LatinosUSA

After work on Friday, my friends and I headed to the beach for a barbecue. Those who got off early dug a pit and started the fire. Latecomers like me went to a supermarket near the town square and purchased beer and food. Patsy brought bottles of her dad’s homemade dandelion wine. Dave brought speakers and played music from our iPhones.

Janice arrived with a small pig, and we laughed and shouted our joy. Her guy had the pieces to make a spit, and I helped set it up.

We played volleyball while the pig turned and crackled. When the sun set, we cracked beers and sat on the coarse sand. In a pub across the inlet, a live band struck up some rock. Dave turned off our music so we could listen as their strident chords came across the water.

Barbara arrived and sat beside me. We kissed. “You’re wearing perfume to the beach!”

“I put it on it this afternoon and haven’t been home since. You know I’m not in the habit of doing it. Give me a break, Mister Beer Breath.”

I smiled and kissed her again. “Let’s go for a swim in the bay. I’ll gargle salt water, and you can wash away the fumes.”

“Fumes? Fumes! Tough, darl, I don’t have a cossie.”

“Go in your undies. Nobody’s gonna mind.”

“You want me to go into the water in my undies in front of everyone here and everyone in the pub? No way, José.”

The band in the pub was playing “Stairway to Heaven,” and I waited for the famous riff, wondering if they would nail it. “Okay. Saves you suffering this sand on your delicate rear end, I guess.”

The number reached the riff and the guitarist nailed it. Everyone stopped talking as we listened. Two guys in our group accompanied him on air guitars. When the number was done, the pub crowd erupted into whistles, shouting, and clapping. We did the same, and several pubgoers noticed and waved for us to join them. We shook our heads and waved for them to join us. They smiled, shook their heads, and held up their drinks.

Janice assessed the aroma of the roasting pig, prodded it, and reckoned it cooked to perfection. She gave Barbara and me the honour of assessing it. The crackling crunched between my teeth, and the meat was tender. Liquid ran down my chin, and Barbara raised her eyebrows. “And you criticised me for smelling of perfume.” 

I was about to respond when Ben Wiggins called out, “Has anyone seen my date, Ramona?”

I had no idea what she looked like, and I shrugged my shoulders.

Barbara pointed to the pub and said, “There she is, with those guys over there. Typical Ramona. Comes with one bloke, leaves with another.”

Janice’s guy held his carving knife aloft. “Screw her. She’ll never know how good this pork is.”

Ben flared his nostrils and grabbed a beer.