Standing on Water
Marlene adjusted her reading glasses and stared down the glare of her screen. Her back ached. Her ankles were swelling again. The lobby hummed with fluorescent lights and the polite silence of money.
Then, he walked in: sun-bleached hair, a tank top with a cartoon wave that read Wipeout Wednesdays, and flip-flops that slapped the marble like they had no respect for bank floors or grown-up expectations. A duffel bag hung from his shoulder, sagging with weight. He grinned at her teller window like he’d just wandered in from a summer she barely remembered.
“Name?” she asked, already bracing for it.
“Kai,” he said, like the ocean itself had answered. “Hey, I need to deposit this.” He plopped the bag on her counter.
She blinked. “The whole bag?”
“Yup.” Kai unzipped it. Wads of cash, tens and twenties interwoven with a few that smelled like seaweed. “Prize money. Took second at the Pacific Pro.”
“In cash?” she asked, trying not to cringe at the wet bills.
“Yeah, sponsors are cheap,” he said, unbothered. “But it’s all good.”
Marlene exhaled through her nose and reached for the stack. She caught her reflection in the security glass: crooked bun, pale lips, and worry lines etched deeper this week.
Kai grinned, tanned and effortless, like time hadn’t yet started counting for him. “You ever surf?” he asked, leaning on the counter.
She gave him a look. “The only outdoors I take in is from this window inside a building so silent no one even chews gum out loud. Does that answer your question?”
He laughed. “Yeah, I hear you. My mom’s your age. Just started surfing last year. Wipes out constantly, but loves every minute.”
The comment landed harder than she expected. Your age. The words echoed like a verdict. Marlene looked down at the crumpled bills, grains of sand clinging like memories. The scent of saltwater rose from them sharp, wistful, and not hers. For a moment, it smelled like a summer she’d never lived but always longed for.
He watched her for a second, then added, more gently, “I could teach you how to stand on water.”
Sliding the deposit slip across the counter, she met his eyes and said, “Careful, surfer boy. Not sure I’d want to take lessons from you.” She smirked. “Let’s just say... you’re not completely overdrawn now.”
He wavered, caught somewhere between impressed and unsure what just happened. He grinned, dimples and all, and walked off as if the world had never asked him to pause.
Marlene watched him go, then reached for the small CLOSED sign and flipped it to face the lobby. She grabbed her lunch bag, clocked out, and didn’t return for the rest of the day.
That evening, she stood barefoot on a stretch of beach just outside the city, sunburn blooming across her cheeks, hair windblown and wild. The ocean roared like it was proud of her. She didn’t stand on water, not yet, but she did let it carry her away just enough to feel the taste of freedom.
Scene Two: “Off the Clock”
The sun had barely started its descent when Kai showed up again. He was barefoot, as usual, with that windswept grin like nothing in the world could hold him down. Marlene was locking up the branch early, her blazer already folded over her arm. She saw him approaching through the glass and groaned audibly.
“I thought I told you to keep your sand out of my bank,” she called as he got closer.
“Relax,” he said, raising both hands in mock surrender. “No duffel bag. No seaweed cash. Just a question.”
She squinted at him. “You asking for a loan?”
“Just a conversation.” He leaned on the railing outside the door.
She rolled her eyes. “Before you start up, I went to the beach.”
Kai blinked. “Wait. Seriously? That’s gnarly!” He stood a little straighter, as if the mental image surprised him.
Marlene nodded, trying not to laugh. “Didn’t stand on water, if that’s what you’re fishing for.”
“Not yet,” he said, eyes lighting up. “But you went.”
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
“Not saying it does, but you do have that post-beach glow. Looks good on you”
“I didn’t go for you, ya know.”
“I know,” he said, “but I do hope you went for you.”
That landed harder than she expected. She hated that it did.
“You’ve got a way of getting under people’s skin.”
“Occupational hazard,” he grinned. “Saltwater and sincerity.”
Marlene sighed, and something in her shoulders eased. “You know,” she said, watching the sky soften into late afternoon, “I haven’t skipped work in twelve years. You show up one time with bronzed charm, and I practically fake my own death.”
Kai laughed, but not too loudly. “Sounds like someone was overdue.”
She gave him a look, but her voice was lighter now. “So, what’s your big plan, surfer boy? Teach all the tired people how to float again?”
“Only the ones who look like they’ve forgotten how.”
Marlene shook her head, but she didn’t walk away. “You’re trouble,” she said.
“I’m a Tuesday afternoon,” he breathed out.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The wind stirred her hair. His feet shifted on the warm pavement.
“You want to walk?” he asked suddenly, motioning toward the ocean a few blocks away.
She looked down at her practical shoes, then at the empty street. Then back at him. “I’ve got fifteen minutes before my cat sends out an SOS.”
Kai grinned. “Perfect. Just a stroll, not a life commitment.”
Scene Three: System Failure
The fluorescent lights above Marlene’s teller window flickered twice, then gave up entirely. The whole system had been sputtering all morning: glitchy logins, frozen screens, the receipt printer coughing like it had bronchitis.
“Again?” she groaned, smacking the side of the terminal like it had personally wronged
her.
A line had formed, complete with crossed arms and impatient sighs. And, of course, third in? Kai. Wearing his sun-kissed grin and flip-flops like he’d never once been caught in a rip current called responsibility.
“I thought banks were supposed to be, you know, efficient,” he called out with mock horror.
Marlene gave him a withering look. “Keep it up, surfer boy, and I’ll hand you a pen and put you to work. Oh wait, do you even know the definition of work?”
He pantomimed zipping his lips, but the corners of his mouth twitched.
The manager peeked out from the back. “System’s down across all terminals. IT says twenty minutes.”
Someone in line groaned audibly. Kai stepped out of the queue and walked up to the side of Marlene’s window.
“Whoa. You’re like, knee-deep in financial wipeouts and still cruisin’,” Kai said, nodding at the sea of deposit slips. “Respect. Bet you haven’t even caught a break.”
“I haven’t had time to blink.”
Kai pulled a granola bar from his backpack and slid it onto the counter. “It’s not a gourmet beach shack taco, but it’s got almonds.”
Marlene eyed it. “You bring snacks to the bank?”
He shrugged. “I surf at dawn. I bank at noon. Hunger doesn’t keep a schedule.”
Despite herself, Marlene cracked a small smile. A silence stretched between them, not awkward, just...curious.
Kai leaned in, his grin easy. “Ever think about ditchin’ this gig and doing something totally gnarly? Like, I dunno...chasing sunsets or opening a smoothie shack?”
“Huh, or like professional surfing?” she deadpanned.
“Like...learning to fall without always worrying about the landing.”
She looked at him, really looked this time. Sun bleached hair, tanned skin, but eyes that were present. Gentle. Not just some golden boy on autopilot. Marlene glanced down at the granola bar, then back at the flickering monitor. “System’s still down,” she said slowly. “Guess I’ve got twenty minutes to waste.”
Kai beamed. “Come on. We’ll chill on the steps. You can roast my surfing playlist. Fair warning, it’s 90% bad and 10% worse.”
She grabbed the granola bar and followed him out, the broken system and irritated customers fading behind her like background noise.
