Elliot stood there.

Retreating foam hissed against his feet, grounding him in the moment.

“But I don’t even know you,” he said, his voice barely audible over the crashing surf.

 

Elliot’s words slipped out before he could stop. He looked at the ocean, its beauty pressing against his heart. The sea was dark, shifting, alive with salt and time.

The chill crept over him.

The sun glinted off his buckle.

Cowboy hat in hand.

Despite the sea’s vastness, he felt tethered, yearning for something just out of reach, a longing mixed with hope, fear in the salty air.

He didn’t belong here.

Not in this moment.

Not in this place- Not at this time.

Yet, for reasons he couldn’t name, leaving felt impossible.

 

Jesse’s hair fluttered, the silence humming between them. He turned his collar up against the wind as the sun melted the horizon from red to gold. Light danced over the waves and flickered across his face.

 

“Then get to know me,” he said. “Please.”

 

It wasn’t a demand, but a gentle plea. Longing— raw and unguarded. An emotion pure enough to make Elliot’s heart ache.

 

Elliot turned away. The wind, cold and briny, tugged at his shirt and rocked him off balance. He closed his eyes, and in that hush, his world spun backward—returning him to where it all began.

 

 

The airport buzzed, loud and alive. Everything in a small town sounded different. Here, Elliot tasted sunlight and salt as the breeze brushed his skin. Montana, with its steady wind and scents of wheat and hay, felt confined to him. His life was shaped by powerful people who demanded more than talent. He slid on sunglasses at the pick-up curb, suitcase by his leg, exhaustion on his face. His phone buzzed with the notification.

 

Your driver, Jesse, has arrived. Silver SUV. License ending 99

 

 

Jesse touched the screen and headed towards the queue.

He noticed people waiting, immediately seeing who he was to pick up. A younger man. Cowboy hat of straw, sunglasses, a buckle like a salad plate, stood out from the crowd, awash in business attire and stress.

 

A character in his next story.

 

Being a writer gave Jesse freedom to live in the worlds he created. Grief followed him after his mother died. He remembered walking the coast, her laughter blending with the waves. These moments lingered, replaying when the pain was too great. Writing was lonely, but imagination broke the solitude and eased his loss. In his stories, he found passion for life.

 

“Elliot?” the driver asked, leaning towards the passenger window.

“Yeah, that’s me,” he replied, lowering the sunglasses.

 

Jumping out to open the trunk and help with the bag, he came around as Elliot did the same, and for a second, he forgot what he was about to say. It felt like deja vu. Perhaps it was something in the man’s expression, the tilt of his head. It hit Jesse in a way he couldn’t explain.

He activated the hatch, starting its closure, as Elliot climbed into the back.

“I’m Jesse,” he said. “First time in the city?” he asked, looking at Elliot through the rear-view mirror.

“First time anywhere near the ocean,” Elliot replied, removing his sunglasses.

He ran his hand through his hair, placing his hat on the seat, as their eyes connected in the glass.

“You’ve never been to the ocean?” he asked as he exited the airport drive.

“Not once. And I can’t wait to see it,” he said, with a renewed energy in his voice. “It was amazing from the plane. I hope to get up close to it while I am here.”

Jesse noticed Elliot’s voice sounded bright and youthful. Warm with a little gravel at the back of each rolling word.

“And where are you from?” Jesse asked.

“Big Arm, Montana,” he replied, his face turned up to the buildings passing.

 

Fingers of glass and steel flexed in the afternoon light. Shadows made patterns dance across his face. The city’s hands clasped him in their embrace. It was a different world for Elliot. Coming from a place where the tallest structure around was a silo, miles away, he marveled at the immensity and scale. He saw beauty on every corner, as he absorbed the sounds and smells of a large, urban city for the first time. It was a manmade hive of magical activity, where everything was shiny and clean.

 

“Guess I get to be your tour guide,” he said, glancing at the mirror again.

Elliot returned the look and smiled. They held it for a moment. “I guess so.”

 

The car raced over the pavement, humming its own low song. Buildings gave way to an open road as they drove. Sunlight softened, creating a metallic feel of Naples, Sienna, and Buff. Each kissed the landscape, blending together, blurring the distance. Reminding him of home.

Glimpses of the ocean appeared.

Flashes of cerulean peaked through.

Elliot’s heart skipped.

Each time he leaned forward, hoping to see it more clearly.

 

“What brings you here?” Jesse asked, taking a slow curve on the highway.

He hesitated before responding, “I’m meeting someone,” he replied, a thread of apprehension in his voice. “We’ve been talking and using FaceTime for a while.”

Their eyes met again.

“Wow!–That’s brave,” he said, turning his eyes to the road. He felt a sensation he couldn’t explain.

“Online meet-ups are… well… you know.”

Elliot looked out the window.

“I guess I wanted to see if it’s real. I needed an excuse for a break anyway.”

 

He knew what was at stake. Elliot and Dustin had been chatting for a while and felt comfortable taking this chance. The connection was there, knowing it would be his exit from Big Arm. To start life on his own terms. Knowing the risk of being alone, controlled, and dictated to made him feel small. He needed to be seen for the first time.

He wanted to belong.

 

The tires sang softly. Jesse looked back at the glass of the mirror, stealing a glimpse. A song floated behind his eyes. The first beats of the music, followed by the lyrics. It was a friend returning to his shoulder….

 

“And if it’s not?”

Elliot continued his gaze.

“At least I will know.”

 

The tires lulled a period of silence. Elliot watched the seagulls, some gliding close to the level of the window, as the car drew closer to the beach. A twinge of envy registered. He wanted to be them, soaring away. ‘Free as a bird’ came to mind, reflecting on his life.

 

“What do you do in Big Arm, Elliot?”

Elliot startled, returning from the sky.

“I’m an artist.”

Jesse glanced into the mirror. This time, Elliot looked back.

“That sounds interesting,” he said, raising a brow.

“Any good?” he asked, grinning, his eyes getting smaller in the glass.

“I guess you could say I got lucky,” he replied, breaking the gaze.

“I paint what people think they want. And while my looks are a part, it doesn’t mean I have to like it,” he said, forcing a smile, a tinge of regret in his voice.

He let the silence between them carry the weight of his frustration, bitterness gnawing at the edge.

 

Elliot exhaled deeply, shoulders slumped, as he lowered his forehead to the glass. Why did he say that? This man didn’t need to know. It was the judgment Elliot placed on himself, caused by the only men he had any connection to in his world. Remembering his recent critique, Mister Dinali stood behind him, caressing his shoulders, hands suggestively rubbing, lingering too long. His smoky, nicotine-infused words close to his ear as he described the painting and what to change. He felt that Mr. Dinali wanted him to be his personal ashtray, hoping to stub out his fire.

 

Anger flared, forcing him to focus on the scenery beyond the glass.. He was uncomfortable sharing this side of his world. It made him feel cheap. Living in Big Arm was tough. Being an artist was tougher. There are no connections. No one to associate with unless you have patrons, which he had, but they weren’t always bound by rules.

 

“Explain that,” he said, matter-of-factly.

“What do ‘looks’ have to do with it?”

Jesse was intrigued. Knowing nothing about the art world, this was all new to him.

 

Elliot sighed, understanding he could only say what he had experienced.

“Let’s just say, it seems old men with money like young men in the arts without.”

 

The edge of anger was back. Since being ‘discovered,’ he felt like an object, rather than a person who creates. Some of the older men wanted more than he was willing to give. He just needed to be seen. Appreciated for what he created.

 

“I don’t fit their mold…. I’m not a ‘polished model type.’ I’m a country boy.”

He turned to the window.

“That makes me the exception. I guess it makes me marketable,” as he turned to the opposite window, not wanting Jesse to see his pain.

“They’re my patrons. They influence wealthy people to buy my work.”

 

Jesse sensed a reluctance from him. Like he needed to hide. The space of the Lexus preventing it. Trying to be smaller, Elliot slumped in the back seat. He couldn’t help being upset, losing his voice.

The tires sang their melodic tone, blending with the air around the car.

 

“Sorry I’ve asked so many questions,” he finally said, a stillness in his voice.

“I don’t usually talk with the passengers.”

Elliot lifted his head..

“I guess you’re easy to talk to.”

Elliot forced a smile, trying to let it go as the car crested a rise.

“Wow! Now look at this. There she is,” Jesse said, pointing out the windshield. The timing couldn’t have been better.

 

Elliot looked forward, grabbed the headrest in front of him, and pulled himself closer. He rested his chin on the top of the seat and peered in awe.

A gleam returned.

He brightened.

His heart raced.

“Gets me every time,” Jesse said with a smile.

As before him was the ocean.

 

Montana is a state of beauty. Elliot never felt he was missing out. Being an artist, he had eyes for wonder and never took for granted that he viewed things differently.

But this was otherworldly.

His existence flipped one hundred and eighty degrees.

He couldn’t comprehend what he was seeing.

With each blink, he was convinced it couldn’t be real, forcing his eyes open as long as possible.

He inhaled richly.

Chest expanding.

Trying to force time to stop.

He didn’t know how he had lived before now.

 

Jesse slowed, turning on the signal, leaving the road. Elliot looked at him, a question on his face.

 

“What are we doing?” he asked in surprise.

“You can’t meet the ocean from the back seat.”

“Wait…. You can’t waste your time on me,” he said, unable to stop gaping.

“Who says I’m wasting my time?”

 

Navigating a narrow trail, he led Elliot to a stretch of sand banked with rocks and seagrass. Framing the view, the wind made the grasses bow to their honored guests. It was like a photo by Ansel Adams. Elliot approached the surf, foam racing up the sand, while wading birds scurried before it. The rhythm, like the earth’s, reached higher, ever closer to where he stood.

 

Most pulled out their phones, taking pictures, squealing with excitement

He just stood there.

Still.

Open.

Soaking in the breeze.

Listening to the sounds.

Tasting the moment like it was the last thing he would eat.

Waiting for the ocean to name him.

 

It was the moment that Jesse felt something move inside him. Not sudden or sharp. It was tide-turning.

Not desire.

Not lustful.

The quiet washed over him. An unspoken acknowledgment of change. Like when a melody played in your head for the first time in years, and your heart remembered it loved it. “Strangelove” returned with its percussive, haunting melody.

 

Elliot turned to face Jesse, a smile not fully formed. Soft on his lips, displaying his contentment, tears welled in his eyes as his heart felt at home. He approached Jesse, standing beside him, looking out across the water.

 

“It’s amazing,” Elliot said. “Emotional.”

“First time always is,” he replied softly. “You realize how small you are.”

“You’ve practiced that line,” giving him the side eye and a sneer.

Jesse grinned. “Maybe. It’s still true.”

 

Standing beside each other, silent, the tide reached higher, foaming around their toes. Elliot bent to touch the water— cold, alive.

“I used to come here a lot,” Jesse said, being thoughtful.

“After my mother died, it called me. It’s a good place to grieve.”

 

Elliot turned, easy confidence now tempered with something else.

“You can yell into the wind here. It doesn’t echo back. It just carries it away.”

“Does it help?”

“Not always,” he said, turning to face him.

“But it reminds me I’m still here.”

 

Elliot smiled, watching him, hands in his pockets, as he breathed deeply and strolled down the sand. Elliot didn’t know why, but he felt something open. A quiet sympathy that wasn’t pity, just shared humanness. Sensing it was something special and deeply personal. To him, a total stranger.

 

Drawing a deep breath, Elliot yelled with all his might. A longing bottled up for a lifetime.

It was carried away.

“Better?”

Jessie really studied Elliot.

Who was this man?

He didn’t know he existed a half an hour ago. There was something unguarded about him. Searching and tender. He didn’t speak. He just watched him turn to the sea, eyes filled with wonder.

The wind tangled his hair while he thought—

This is what it looks like when someone falls into the world.

 

Elliot stood in the surf, jeans cuffed, wet to the knee, while the waves shared their stories. He breathed in the salty air, heard the gulls call, closing his eyes while the musical chorus of the ocean surrounded him.

 

“Thank you,” Elliot said quietly, as Jesse returned.

“For what?” he asked, as he stood beside him.

“For stopping.”

“You can’t fly across the country and not meet the ocean,” he said, punching the words with underlying force.

Elliot laughed. The tones danced into the wind.

 

He stood watching him breathe, wondering what Elliot was thinking. He wanted to tell him everything.

How he lost his voice.

That he heard music.

The world had completely changed since he stepped into his car.

There was a brightness now. A joy again. The air was filled with laughter and happiness. He sensed the grief lifting. His world wasn’t as dark. The absurdity of thinking that something could start this fast. To believe it would happen or could happen, especially to him.

But it had.

 

He didn’t tell him.

Not yet.

 

He stopped making arcs in the sand with his foot. “You okay?” Jesse asked, turning his face up.

Elliot breathed in. “Just thinking.”

“About the guy you came to meet?”

He turned, eyes darting over each of Jesse’s. He felt a pull, a pause.

Small.

Charged.

Real.

“Maybe,” he replied.

He studied Jesse.

“Or maybe not?”

Elliot turned back to the sand, watching the foam curl beneath him.

“I don’t even know what I’m looking for,” he said, scrunching his toes, the softness oozing between them.

“Maybe that’s a good thing.”

 

A seagull called, the notes haunting with repetition. The wind rocked them, pushing them together, silently blending the air, the sea, and the moment. Spinning the world forward. And in the swirling hush.

 

They ended up here.

 

Elliot looked out at the ocean, its endless beauty pressed against his heart

“But I don’t even know you,” his voice barely audible above the crashing surf.

And Jesse, still certain, still unwavering.

“Then get to know me,” he said. “Please.”

The sound of it held steady, his eyes betraying the storm beneath.

 

Elliot couldn’t answer.

He looked to the horizon, the sun sitting like a half-eaten orb, fractured in the rippling surface of the water. The world felt enormous. Too many possibilities. Too unpredictable for this neat, digital version of love imagined. For the first time in his life, he didn’t know where he belonged.

A wave crashed.

Foam wrapped around them, receding. Leaving trails of confusion and desire in its wake. Jesse’s hand brushed against his. Not a grab, not a promise, just presence. Leaving Elliot with a question. One that echoed the rhythm of the waves:

“What do I truly want?”

 

The wind stopped.

The water lay still.

His breath caught.

They all held their place.

 

As the waves crashed upon the shore.