She always came to see me. Each time she arrived she complained about how I never make the trek to see her. It was pretty unfair but she was right. One weekend I said "fuck it" and told her I would go where ever she wanted me to go. She had a beach house in Margate. I havent been that far down the shore in 11 years. I owed it to her out of guilt and because it would result in sex.
The houses floated in a bay. Probably the coolest house I've ever been in. Pigeons were replaced with seagulls and grass extended out where cement would be. It was pretty cold that day considering it was spring. I have never been in a house like that. I didn't even know they had houses like that. You have to take your time when youre in that house. When you move it moves. if you drop something when you're outside, it's gone.
It didn't have a basement, but the roof made up for it. The patio chairs weren't set up that day, but you could put a towel down and just lay on it. I didn't. I don't need anymore color, but you could if you wanted to. I brought my camera. I didn't know anything about taking photos at that time, so I just pointed and shot. Had I known then what I know now, I'm pretty sure I would have made multiple masterpieces, my portfolio would have been sick and I could have had an awesome show in the New Museum. Maybe that's wishful thinking, but you can do an entire series of photos standing on that roof. It was magical.
I'll never go back there. I can't. She left me half-way through the summer, and rightfully so. She would come up to me all the time, and I never made the time to go down to where she was. Our relationship wasn't the longest one, but I'll always remember that weekend I went down to her floating home and hung out with her on the roof.
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