You were never a creative soul, so when your long-awaited vacation arrived, you just hopped into your red convertible and drove to where the sky was blue, the clouds were white, the sun was nice and warm, and the girls were beautiful and friendly—through winding roads, across rolling mountains, under swaying green trees, and between painted shadows. The car hummed in your grip as the cool wind brushed your hair, carrying with it the sounds of crashing waves and the smell of salt and life.

You peered through the gaps between the blurry trees, across the gentle slope of the valley, toward a vast expanse of blue—the deepest blue you had ever seen. It was vibrant, shimmering, full of life and promise. At that moment, you knew that you had found your destination. So you turned at the fork in the road, zigging and zagging through the mountain road, chasing a view you had yet learned to name. With each turn, you entered and emerged from the deep shades. The smell of pine and salt mixed and matched, engulfing your senses. The sun beamed through the leaves, projecting dancing circles on the old road. With each turn, the crashing waves rang louder, and the world grew brighter.

As the pines gave way to steep white cliffs and green shrubs, the ocean returned to view alongside a coastal town that appeared as miniatures from this distance. The road went snaking downhill, and you took your feet off the gas, allowing gravity to take your convertible down and around and down, down, down, sailing smoothly along the asphalt river, facing the cracks and bumps like a ship facing the sea, mirroring the fishing boats that scattered across the bay, their beams pointing up to the sky, their occupants eyeing the prize below. Although you were not a sailor nor a fisher, your mind wandered about the prize that may be waiting in this town by the bluest sea.

The pines were gone now, replaced by coconuts and pure white sand, and the painted wooden walls of houses native to this land. The world shined anew when the clouds parted, and lights poured down from the heavens, reflecting on the bluest blues and the greenest greens, and the whitest whites until they were no longer individual colors but pigments on a canvas—vibrant yet soothing with their arrays of movement and hues. At that moment, you knew that you had reached your destination.

So you eased your wheeled ship onto the shore, pulling to a stop at an eatery by the sea. Exiting from your car onto the dry land, you stepped on the creaking floorboard and followed the path to a dining area overlooking the sea. Waves crashed beneath the floorboards, with nothing but short white fences and white beams holding up the roof to separate you from the salty breeze. Leaning against the rail, you gazed where the ocean met the sky, drawing a dark stroke that separated the two blues. The rippling water reflected dancing shards of the sun and clouds, and the vast body of water crashed onto the sea rocks, sending its white foam soaring like splattering paint. Waves lapped onto the beach in a gentle rhythm, painting the white sand with their shade.

As you observed the surrounding motion, a presence greeted you from behind. Turning around, you saw a petite girl smiling at you with cherry lips and sun-kissed cheeks. She led you to a table by the sea, sat you down, and relayed the chef's recommendations. As she talked, the wind whipped her auburn hair, creating ripples on her white shirt and navy apron that wrapped around her lean body. You were suddenly reminded of old crushes, lost loves, and wasted youth. Her face, her smile, and her petite frame filled you with nostalgia for a life that never was and a road yet to be taken.

When she finished talking and asked what you would like, you told her to bring out the most expensive item on the menu and asked her to join you. Her laughter resounded through the empty restaurant, and she did as you told. After disappearing behind a partition, the girl returned, dressed in a bright yellow dress, with her auburn hair done up under a wide-brimmed hat. She was holding a plate of grilled cheese sandwiches and sang to you with her honey-dripped voice, “Would you like to take your food to go, Mister?”

You smiled and led her to your red convertible, and with a turn of the key, the engine ignited and roared as you drove the petite girl along the sandy shores.