Just the simple presence of her in my thoughts was enough to send me into a roiling climax; and then, with the reliability of an incoming tide, the wash of guilt and regret. Looking back it's hard to believe how nasty and bad I felt about this behavior, the shame enough to make me shroud my face with the sheet."You can give the driving another try today," Francesca said as we strolled along the sparsely peopled beach. It was my third day there and she'd driven us up to Caladesi, an island just north of Clearwater. It was a neat place, accessed exclusively by ferry and part of a federal wildlife preserve. There were no buildings on it other than the ranger station and visitors center; just dunes and acres of pristine white sand."This is so nice," I said, watching as the waves creamed ashore."It is, isn't it," Francesca said, halting at a spot several yards from the water and setting down our stuff. "Don't be afraid of trying it again." I can't drive a stick shift," I answered. She had. "Twenty minutes later we were having a tremendous snowball fight. There were eight or nine of us from the neighborhood between the ages of 8 and 11. The action was fast, furious, and mostly inaccurate. Making snowballs and throwing them as fast as we could, there were few direct hits unless one side charged the other. When a charge took place the mayhem was universal but short-lived.I threw a snowball at Tony Morelli but he ducked out of the way. The snowball continued on its trajectory and smacked into Jenny Murphy's head. Jenny was 15, a ninth grader, and she didn't look very happy. Neither did her two girlfriends. Well, what did they expect walking through a war zone?"Sorry," I yelled to them.Nope. They were not amused, particularly Jenny. They stopped and walked back toward me. I looked around for support but my comrades in arms seemed to have quietly slipped away to a safe distance. The three girls were bigger than I was so I did the smart thing and started to run. I hadn't gone.
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