The Beach

“Rise and Shine!” a voice echoes within a black void. Slowly, the darkness dissipates to

reveal a white popcorn ceiling above my bed. Turning my head right, my gaze shifts from the

white stubble to the animal-themed calendar above my blue nightstand. After staring blankly at

the gridded paper for 10 seconds, I realize that today is Saturday, June 10th, the family beach

day.

“Rmmh…” I grumble. Going to the beach has never interested me. With the bright

blinding sand and briney green seaweed, I would prefer to be in my room reading a book. That’s

all I need. Sure, the beaches of the emerald coast where I live are beautiful, but they aren’t for

me.

After a long-winded sigh, my body rises and slides out from the turquoise linen sheets on

my bed. Groveling to my maple dresser, I pick out one of the loose youth medium t-shirts

scattered within the top drawer. Whichever I picked didn’t matter much to me, but I didn’t want

any words on it, so I chose a crinkled light blue cotton shirt that rested on the disorganized

fabrics.

Once I slid the shirt on, my arms reached down and pulled out the drawer containing my

shorts. This drawer was just as messy as the previous one, and I chose some earthy green khaki

shorts floating on the surface. Before closing the drawer, I noticed the marbled cerulean swim

trunks with a white polyester drawstring against the side of the drawer. I wondered if I should

take the trunks instead. But I quickly forwent the idea.

With my clothes all ready, I walk out of my room and head to the door where my family

is already waiting. They, unlike me, enjoy the beach and have prepared all the essentials for the

day: a cooler with drinks and food, an umbrella, sunscreen, folding chairs, a boogie board, beach
towels, and sun hats. Being the last one, and least to contribute, I am bestowed the duty of

carrying everything to our ruby Toyota Corolla. So I slipped on my leathery flip-flops and started

dragging the items to the car.

With my parents in the front seats and my sister and I in the back, we departed our home

for the beaches of the emerald coast. The drive takes us through our small strip town and into

groves of spindly pastel pine trees. By the time the millionth tree passes, the oily greens and

browns wear away to reveal a gate on the cream concrete road that separates automobiles from a

pristine blue. However, this is only Choctawhatchee Bay, and the beach resides on the barrier

island on the other side. So, we offer some green paper to the gate and steer over hundreds of

boat-produced dilapidations until we reach the island. When the ground returns from the water to

relink with the road, there is only a small stretch of city until we reach the beach. Within

minutes, we find parking in a beachside lot.

At last, our journey in the car comes to a halt. On the horizon, an endless stretch of

carlisle curves over the earth. Before it, a symphony of crashing waves meets sand as pure as

sunlight. The beach is like a painting, and as such, I prefer not to touch it and merely observe.

However, my family threatens to lock me in the car if I don’t leave and eat all the good snacks,

so I unbuckle my seatbelt and leave for the beach.

Immediately as I hop out of the car onto the asphalt, the sun's rays cast intensely upon my

arms and tantalize my skin like the edges of a fire. It’s a nice feeling, but I quickly spray on

sunblock to prevent burns. Grabbing my beach towel with my now oily arms, my family and I

walk towards the beach.

As we approach the end of the parking lot, quartz pellets layer onto the asphalt,

eventually overtaking it until my feet sink with each step and slide on the grains flowing through
my flip-flops. Trudging through the rippled sand, the smell of gulf brine builds in my nostrils.

My parents and sister smile, but I scrunch my nose in repulsion. All I want to do is turn around

and leave, but unfortunately, it's not an option.

“Here! Over Here!” my sister shouts, pointing to an empty section of sand adjacent to

tempered water. While it wasn’t afternoon yet, the beach was already getting busy, and we were

lucky to find a good spot. Once we walked over, my mom threw down our red umbrella and my

dad set up the mini cooler and beach towels. My sister took our yellow foam boogie board and

went running for the water. Once my parents finished setting up, my dad went to join my sister in

the water while my mom decided to start suntanning. I simply chilled under the umbrella and ate

some snacks. The umbrella was like a pocket of urban life away from the beach, a respite from

what I despised. Sooner or later, I just fell asleep because I had nothing to do.

An hour later, I awoke to the rattles of sand grains and passing conversations. Baring my

eyes against the sun, I sat up and noticed that the beach had become unusually busy. People

rolled through like a mist all around, obscuring the sand beyond a few yards. The peaceful nook I

was resting in was no longer private, and I felt self-conscious with the passing seconds. Being

unable to bear the amount of people, I stood up and decided to walk along the sand within the

crowd. “Don’t go too far,” my mother tells me.

Merging with the traffic, I abruptly squeeze past idle people, squeaking the sand with

each movement. For some reason, each step I made was more rough than before. Peering down, I

noticed that It was just my feet covered in white grains, no flip-flops. They must have been back

at the umbrella. “Oh well,” I muttered. I didn’t feel like going back for them. Trudging forward,

my head slowly turned to observe the crashing waves. Each wave started as no more than a

minor swell, stretching forever in horizontal directions. Approaching the shore, the wave would
build, becoming darker in the front and bending light at its peak. When the wave was tall

enough, it would careen, turning light into mist. And maybe, if you stared hard enough, you

could see your reflection in the wall of water, just for a second. Then the tip at a certain point

would crash, creating a cascade of falling water for the infinity of the wave. How peculiar that

something I hated could be so mesmerizing.

“Ow!” Maybe too mesmerizing. Without paying attention, I inadvertently stepped on

something sharp in the sand. Taking a step back, I squatted down to see what spiked my foot.

Down in a little foot-shaped divot of pearly pebbles sat an iridescent orange and cream shell. Its

shape was round with a smaller side like a fish tale. On its surface, ripples ran like sun rays from

the small end to the outer rim. How could something so beautiful be here? Did it come from the

ocean? Picking up the shell, I turned my glance back to the gulf. There must have been many

more clams, and they must have been alive.

Filled with a strange curiosity, I wandered towards the shore. My strides slowed until I

met with the beach’s edge. The sand was no longer soft and white, but a concrete tan. Staring

down, I could see the ends of waves proceed in bubbly films and recede with sand. One more

step, and I would be in the water. Suppressing my reluctance to be in nature, I forced my left leg

forward to touch the gulf. The moment the water washed over my foot, I was overrun with

euphoria. It was as if I could sense every molecule caressing my skin and fiddling with my toes.

Unforgettable.

No longer fearing the salty brine, I walked further into the water, leaving cloudy water in

my wake. Each wave that splashed against my legs glimmered like glass and sprayed into the air.

Under the surface, anthill-shaped burrows line the sandy floor. Here and there, small bleached

crabs scurried about while stray miniature fish danced with the waves. What lied further? At this
point, the water was already up to my knees, and going farther would make my clothes wet.

However, part of me didn’t think that getting wet was all that bad, so I continued further.

Soon the water was up to my chest; my clothes were drenched in brine. But I wasn’t

thinking about it. Crashes of sapphire beat my back, draping foam over my shoulders and

running past like wind. On the horizon, a cloudless azure sky melts into the ocean. Ducking

below the surface, I could glimpse things in a blurred vision. Here and there appeared washy

images of shelled hermit crabs. In the distance, an unrecognizable gray fish-like figure with a tail

moving up and down. Life had never been so incredible.

“Hey!” My sister shouts as she pops up next to me. Saltwater soaked her hair. Droplets

dotted her face and skin. “Want to use the boogie board?”

“Uhh, Sure!” I replied. I had never used a boogie board before, but I figured it wasn’t too

difficult. All I have to do is float with the board. Taking the board from my sister, I tethered the

board’s black velcro strap to my wrist. Having secured it, I firmly grasp the yellow foam and

wait for the right wave. Slowly, from the depths of the gulf, a navy swell began to form. Other

people farther out would rise with the swell and slide down its back. As it approached my

position, the swell became twice my height and began to careen with silver mist. The wave was

unlike any of the previous ones, and even looking at it was daunting. But I took a chance and

leaned forward onto the boogie board. The water hoisted me up to the crest of the wave just as it

began to crash, providing a birds-eye view of other waves and sands far away. Sitting in the

glittering mist, I flew forward toward the shore and sailed within layers of foam. When I finally

stopped, I was a mere step from dry sand. I could’ve continued forward back to the umbrella, but

I decided to turn around and stay in the emerald sea.

 Somehow, many hours passed, and the golden ball in the sky was low on the horizon. On

the rice grain shore, my parents waved their hands to signal it was time to head home. The

crowds from earlier in the day were long gone. Leaving the water, my clothes were clinging tight

to my body, and sand grains stickered my legs and feet. Walking to the umbrella, the ghost

gestures of waves continued to caress my body as if I hadn’t left the water. My parents were

aghast when they saw all my clothes had been drenched and how red my cheeks were. My mom

in particular was concerned I hadn’t eaten enough. But I just smiled.

Sliding my flip-flops back on, I helped my family pack up our stuff and return to the car.

As the ground became firm once again, I felt sad that our beach day had to end. There was so

much for me to explore, and I had so much fun. Thankfully, this wouldn’t be the last beach day.

Using a towel, I slapped the sand off of my legs so the quartz pellets wouldn’t enter the car. I

then placed the towel on my seat to absorb my moisture and sat down. Buckling my seat belt, I

felt something sharp in my pocket. Using my hands, I fished out the shell I had picked up after

my nap. Its orange-white luster still shone like the setting sun that appeared through the car

window.

“Que bonita,” my dad said, glancing through the rear-view mirror. Hearing the statement,

my mom turned around to see what he was referring to.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, noticing the shell. “Jakie fajnie! Skąd to znalazłeś?”

”Just on the beach, not far from the umbrella…” I was going to keep explaining, but I just

continued to ponder the shell: where it lived, what its life could’ve been like. It was all I thought

about on the drive home. Nothing else.