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Her first time at a nude beach.

The day started out like any other day. Well, like any other day in the past few weeks, that is. Normally, I would have gotten up, shaved, showered, and headed off to work. But it’s tough being an executive of a company where the owner is more concerned with what’s going up his nose than he is earning a profit. Since my firm closed, my days have taken on a monotonous regularity. Get up, check email, check fax. Check Classified ads. Nope. Construction was at an all-time low, which meant employees with my particular expertise were… redundant. Fuck. I weighed my options. I could either call around to my friends (again) and see if anything had popped up. Or I could sit around watching daytime television, and slowly turn into a turnip. Or… I could do something new. I had to get out of the house. I just HAD to. I had decided. And this decision made all the difference in the world…

There’s a beach I used to frequent in North Miami back when the world was young and life was beautiful – Haulover Beach. I hadn’t been there in a while, though. For one, I had moved a decent drive away. For another… to be honest, while life (for some) may still be beautiful, for me, it was mostly just grey and curmudgeonly. I was no longer the wide-eyed lad, searching the world for wonder and excitement. I had found my excitement, courted her, and wed her. Together, we had shared laughter for a dozen years. When she had met fate, it came in the form of a drunk driver… and life became a chore. Tedious, mechanical. Grey. Still and all, though, I reckoned that a trip down to Haulover could be some fun. An interesting journey down memory lane. At the very least I could see if the old codger that called himself The Ambassador was still around.

Packing for the trip took a half hour, the drive an hour. It was still fairly early when I pulled into the drive and paid the daily toll. To get from the parking lot to the beach you have to walk through a tunnel. Yep – still dank as I remembered. New graffiti, though. Coming out of the tunnel, you walk through a small stand of trees and shrubs, then over a wooden crosswalk that bridges across the privacy hedge. That’s where I saw her. She was a tiny little thing– I stink at guessing heights and ages, but she was probably not much more than 5 feet tall. She looked to be of Asian or Polynesian decent (yeah, I suck at guessing backgrounds, too). She was standing on the wooden bridge, right at the point where the nudists first come into view. Oh – I guess I didn’t mention, what makes Haulover stand out in my memory so vividly is that it’s Florida’s only actual legal nude beach. I know for a fact that if you don’t know what’s coming, when you hit that midpoint on the bridge, it can be a stunner. Many tourists stand there, open-mouthed, wondering where all the naked people came from and why the cops don’t put an end to it. And yes… that’s where I saw her.

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