The clouds parted, sending a shaft of light on Lynn. Tossing her disheveled chestnut ponytail over her shoulder, she paused a moment to wipe her brow. I’ve never seen anything so beautiful in such an unexpected place. Her practical hairstyle, in this light, made her seem angelic. She seemed transformed in my eyes: the tattered “Save the Whales” t-shirt became a stunning gown; the brackish delta around us metamorphed into a starlit terrace. I sighed happily.
“Jared… Jared? You alright?” she asked me after a time. Snapping out of my daze, I looked at her again. There was no terrace, no evening gown. Only a girl in a waterlogged shirt, rolled jeans and frizzed ponytail standing in ankledeep brackish water, with a lone piece of seaweed plastered to her elbow.
“Yeah… yeah, I’m fine.”