He heard, more than saw her come, the sound of her bay stallion's hooves brushing against the sand. He turned to where the sounds were coming from and saw the vision he had been dreaming of every night for the past three weeks... the same vision that turned to full form in the flesh every morning. Paula, with her long silky hair, her soft, clear skin of cream and her big almond eyes that seemed to always be pleading. Today, she was not wearing her riding breeches. She had on a summer dress of pure white, her hair tied back with a scarf in gold and white prints. She worked the bridle to make the horse stop a few meters from him. As she stepped on the stirrups and lifted herself up, he saw that she didn't have a saddle. It must be a short ride this morning if she was riding raw. He moved to help her down but she was soon leading the horse to one of the wooden gantries under the shade.

"Good morning."

"Good morning." Paula didn't lift her eyes up to him like she used to. Slowly, almost reluctantly, she reached into her pocket and got out a white letter envelope which she now was offering him.

Sam took the envelope, still looking at her, trying to search her eyes for the message in the envelope he now held in his hand. She felt his gaze but couldn't meet it. Instead, she turned and stared at the sea. It was then that he felt a sadness that seemed to rob him of his breath. Something was terribly wrong.

He lifted the already opened flap and took out a folded sheet of crisp paper. It had a multi-colored emblem at the upper righthand corner and a letterhead in silver grey... The Royal Ballet School. He didn't have to read further.

"The seagulls are due anytime soon."

"I won't be here when they come."

"When do you leave?"

"Papa's taking me to the city today. There are a few preparations we have to make."

"Paula..."

"You knew about this Sam. You knew about it all along. You know that I really want to go."

Yes, he knew. He knew everytime she danced for him over the smooth tiles of his patio. She looked no less than an angel barely touching the floor doing a soubresaut, now with muscles firming up in a perfect arabesque, now ending in a very graceful temps leve. She would often teach him what the steps and postures are called as she did them. She was smart, she was beautiful... and he was losing her to her dreams.

"I have to go. Papa knows I came just to say goodbye."

"Wait." Sam reached into his pocket and pulled out a fresh handkerchief. He held it in the middle, tore it in two. He took her hand, turned it palms up and gently placed half of the torn cloth. He held her hand for a moment longer, tentatively squeezing it, then pressed her fingers close.

"What are you doing Sam? What is this?"

Still gazing at the hand he held, he said, "That's me Paula... right now. Torn as a ragged cloth."

He turned then towards the sea and walked a few steps away, not hearing her say she was sorry, over and over like a mumbled chant, his back to her tears. Sam bent and picked up a smooth grey pebble and walked back to Paula. He stopped when he saw her crying, then slowly picked up his steps to come nearer. He draped a hand at the crook of her neck, kissed her on the forehead and dabbed at her eyes with the other half of the torn cloth.

"What's that pebble for?"

"They say a boy does not become a man until a woman hurts him. This will remind me of the woman who made me a man." Sam rubbed the pebble with his thumb for a while then covered it with the cloth stained from Paula's tears.

"You think of me as a woman?"

"You thought me man enough to hurt me."

Sam walked toward the horse, unhitched its reins, and led him back to Paula. Without a word, Paula lifted her feet to the stirrups and rode away. He watched her go until she was too small to see... just a vision, just like a dream.

In solitude, he followed the trail back to his home, doing so for the first time in weeks. He always went back with Paula, chatting and laughing on their way, pausing every few meters to kiss... greedy, urgent kisses that lit him up like a fuel-drenched torch... Paula's soft, full lips that tasted of the crisp, morning air. Paula... Paula...

He watched the ripples on the shore now, like they did together back then... concentric circles getting further and further apart as they moved toward the sea. He squinted through the sunlit sky and scanned the horizon, watching for movement, hoping for a sign of life. After a while, he gave up and headed for home.

The seagulls won't be coming. Not today.