“Myrtle Beach is one giant run-on sentence.” He said from the passenger seat. We tried to do a romantic weekend away in South Carolina. It didn’t work.

The discount beach stores all had different names. They were all nouns: Wings, Sands, Whales, Beaches and Bargain. The road side attractions ran in continuous motion it went strip club, miniature golf, beach store. There was the occasional bar and restaurant but the main thing that hovered and illuminated the night sky with neon-a-go-go was strip clubs, miniature golf, and beach stores.

We were done with this town and were eager to return to our little college port city. When you come over the bridge into Wilmington, NC it looks beautiful. There are old and fashionable steeples rising from the depths of the streets. There is brick, there are ships. It’s classic in its simplistic nature. But once over the bridge you realize it is a town like every other. There is a burger king welcoming you that often has shootings. You have to play leap frog with pedestrians who won’t run across the street but linger, confident in their walks. It’s a city with a rich side and a poor side and not much in the middle but restaurants.

It was a great idea to attempt to alleviate ourselves from our financial trouble and forget he was a struggling mechanic and I was a devastated Human Resources Specialist. Our hotel room had an ocean view. We got to the room after it was dark but the white wash that crested the waves hitting the shore shone blue. The sound, that deep ancient roar of the ocean soothed my troubled nerves and I breathed in the salty air before rushing back in the room to change.

The trip to Myrtle Beach was for my company’s holiday party. There were over 500 of us dressed in pretty gowns and slack pants. Many compliments were paid to my throw back to the 30s gown. It was extremely long, brown and pleated.

After dinner, the night soured. My date, my love, my companion left my side for a half an hour here, an hour there and 20 minutes sprinkled in between. I sat alone most of the night. On occasions I would be swept up by co-workers on the dance floor only to return to my chair and find him missing. His disappearing act was making my blood boil.

Ten o’clock rolled around. There were two hours left to this night and prizes were still being read off for random people. My date reappeared in jeans, a t-shirt and a backwards cap. My fury was palpable. Granted, this was not the field I longed for but this is where I ended up and my impression on co-workers and those higher up than me was important at the time. I was new to the company. He was ignored by me because what he did was an act against me.

When the Party ended a bunch of us convened at a local bar. Where, I further ignored my date. Back in the hotel room we fought. He was drunk and I knew it was useless. We sat outside on our balcony. The wind seemed to shred my thin sleeping outfit. I watched the moon reflect on the ocean casting a white and distorted shadow. The waves seemed angry and I connected with them. If only I could take my anger and build it up only to release it somewhere else, far, far away.

I succumbed to make up sex because my desires always far outweigh my common sense. He was too drunk to finish. I was eager to close my eyes. There were no dreams for me. But I awoke every few hours and opened the doors to the ocean finding solace in their constant pull.

It was time to go, to leave our fights and Myrtle Beach. One final farewell view of the ocean with its sea foam jiggling like an obese woman’s breasts and we were off. My date was too hung over to want anything more than my couch. The little things always call in to question how much one person can take of another.

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