The professor left the beach house; and I was sad.
Sad! I experienced, like, emotions!
We spent five entire days together; I should have been relieved to see him go. But I wasn't relieved at all. I was honest to god sad when he drove away.
Sure, I was sad that beach week was over too; nobody wants to come home to overgrown grass, bills and cat poo after a great vacation. But there was more to this little pouting session than just having to have responsibility again.
I took eight books, two board games, my guitar and a box of wine with me to the beach house. I read half of one book, played guitar for an insta-second, and drank one glass of wine. He brought at least ten books (damn academics), a board game and his guitar. He might have gotten through one chapter, but he did squeeze in more guitar time than I did. The board games did nothing but collect dust and get in the way. Yet, we didn't get in each other's way. Or on each other's nerves.
We slept until we wanted to. We went to the pool. We kayaked. We rode bikes. We played skee-ball and I kicked his ass on bumper cars. He kicked my ass at air hockey (jerk). We ate delicious dinners at fantastic restaurants. We talked. A lot. About nothing. About everything. But so much that neither of us read the books that we brought. And so much that Scrabble, Scattegories and Connect Four were completely superfluous.
It was a good week.