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A Good Thing To Lose #5: Second Life

The beach is quiet when I arrive. Maybe I can hear the distant sound of a badly-tuned radio or the feint echo of young laughter under the virtual tide's hissing swell, a just-audible hint of activity on the edge of the cyber sea. But the main strip is dead, there's no-one around, or at least no-one who wants to talk to me. As I take the first timid steps of my lonely stroll, scuffing through the white-hot digital sand, I quietly commend myself on the new shorts I'm wearing. They took me a while to design but I knew they'd come in handy.

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I head straight for the sea, paying little attention to the bandstands and wharfs on the way, or the traders peddling tat to the odd sun-stroked stranger. I amble into the water and let the warm alluvion wash over my aching feet and take in the view. It's a gorgeous, faultless day with just the right amount of breeze to balance out the fire of the hovering sun, with the glassy, deep-green, never-ending ocean glistering underneath her. Somewhere, distant gulls are laughing at me.

As always, I get bored a bit too quickly and decide to move on. I've always had a wandering mind, always been easily distracted, but maybe this is something more. What use is such a view when there's nobody to share it with? I spy a jetty with a bar and suddenly realise how dry I am, how much I'd love that thrill of the first sip of a fresh pint right now. But then I remember: I don't have any money. I take a walk round the place anyway but it's as dead as the rest of this island, so I exit via the bridge to the beach but the heat and dehydration must have got to me because I stumble, my ankle folds inward and I splash into the supposedly salty sea.

At first, I don't even notice that I'm breathing underwater. It must be at least eight feet deep, but there's no need to act quickly or race for air, I'm fine. No, what takes me by surprise is what I find waiting for me underneath the gangway. She says her name is Gin and it's her first time at the beach. "Me too," I say, senses overloaded. "Are you a mermaid?" I ask. But she just laughs and runs away.

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I chase after her but she's so much faster than me and soon out of sight. Where could she have gone so quickly? I climb back up to dry land and scour the island, searching every inch of every beach until I find her. When I finally do, she sits casually on one of the old benches, acting like she hasn't just made me fall in love with her. I wander over, failing to stay cool.

"H-hello again, sorry to bother you," I stammer awkwardly, just like I would've done in high school, "but I was hoping you could maybe recommend something to do round here. I'm new to the area."

"Me too," she replies, "very new. Didn't I tell you that already?"

Oh shit, yes, she did. I need to think of something else to say fast. "Have you been flying yet?"

"A little bit."

"Well," I say, "I was thinking of going for a fly if you'd like to join me. I've never flown with anyone before and I think it could be good fun."

A few tense seconds clunk by until she surprises me with her reply –

"Well, c'mon then!" she screams as she takes off into the perfect blue sky. I try to follow but get trapped in the branches of some exotic tree, and by the time I've managed to extricate my little virtual limbs she's far off ahead of me, zipping round the island's cloudless air. I close in on her and we float for a moment, catching our breath until then we take off again, together this time as we jet and swoop and dive, and for a while we're Superman and Lois Lane; for a few moments of this flawless afternoon we're Peter Pan and Wendy, the rest of Neverland below us unaware of our swooning, our teasing, our flirting. For once, I don't feel bored too soon.

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When we fall back to earth, it's not a graceful landing for either of us. Still excited with our hearts pumping hard, we clumsily stumble down to the beach and try to calm ourselves. It's time to get to know her now, and she seems happy with my suggestion of a walk as we chat. We stop by the windsurfing place but we discover that we're not allowed to participate, so she takes one of the boards that has been stabbed into the sand like greased gravestones and sits on it in an act of defiance, and my heart cracks a little more. We get chatting, the usual sort of thing to begin with. She tells me she's Japanese and I realise that it's probably morning in the Land Of The Rising Sun so I try to impress her: "Ohayo gozaimas… or something like that!" I say. She giggles and replies, "Good morning to you too!" We talk about everything and nothing, and I think – or rather, I hope – I can sense some mutual nervousness. It turns out I'm right. It seems as though the whole afternoon has been leading up to her next question.

"You're a teenager, right?"

I don't know what to say – is now a time for truth? "Maybe," I coyly fib. "Are you?"

"That's none of your business!" she replies. "I'm not telling!"

And I don't know why, but suddenly I feel as though I should be honest. Maybe I think it might encourage her to open up a little or maybe I'm just feeling guilty, but I tell her: "Actually, I'm 36!"

"Really?!"

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"Yes, but I know I look younger!"

She laughs again but I know that what little connection we made up in the air has already, immediately dissolved. I can almost taste the atmosphere alter as our little love drifts off with the tide. We fumble some desperate attempts at more chat, but we can both feel it. Pretty soon she says, "Well, enjoy the rest of your day!" and I know it's over. We say our goodbyes and she darts away, just like that first time we met under the ocean, which already feels like the faded chapter in a lost diary. But this time I don't try to chase her.

It's night-time now and the island's in darkness but for a million twinkling pinprick stars, but no moon in sight. If I could see it, I'm certain it would be almost full. I float above the deep blackness of the midnight sea, naked now except for my trusty old sandals, my clothes cast off on a digital wind. I'm sure I can feel the cool ocean breeze caress and tickle the swollen belly and love-handles of my aging body, and gently run its fingers of gust through my greying hair. Gin never returned, and I've spent my time in the sky since she ran away. The virtual tide still hisses and the gulls still laugh as if they know what I'm about to do.

The computer asks: Are you sure you want to quit?

Yes. I'm sure.

AIDAN MOFFAT