Beach party

Last night, we went to the beach near the Chart House. We played football. No one knows who won, but Adam showed ability as a linebacker, slamming into my thigh and Izzy's body. Lucas mixed drinks, namely lemonade and orange juice, and brought the most gourmet salad any beach party has ever witnessed, becoming master chef of the night.
Ten fingers happened. We can pretend it didn't.
Lucas, Sammy and I went skinny-dipping, and two anonymous girls jumped in sans tops. Hailey, Sam, Izzy and Alex were voyeurs.
We went back to the towels, finished the food, and cleaned up. The sentimental air that had hovered above the party for most of the night amped up during the last half our. We whispered our goodbyes, a few of them tearful.
Those who slept at my house got a window into the Sammy's bizarre definition of "girl talk," including, "Which President would you most like to be?" and "Which President would you most like to fuck?" FDR.

The moon was full during the party, and its reflections on the choppy water looked like a white path out into the world over the dark sea. I tried to swim to the end of the path when I was skinny-dipping, but friends on the beach called me back. Hailey made me promise not to kill myself.
On Sunday, I'll take bigger steps on that uneven path. My loved ones will be 6000 miles away, a good distance more than the 60 feet that separated us tonight. Still, I think they'll be watching me, and that's comforting. And I'm glad I took my first steps into this wild adventure with you guys.