The ocean is louder than anything I’ve ever heard before, roaring and crashing in a way that I didn’t think was possible. I’ve read about this, about how to sound of the waves can literally obliterate everything else. I’ve never believed that it’s true, that it can really happen—but it is. The sound of it surrounds me, blocks out the rest of the world as I stand with my feet planted in the soft white sand and the wind whipping against my clothes, and I think that this is the most peaceful I’ve ever felt.
The beach umbrella is heavy in my arms, the metal rod cool against the palms of my hands. I can feel the myriad of dents and scratches that cover its surface; it is the topography of an entire planet shrunk down to fit on this five-foot-long pole, grounding me here and reminding me that this is, in fact, a real event.
He stands a few feet behind me, laughing – though I can’t hear it over the waves – and waving me forward, toward the ocean. The moonlight hits the metal clasp of the necklace he wears, throwing silver in my face, reflecting out of his dark eyes. I hesitate, unsure, and he raises his voice so I can hear him over the cacophony of the waves.
“Do it!” he shouts. He’s smiling, wide and blazing and confident in me, and it makes me smile, too. “C’mon!”
I heft the umbrella up so it’s level with my ribs and yell back, “But it’s not ours!”
His response is thunderous and simple: “WHO CARES?”
I don’t know what it is – the giddiness of the day, the unbelievable beauty of the ocean, or just the surreal haze that covers this whole night – but something breaks the last remainders of my conscience and suddenly I don’t care about rules or consequences or right and wrong.
I lift the umbrella to my shoulder, holding it in both hands, my grip wide, like some kind of medieval warrior holds and spear, and I rush forward. The sand clutches at my feet and the wind threatens to knock me over, and when I hit the water it splashes up all around me, even louder here than it was ten feet away on the beach. I run forward, struggling against the waves, until my shorts are soaked through and the water is lapping at the hem of my t-shirt and then I stop, draw a deep breath, and hurl the umbrella forward with all of my strength.
It doesn’t go far, or straight, and it’s definitely not the kind of throw a medieval warrior would execute, but when the umbrella hits the water with an almighty splash, and I’m hit full in the face with the smell of salt and ocean and life, I’m thrilled. I literally squeal with excitement as I swing around, back to the beach, and there he is, doubled over now, laughing so hard his eyes are squeezed shut.
I fight my way back to the sand and kick a giant cloud of it in his direction, and he shouts, “Hey!”
“Catch me if you can!” I reply, and before he can even react I take off down the beach, running where the water and the shore meet, as fast as I can, arms pumping at my sides and air ripping through my chest. Every once in a while, when the waves ebb, I can hear his feet thumping against the ground behind me, or a snatch of his voice, laughing or shouting my name before the wind carries it away, and I keep running, laughing, shouting with absolute joy as the moon shines down on the best night of my summer.
No comments:
Post a Comment