I was walking by the bay and there she was: slender, pretty, and not a day past 35. She was sitting with her sketch book, drawing multiple poses of the seagulls as they splashed and stretched near the shore.
“I love the seagulls,” I said softly as I walked by, hoping for a response.
"Oh, yes, the seagulls are positively enchanting!"' she replied, jumping up and extending her hand.
"Enchanting,” I repeated warmly. “Yes, they are.”
She held my hand and squeezed it.
“I’m so happy to meet you,” she said.
"And I, you!"
Still got it, I thought!
“May I see your drawings of the seagulls?” I asked.
“Oh, sorry, I don’t have any drawings of my grandparents, just of these ocean birds.”
"Yes, Herbert and Elsie Siegel. I’m Jane, I’m visiting this week.
“You must be one of Grampy's oldest and dearest friends! I’ll tell him I saw you schlepping down the beach."
I hate the fucking seagulls.