She loves the beach at night. At night, even in LA, there is enough darkness to enshroud, to hide. Enough darkness to liberate – sounds from the source, shapes from the colors, salt scent from the breeze. The ocean, if possible, seems bigger, louder – the sound of the rapacious waves against the sodden sand, the sucking sound of them retreating into that twirling, glittering mass of water and foam, and above it all, a full moon in her glittering dress. She has looked at the moon, at all of her faces, so many times she feels she can recall each one of them. She never saw the man in the moon. No, her moon wore a tiara, silver shoes, a see-through dress. Her moon would kick off her shoes and dance over the waves at night.

Ashley loves the beach at night. The night tells a different kind of story then, the familiar dimmed, shadows forming a new, different reality. Voices are different at night, coming across clearer even when muted, words thinner, leaner, meaning distilled. Ashley knows how to read the language of the night. Ever since she was a little girl, little enough that her dad was still there to read her stories at night, she would listen to the tales of heroes and heroines, but she would hear the stories behind the words. There were stories of great heroes, magnificent deeds; a monster slain, a maiden freed, a kingdom restored. She would listen, but instead she would hear tales of sad, misunderstood monsters living in deep caves under lakes, stories of snake-haired women, hated because they were different, tales of bull-men lost in labyrinths made by others. Ashley wondered what was wrong with sleeping on in peace, sleeping for an eternity. Some dreams were not meant to be interrupted, not even with a kiss.

Ashley loves the beach at night. There are times when, if she stays there long enough, stays there quiet and patient enough, LA leaves, packs up and takes its din and its people and the cars and the noise with it, leaves her alone with the night for a while, just she and the ocean and the moon. She closes her eyes then, imagines her blanket a raft, imagines her raft out in the ocean, imagines it bobbing away under the moonlight. Imagines the stories she would tell.