Luigi’s SongJude-Marie Green
Saturday night in Southern California. On the beach. Near the pier. The famous one you’ve seen in movies all your life. I’m sitting on this damp mound of sand, perched a few feet above the surf line, waiting for the grunion to bring me a gift. From Luigi. Luigi’s a whale.
So what if I’m just about eighteen and don’t have a boyfriend? My best friend’s a whale. I watch the waves and imagine a night dive, which I can’t do as my regular dive partner’s busy.
“Alone again, naturally,” I almost sing. I never sing. Not even karaoke. Look, my name’s Daisy. How’s that for lame? I hate it, but I guess I don’t have much in the way of imagination cuz I can’t think of anything I’d rather be called. You ever see that movie with Barbra Streisand, On a Clear Day You Can See
