Runaway - 275
Lindsey Thompson
The light summer breeze brushed its fingers through his salty hair as he loped out of the ocean surf, the foam licking at his heels, unsatisfied. He dried his exposed body with a used shirt before shaking out his shorts and pulling them over his still wet legs. He settled them below his waist before slipping into sandals and shoving his pack together. A smile trickled across his face as he shouldered his world again, the smile of an escaped animal. Free baths in the Pacific Ocean as he walked south along California’s coast never lost their power over his spirit. With the early morning sun to his back, he stared across the carpeted space between continents, and wondered what a desert of water could hold for him.
Some called him a wanderer; others, a runaway.
Sand consumed his sandaled feet as more beach-goers emerged from vacationed slumber to “seize the day.” He witnessed as two athletes jogged side by side in the wakes of waves, chatting about the schedule for the weekend, but he found himself more taken with the single older gentleman and his dog. She would bound joyfully after gulls and balls, charging into the ocean triumphantly and returning with a defiant shake of her body. But she never left her lonely master out of reach for more than a moment; she returned faithfully to his aide, checking on his being with an air of willing duty. She knew she was not owned, but rescued, sprung from her cage.
She paused, locked her gaze with the runaway, and grinned a dog’s grin as understanding passed between them, the understanding of freed spirits.
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