How It Began

When I was fifteen we lived near Hanauma Bay.
I filled my pockets with shells, took them home to arrange on the dresser I shared with my sister; a ribbon cut it in half. When my collection spilled over, we fought.
Mother knew what to do. “One of you. Do me a favor? Run down to the Safeway. We’re right out of – ”
We flipped a quarter. Tails so I went.
There was this new boy, stacking guavas and mangoes into hills. He turned round. “Looking for something?”
“Got any nice shells?”
Big smile. “Right over here – ”