T he orange sun, drooping low in the sky, enveloped us with an amber glow that splashed off the sand and waves. Anxious gulls lent their calls to the breeze that carried salty air across the beach, through our hair and into the low bushes and hills behind us. The birds' anxiety matched that in our hearts—an unarticulated disquiet we could only feel.

The four of us, twenty-something, young for our age, had developed a bond of friendship and trust during our short acquaintance. I was moving away, and this was our final outing, a repression of sadness through levity.

A nearby rural town had been my home for the past year, but it wasn't until my roommate arrived several months ago that he and I and the two girls became close. During that time, our small clan played and laughed, worked and cried, always together. One girl was struggling with a broken family, the other with acceptance. I was fighting with myself, wondering who and where I was. My roommate, ever happy and joking, was the only one with few cares in the world. It was he who suggested we visit this spot one last time.

We hadn't planned a swim or cookout—just a trip together. And not wanting to get dirty with a sand castle or wet in the surf, we strolled and talked and reminisced. But our naturalness, the very reason we enjoyed our time together, seemed lost and our conversation forced. Near the end of the beach, where the rocks met the water, we spotted a wrecked fishing trawler, half-buried in the sand. A welcome distraction, we made our way to the old craft and stood on the deck, talking, trying to laugh, and avoiding the one topic that weighed so heavily on our minds.

"Sunset Two" Photograph by Randy Farnsworth

The sun found its way behind a low cloud that hung just above the horizon and our long shadows melted into the sand. Perched on a plank of rotting wood, its once bright red and blue paint now a faded grey, I wondered how my life would change. Would I see these friends again? I told myself this trek wasn't a goodbye party, but a see-you-later party. I knew I'd be back to visit, someday. The remaining trio would still be together. They would come visit me, wouldn't they? After I finished school and had a job and steady income, I could travel and visit all my old friends. After all, I'd left friends before, and some of us still wrote, called and even saw each other. Occasionally, at least, but better than not seeing each other at all. Young, optimistic, naive, I really believed time couldn't affect our friendship. My heart tried to say things wouldn't change.

Someone's suggestion for photographs brought me back to the present. We set a camera on the ledge of the old boat and snapped pictures of the four of us, then stood in pairs and threes for more shots. Wanting to save every bit of that place I could, I jumped down to the sand and took some pictures of the trawler, the beach with the palm trees in the distance, and the slate grey ocean that was reaching up to pull in the sun.

As I walked along the brush line, trying to frame the vessel with the water behind it, I stepped across a pile of flotsam washed onto the beach in a recent storm. An idea formed, and I fished around until I found a bottle that looked sealed and dry. I took it back to the others, who were still on the deck dangling their feet over the edge. With little explanation, I passed some papers around and we each began a message to put in the bottle.

The sounds of squawking gulls, lapping waves and rustling bushes wrapped us, isolated from the world, as we composed our private notes. For those moments, our world had nobody else, only the four of us, and our thoughts and memories.

I paused to look at the others. My roommate was chuckling as he jotted down a secret joke. The two girls were staring out at the water, one with tears in her eyes.

When it seemed we were finished, I passed the open bottle. We each rolled up our papers and stuffed them inside. When the bottle returned to me, I tightly replaced the lid. We jumped down from the boat and walked to the edge of the lapping water as the sun broke free from the cloud for one last burst of light. I handed the bottle to my roommate, and he looked at each one of us, his eyes expressing more than words ever could. He threw our little ark of feelings far and high. It hit the water with a barely audible splash and quickly disappeared, the darkening waves carrying it to the sun.

* * *

Thinking about that time, it's as if it never really happened, that it's just a chapter from a forgotten book. Today I'm back on that same beach, again staring at the setting sun. My life has changed—I have changed. I'm married, I have a family, I've grown up. The beach, though, is still the same, minus the fishing trawler.

Something else is missing, too. My three friends. I recall a promise that I would always keep in touch with them—a promise long ago broken.

It wasn't long after I moved away that my former roommate also moved from that town. The four of us kept in touch individually for a while, with occasional calls, a few letters and even short visits. But our little group never was reunited. I've run into my roommate a couple times over the years, and both times we said that we really needed to get together and have lunch. But we haven't. I heard that one of the ladies is living in an unhappy marriage somewhere far away, and I haven't heard anything about the other one for years.

I'm sure we'll never all see each other together again. In fact, I would have to do a lot of searching just to find out where each one lives.

I don't know what brought me back to this beach today. I was on my way to some other destination, and realized how close I was to this spot. Now that I'm here, though, standing on the same ground that I stood on so long ago, I realize how far away I've really been. Even if I were to build a house on this beach and live here, I would still be far removed from that time of innocence and happiness. I have no regrets about my life now, but I wonder how different things would be if I had kept that note myself, rather than throwing it out to sea.

"Cherish your friendships and hold to them tightly
or all that will remain is faded memories and photos
pulled away by the setting sun."

"Sunset One" Photograph by Randy Farnsworth