was quite strong and with my smaller frame we had quite the water-wrestling match going. It was insane. I was a child again, playing with my cousin as my mother watched on warmly. This was the most fun of my life, this day, and Katya and I wrestled and laughed and played until it finally started to get dark and Katya stopped and said “Let’s go inside.”

And I said “Okay.”

“And she said “Wait,” And I did. “There’s something I’ve wanted to do all day.” Her wet hands took my face in them as she put her lips against mine hard and kissed me with more force than I’d ever been kissed with. Her tongue attacking mine, I was taken aback, but there would be no complaints. We stopped for a second for air and in the moment I saw her eyes, I felt so endeared to. I was loved again. She was kissing me the way I’d been wanting to do to her all day – and I quickly, gently wiped her wet hair away from her face before resuming the kiss, letting my hands wander down her back, touching her, I wanted desperately to just tear off her bikini top. I wanted to be naked with her. But I never take the initiative with girls. Am always afraid of the backlash. So I let her kiss me and I kissed her back. Our lips together furthering the delight of the day and when we were finished, it was night.

We took our stuff back inside the house and Katya again was in charge of the dinner. Chicken Schnitzels and whatever veggies she could find. I was already drinking, finishing the bourbon we’d had had most of last night. It was polished off by the time dinner was starting, so Katya opened another bottle and we let it drench our livers as our food filled our stomachs. When we were done, Katya said she had something to do. From a CD player somewhere, Songs For The Deaf by Queens Of The Stone Age came on loud. Katya asked me to clear the table of our plates and shit whilst she was away, so I obliged. When finished, I searched a little for my poetry notebook but couldn’t find it. I was a little worried – if Katya hadn’t been in the house I probably would have been screaming obscenities. That book was full of writing. Poems, thoughts, scrawls. It would be terrible to lose it. But really, where could it have gone? I asked myself. It has to be around here somewhere, I reassured myself. Things don’t just disappear.

Katya had been gone, in her bedroom for almost half-an-hour when she finally returned. I was reading over some of the stuff I’d written earlier at the beach, reliving it, when Katya appeared with a joint in each hand.

“Surprise!” she beamed. I grinned. At the beach I’d thought that pot would be the perfect icing on this perfect cake. Now we had it.

“Where’d they come from?” I asked. Katya’s grin widened.

“I’ve got plenty of it. Maybe seven grams. It’s just leftovers of a birthday present.”

I scoffed. “What? Did someone buy you an ounce or something?” She nodded. I shook my head, incredulous.

“Bloody nice friends.” I added. Katya just handed me a joint and lighter. “Where are we smoking?” I asked.

“Here. Give the place a nice smell for next time Steven and Karen have a party.” She smiled sinisterly. I shrugged and lit my joint before handing the lighter to Katya for her to do the same. She could be quite vengeful when she wanted to, I thought. Her parents deserve it, I knew.

Smoking pot can be the most peaceful thing, especially when you’ve got some spirits under your belt. Just the simple toke-pull-release and you can feel it in you. It was good weed too, not the kind that makes you sleepy. When I was done with my joint and Katya with hers we both conferred and concurred that we were quite stoned. But we needed more.

And so it started.

We smoked for hours, all the time mucking around writing and playing guitar. We were being creative and it was great. Katya even got in on the act, writing poems with me. It was amazing – like we were making some kind of spiritual connection.