There was a major storm recently and the surf is still up in Santa Cruz, California. It’s Saturday so, the surfers are out in force, not heeding dire warnings about the kind of water pollution that follows heavy rains. In the parking lot, next to the cliff banister, a blond surfer dude is changing. He is taking off his wetsuit under the protection of a single tattered, short and narrow towel knotted around his thin waist.
Feet away, against the banister proper, a quinceaňera in a long off-the-shoulders ballgown is having her picture taken. Her skin is the color of toasted bread and she has a pure Aztec profile. Her Catholic mother, the planner of the event, including the dress probably, has overshot her mark; the girl’s top is really, really cut very low.
I am pretty sure that someone saw something he or she was not supposed to see. It’s hard to tell which. The girl’s brown skin and her shocking pink gown wouldn’t showcase blushing anyway. The boy’s own skin has a green tinge from being too long in the Pacific Ocean. At any rate, after so much immersion in that cold water, the surfer dude would be hard put ( if I dare say so) to betray visibly much emotion.
Ah well, as we are fond to say in Santa Cruz, everything happens for a purpose!