I pull into the small parking lot on the side of a two-story house made into four large apartments. I looked at the setup online and loved the feel of it. I had stopped at the Walmart superstore on the way here and loaded up with paper items, food, coffee, and other things, just enough to start me off. I thought I’d be nervous being nineteen and living on my own for the first time, a couple of hours away from home, but all I feel is excitement.
I get out of my jeep, walk around the back of it and open the hatch. Picking up the first box of many, I start walking to the front door. Nope, I’m not nervous at all. The crashing sounds of the ocean waves already make me feel relaxed as I take a deep breath and absorb the salty air into my lungs. I grew up close to the ocean, about a twenty minute drive, but to live right next to it, hearing the gentle sounds of the waves at night and waking up early to watch the sun rise in the horizon from my own deck will be heaven. Yep, this is definitely paradise.
I was fortunate to get the last apartment in this house. I have no idea who else lives here but I don’t really care. I pretty much plan on being a hermit when I’m here anyway except for maybe some long walks or jogs on the beach. There are six more houses like this one next to me that were also turned into apartments and they all share the same beach. Next to the last house there is a coffee shop with a large deck where people can sit and drink their coffee or work on their laptops. A grocery store is across the street from the coffee shop and three doors down from it is the new bar. I shouldn’t really have to drive too much since everything is within walking distance. Perfect.
I open the front door to well-kept wooden floors, mailboxes on the wall to my left with four long locked boxes. I look at the set of stairs in front of me, wooden railings, double wide with a clean carpet runner up the steps. I start the climb, digging in my pocket for my keys and when I reach the top, I turn to my right and unlock the door to my apartment. I take a step inside, and I’m immediately taken aback by the tall windows along the back wall with a sliding glass door in the middle and the sunshine pouring in. As I walk toward them, I notice the furniture seems to be in good shape. I’m lucky because it’s already furnished. I set down the box on the coffee table and walk to the sliding door, open it and take in a deep breath. Walking out onto the deck, I grasp the railing and look out at the beautiful scenery. This is heaven. This is peace and tranquility. This is perfect for me.
It takes me four trips to unload my jeep. After putting away my clothes and all the kitchen things I brought, I finally grab a beer from the fridge, go outside and sit down in one of the lawn chairs. Sitting here, listening to the waves crashing, watching the sun lower in the horizon, I feel refreshed, like I’m finally doing something for me. For the first time. I thought I’d be nervous out on my own, alone, but I’m so relaxed. I take in the sandy beach as I finish my beer. Now, what to do? I don’t really need to do anything but I’m not one for watching much TV. I could work on the song I’ve been writing. I stand and walk inside, closing the door behind me and lock it. Instead, I think I’ll go for a run on the beach before it gets too late.
There’s not a sound in the house as I walk downstairs. I turn around at the bottom and see a sliding glass door on the back wall. I unlock it and walk out onto the deck then down the stairs. The sand collapses under the weight of my tennis shoes as turn to my left and start to jog. Even though I’m not playing football anymore, I still try to keep in shape. I’m sweating by the time I get quite a ways from the house so I turn around and start back. The sun has set lower, changing the bright sunshine for a lower lighting, and the tide has changed. I decide to keep jogging down the beach to take a look around while there’s still enough light. I can always do more exploring tomorrow and then Monday I start my new job.
The apartment houses are all similar to mine except they’re painted different colors. Some people are sitting out on their decks. Some are grilling out while others are sitting on the beach. The sounds of laughter and talking filters in the distance with the light breeze. Some people wave at me, a couple of girls in barely-there bikinis give me a smile as I run by. Not too many people to make me feel uncomfortable but I’m starting to long to go back to my apartment to be alone.
I trudge on wanting to see what’s further down when I spot a coffee shop coming up. A couple of people are out on the deck reading or working on their laptops. It’s a nice building, nothing like Starbucks, but in keeping up with the beach house looks along the street it fits in nicely. I stop and catch my breath at the foot of the deck stairs then walk up, across the deck and into the shop. The inside is homey, not decorated with an outlandish display of surfboards or beach paraphernalia you’d think would be in a shop along a beach. There’s bookshelves that align one of the walls with futon chairs and small tables in front of them. Over to my right are regular tables and chairs and along the other wall is a counter with a display case of pastries and assorted sandwiches and bottled drinks next to it. I love the atmosphere here.