the pier

the pier, jutted out into the sea, rising up above the besieging waves, on cement legs. Along its length men held long rods, finger width spires trailing nylon whispers into the grey waters.
the wind railed against him, and her- he shivered and her laugh sprang up, was caught in, and was quickly dispersed. out on the shimmering blue horizon the sun, an obtuse orange disk plunging to the sea. he was trying to put it into words, she was feeding greedy sea gulls kettle chips from her purse.
there was no point in thinking too hard about it he thought. the sun was going to down, the wind was not going to stop, she was going to get on that plane tomorrow. he thought he heard music coming out through the glass less windows of the bar they had walked passed.
it was all dissolving so quickly, the light to his right, each delightful explosions of her laughter, the bourbon induced warmth at his lips and nose. she caught him looking at her, tucked a rebellious dark length behind her ear, smiled, responded in turn to the chorus of cries from the birds with an explanation that the chips were gone.
there was no reasoning with the birds, or the retreating sun, or the pounding waves.
a weathered black man near the edge called out. from his rod dangled a shark, maybe a foot in length. reeled in and thrown down onto the gritty cement pier, it's black shiny eyes, confused, spasmed as a crowded circled to stare. he looked over a shoulder for a second.
voices from the crowd commented on its bared dangerous prepubescent teeth. braver onlookers knelt near the head for pictures.
the white underside appeared appeared so soft and innocent.
she had wandered down the pier. in each direction water pulled back again and again the veil of the beach. the gulls had disappeared. he wanted another drink, there was so much sound. he noticed lights coming on in the houses that ran like a wall the length of the beach.
he was losing track of time, the colours were all changing, the individual noises blurring together.
she called out and waved him to her. his eyes met hers. this too was ending, met yesterday, gone tomorrow. he smiled at distance to her, the wind whipped through her hair and her silk turquoise scarf. he started to walk towards her.
but stopped. everything was suddenly silent, still. he turned around.
the crowd, a circle of vacant faced statues.
the shark had stopped jerking. the beautiful thing had fled. the sun set too, he noted, had ended without him seeing it. he was cold.
he began to walk down the pier, he couldn’t see her.
he forewent going to the bar. went to the beach, kicked off his sandals. the water raked his feet and clawed heavily into the bottoms of his jeans.
the wind again, charged off the water.
someone hoisted the grey limp form of the shark over the side and dumped it into the water. he supposed that they had meant to revive it by returning it to the sea. but he thought that was not the way life worked, for sharks or sunsets.
or for men.
perhaps most of all for men.
there was comforting about the brutal indifference of it all. it was all the same. pulled away by the waves, or lost in the wind, or fading on the horizon, or ceasing on the pier.
or so he told himself.
and then, he felt a hand take his hand.