March 17 Challenge: WHALE WATCHING (LAGERS)

The last whale rolled over, sand clinging to its body. Its sighing quieted.

“There. Done.” You were never the sort to see profundity in life or death.

“It’s still breathing,” I replied.

“It’s gone.”

I knew better than to argue about the last breath of the last whale. We watched for an hour before I was ready to leave. The beach was deserted except for us. No one else knew yet, that it was the end, really and truly the end. We were the only ones. Afterwards, you wanted drinks and pizza.

“To the last whale on planet earth,” you smiled, holding up a lager. You ordered two at a time, downed each, then whispered something to the barkeep. All I heard was “blowhole”; no need for eye-rolling on my part. Not for that.

The barkeep straightened and hitched her neckline higher. I saw tears in her eyes, which you said were a come-on.

“I love it when they get the fake tears going,” you said. And then, with a quick petulance, “You’re the one who told me they were fake.”

"The last whale would’ve made anyone cry," I said. You frowned. Nothing like taking the fun from a night out. Everybody knows now. It’s on the news, too, instead of hockey. F+++ing granolaheads. Tree-huggers.

"I’m glad we stayed to the bitter end," you said, grinning. I smiled back. You’re on your sixth lager and it's all good.