The boundary between wet and dry sand runs like an uncoiled ribbon along the beach, reaching higher inshore in some parts and further back in others. With no rhyme or reason, waves roll in just where they happen to fall.
The sand is warm under my feet. The afternoon sun shining down heats the top of my head, but it feels nice. I remember my mom insisting that I wear a floppy beach hat when we were here on vacation so many years ago. It was mid-summer and the heat was far more intense. She warned me and Jenna about sunburned scalps and how they were no fun. We wore our straw hats, mirroring mom’s own oversized hat, loving every minute of it. Thinking about Mom, and our conversation in her car yesterday, reminds me that I have to find a way work my way through my grief. I have to try. I have to hang on. At the very least, I need to work harder at controlling my urges to lash out.
The buildings become fewer and fewer. I can’t see anyone around, which isn’t surprising, I guess, given that it’s the off season. I doubt any tourists are racing for the beaches quite yet. Give it a few more weeks and I bet these beaches will be covered. Schools let out next month and the beach-bumming days of summer will be upon us.
I like it like this though. It’s quiet. It’s peaceful. It’s private. I’m even more invisible here than I am at home in Atlanta. And the water is so welcome. It occurs to me that the water is the first thing I’ve seen that seems to be bigger than the grief overwhelming every aspect of my life. The water is so powerful and it’s just so expansive—it must be bigger than the weight of my loss, that weight that’s been cinched tight to my back for two years. I hope it is.
I’m not sure how far I’ve walked down the beach, but it must be quite a way. I can’t see the boardwalk I came from anymore. I look around me and see no one. There is a big white beach house about a hundred yards away, but it’s likely someone’s summer place or a rental. It’s doubtful that anyone is there. It’s surrounded by palm trees and brown brush. There’s what looks like a wraparound balcony, but I don’t see any movement or lights from where I stand, so this spot seems ideal. I drop my flip flops on the sand and fish the surfboard keychain from the teeny pocket on the front of my dress and toss it on the sand beside my flip flops.
The fist slow wave that washes over my feet confirms that I was right—the water is cold. Very cold. My shoulders tense a little but the small wave retreats and my toes sink down into the sodden sand beneath my feet. It’s the same squishy feeling that I loved as a kid. What is it about sand squishing beneath your toes that’s so fascinating? I wiggle a little, allowing my feet to sink a bit deeper. It feels good. I want more of this.
I take one heavy step into the water, about ankle deep, just as another wave comes rolling in and crashes against my shins, sending water splashing around me. Sea foam zips past me as the wave continues toward the shore, seemingly unaware of my presence. I gasp a little. It’s still cold. Very fucking cold. But I like it.
One more step. One more wave crashing.
Somehow, I’ve managed to drag myself chest deep into the water. My teeth are chattering now and half of my long brown hair is wet, but I finally feel a little weightless. Even though it’s only physical weightlessness, it’s still a good feeling. Maybe it’s a combination of the freezing water and the feeling of it around my body that’s a distraction from my sorrow. Swells roll past me, each one carrying me up with it like a floating pelican and then returning me to where I was as it continues its solo trip to the shore.
I can feel water sloshing all around me as I bend at the waist, lifting my feet from the sandy sea floor and pulling my knees into my chest. I’m like a navigational buoy, bobbing in the water and tilting from side to side with the current, or, in my case, the waves. The water is up to my chin now and I can’t feel my fingers or toes. Saltwater is on my lips and in my nose, but I remain here, letting the cold water wash over me in hopes that I can hold on to this weightlessness when I step back onto the shore.
I release my knees, letting my legs stretch out until I’m flat on my back, floating and staring up at the sky. It’s blue and clear without a cloud in sight. With my ears just barely submerged, I hear the muffled clicking and ticking and swishing of the ocean. It makes me wonder what the hell makes all that noise.