It was my first really good look at the ocean. A week earlier, travelling south our route was too far inland to have even a glimpse of the Atlantic. Jammed into the old station wagon were my Mom, three brothers, Alan and I. We met at college and things had gotten a little serious, at least on my part. I’m pretty sure he was in it for the same thing as every other guy.
We attended college at Oswego on Lake Ontario, one of the Great Lakes. The lake was so big I thought it was as good as seeing the ocean, the never ending vista of water curving as it met the horizon. Ocean going freighters would cross sometimes headed for the locks passing through to the other Great Lakes. Waves pounded boulder strewn shores instead of sand duned beaches, but still it must be just like the ocean, no big deal I thought.
We returned north by way of Miami and there it was, The Ocean. I was not prepared for the miles of white sand and frothy green foam as it rolled onto the shore, but it was really there and I was here, standing on a warm sandy beach, a fog bank hovering mysteriously out beyond the breakwater. Looking back at the row of hotels looming over the sand I imagined myself a beautiful young starlet, certain that Frank Sinatra was staying in the penthouse at the top and just happened to be out for a walk. He would pass and smile and we would nod and say good morning, lovely day isn’t it?
Emily, Emily! Little brothers yelling from barely a foot away. Look at this! And Frankie baby vanished into a puff smoke, like some popped cartoon conversation bubble.
We walked along, gathering shells and polished stones, what was left from the early morning beach combers. We stuffed the pockets of our shorts, each tiny treasure glistening with damp sparkly sand. That was going to be fun for the washing machine, because, as we all know, boys never empty their pockets.
Sandals in hand, I stared as waves rolled breaking on top of each other, the fog waiting expectantly off shore. The swishing, bubbling, rolling sound hypnotized as it curled and flattened on the shore and then swooshed back out. Teasing, here a second, gone forever as it inched back under the next rolling curl of foam making its way onto the shore.
The words ebb and flow leap to life from printed pages, and now I knew their meanings, could really feel it in my chest, like an invisible magnet pulling on my body, calling me into the sea as I leaned back into the wind resisting.
“Just come,” it called, “a little closer, let me tickle your toes, I won’t hurt you. Closer, see how I flow over your feet, cooling the hot sand. Feel it squish, massaging between your toes.”
Oh, that’s nice. One step more, swirling eddies surround ankles as it rushes past and slips out again. Lovely! Up to my calves, pants not rolled high enough to escape the salty wetness. I saw myself floating across the sea, seaweed arms holding me up, floating from wave to wave. One more step … .
“Emily! What are you doing? Stop!”
Alan was tugging, pulling me back. I looked down and saw just ahead, the green-blue water darken as the shelf dropped off to the ocean bottom. I laughed, a little too loudly and called him my hero.
Looking back, I wonder if I was trying to escape the next chapter, before it had even begun.
We attended college at Oswego on Lake Ontario, one of the Great Lakes. The lake was so big I thought it was as good as seeing the ocean, the never ending vista of water curving as it met the horizon. Ocean going freighters would cross sometimes headed for the locks passing through to the other Great Lakes. Waves pounded boulder strewn shores instead of sand duned beaches, but still it must be just like the ocean, no big deal I thought.
We returned north by way of Miami and there it was, The Ocean. I was not prepared for the miles of white sand and frothy green foam as it rolled onto the shore, but it was really there and I was here, standing on a warm sandy beach, a fog bank hovering mysteriously out beyond the breakwater. Looking back at the row of hotels looming over the sand I imagined myself a beautiful young starlet, certain that Frank Sinatra was staying in the penthouse at the top and just happened to be out for a walk. He would pass and smile and we would nod and say good morning, lovely day isn’t it?
Emily, Emily! Little brothers yelling from barely a foot away. Look at this! And Frankie baby vanished into a puff smoke, like some popped cartoon conversation bubble.
We walked along, gathering shells and polished stones, what was left from the early morning beach combers. We stuffed the pockets of our shorts, each tiny treasure glistening with damp sparkly sand. That was going to be fun for the washing machine, because, as we all know, boys never empty their pockets.
Sandals in hand, I stared as waves rolled breaking on top of each other, the fog waiting expectantly off shore. The swishing, bubbling, rolling sound hypnotized as it curled and flattened on the shore and then swooshed back out. Teasing, here a second, gone forever as it inched back under the next rolling curl of foam making its way onto the shore.
The words ebb and flow leap to life from printed pages, and now I knew their meanings, could really feel it in my chest, like an invisible magnet pulling on my body, calling me into the sea as I leaned back into the wind resisting.
“Just come,” it called, “a little closer, let me tickle your toes, I won’t hurt you. Closer, see how I flow over your feet, cooling the hot sand. Feel it squish, massaging between your toes.”
Oh, that’s nice. One step more, swirling eddies surround ankles as it rushes past and slips out again. Lovely! Up to my calves, pants not rolled high enough to escape the salty wetness. I saw myself floating across the sea, seaweed arms holding me up, floating from wave to wave. One more step … .
“Emily! What are you doing? Stop!”
Alan was tugging, pulling me back. I looked down and saw just ahead, the green-blue water darken as the shelf dropped off to the ocean bottom. I laughed, a little too loudly and called him my hero.
Looking back, I wonder if I was trying to escape the next chapter, before it had even begun.