When the last long week of August bled its way into September and green flies along the beach outnumbered all the worthwhile prey, when hotel balconies ran checkered and weekend vendors closed their kiosks, when short sleeves gave way to lozenges and northern trade winds curled the ocean, when the meters blinked at zero and all the street lights flashed bright yellow, when the sand began to snake its way from coastline back to inlet, that was when my girlfriend finally left North Wildwood for good.
Meghan was gone now, living in a dorm room at Immaculata, where she was campaigning for class president. We had spent the summer working apart, with Meghan managing an ice cream parlor on Magnolia Avenue while I did my thing on Surfside Pier. Most evenings, Meghan would get done just short of midnight, waving briefly as she passed me along the promenade. On a good night, she might wait for me, and the two of us would walk home together. We rarely spent days off together, and we never spent full nights. Come September, the entire thing had worn me down to an extent I scarcely ate or changed my clothes.
It was over now, or it was ending. It was just a matter of one of us stepping up to put things right.
Day 985
(Moving On is a regular feature on IFB.)