Too Kind He parked the car after spending some time trying to find an empty slot. It was always busy that time of year. That summer was too hot, so many were walking up and down, trying to grasp a lone breath of cool air coming from the sea. Locking his car, he looked at the old harbor area. The city hall had transformed it into a very a place where one could walk along site the sea, or sit on the big rocks and fish. He liked it there and although it was most of the nights overly crowded, that place was one of the few that he could be himself. He took a few steps toward the dock and looked up. That night the humidity was more than usual and a thick layer of mist was hovering just below the bulbs of the tall light poles. The light passing through was even more yellow creating a strange dark sepia atmosphere. It was nice. Reaching the seaside, the dock seemed to vanish into a thick layer of yellow mist, although he could see the vague movements of the fishing poles going up and down in some kind of a secret harmonic rhythm. Somewhere someone was cooking corncobs on the coal. The smell teased his nostrils and reached his weak at the moment mind. Weak because someone earlier had hurt him bad, someone he thought he could dedicate his heart to. He wasn't heartbroken; at least he didn't think he was; but he was troubled. "One" he said. The old man nodded, reached for a big corn and proceeded to lay it on top of the already blazing red coals. He watched. In his mind echoed her words. "I'm sorry", "It's not you; it's just me", "You've been a gentleman all along","You are too nice", "I can't see you as a man, not physicaly". The old man picked up a piece of carton and used it to heat up the coals. Drops of fire flied in frond of his eyes. He was angry; He was offended. He had grown up thinking that being nice was right. He had good manners; a gentleman; with great sense of humor and charming ways. At least he thought. "Too nice" her voice echoed again. What's wrong with being nice? One mustn't be nice to women? "I must take on smoking" he scoffed loudly and immediately jumped at the reply of the old man who at the moment was handing over a neatly cooked corncob. The smell was amazing. "Smoking is bad son. Trust me! It'll be a pound for the cob please. He reached for this pocket smiling. He didn't realize, he said that aloud. He took the cob and took a big bite in it and walked away, towards the big stones, which laid miles along the seafront. He always ate when he was troubled. "So I should start smoking, grow a beard maybe" thought again humoring himself. What would it take to be a man? In his mind the definition of a man was completely different. One doesn't have to be rough to be a man, beards and smoking are insignificant. He always knew that the robes don't make a pope but nevertheless, what does it take to be a man? He was devastated. What she said was harsh. He would understand if she didn't like him anymore, if he did something to hurt her or even if there was someone else. All those are normal excuses.! Manhood, it's been always a precious thing for a man. He climbed on the big rocks and hiked his way to the sea. He was used to it. Younger he would race his dad till their fishing spot and his reflexes were still on edge. Closer to the sea the sounds from the dock went lower and the soft murmur of the waves touched his ears. "Hi" he thought, "Will you sing for me?" and sat on a perfectly flat stone. He reached for his back pocket and took his harmonica. Playing for the waves was one of the few things that relaxed him; eased his thoughts. Not knowing many tunes he improvised and for some reason the mixed sea and harmonica sounds were thrilling; the salty air that hit his face was exhilarating. Being in this trance the voice he heard was like a wrong note in a perfect concert. "Hi, is it ok if I sit?" She was pretty, blond, probably younger than him; she looked sweet. "Sure" he replied and she sat on the rock next to him with her legs folded and her arms around her knees. He put extra effort for that next tune, an old song his dad used to play for him on the vinyl and as the blue notes hit the air the waves got bigger, hitting the rocks harder and harder. The soft wind became stronger for her hair to fly in, as if the sea realized that he wasn't playing for her anymore. Well…He wasn't. "That was beautiful" she said and she got up. She took a small leap and landed on his rock. Surprised, in his heart the drums started playing and then... stopped. They stopped as soon she kneeled and gave him a quick kiss on his cheek. Everything had stopped, the wind, the waves, his heart, his breath…everything. The last thing he saw were the shy fiery cheeks of hers while she was getting up and then her back while she was jumping from rock to rock like a baby antelope. That night was the first and the last time he saw her. He got up and headed back, heavier than ever. Her voice echoed again. "You are too nice.." He grinned. "Yes I am" he thought… "Yes I am"