At The Beach - Three Short Stories

Comes and Goes 

"I love people watching," said Mike, as we sat at the bar on the corner of comes and goes. I say that because this bar (and restaurant) is located just over the bridge where everyone, either by (flip-flopped) foot, beach bike, car, skateboard, electric scooter, fancy golf cart, or very cool Volkswagen bus (with a beautifully painted-on scene of a tree frog hangin out on some tropical flowers) . . . comes or goes. And the windows are tinted, so from the outside it practically looks closed, and we can see the passersby, but they can't see us. "One of my favorite things to do," I agreed, as I sipped on what may have been the perfectly made margarita. If the bartender can make one better than I can, it's pretty damn good. 

The Umbrella

It was only a matter of time.

The day before was a windy one, and we caught the umbrella just as it was being lifted from the sand. We decided it would probably be best to leave it down, rather than try again. 

Today did not seem as windy, and I was immersed in my Hallmark-movie-beach-read (which I did not realized until I read about the author, about a quarter of the way into the story), when Mike said, 

    "There it goes . . . " 

I looked up and noticed our umbrella was no longer in its place. I jumped out of my chair and saw it flipping and tumbling down the beach behind me, as if performing an acrobatic routine (in a circus, perhaps). 

As I began to run after it, an older looking teenager jumped up from his spot on the sand, and as his two friends cheered him on, he ran after it with gusto. As he got closer, it looked like the two were performing a dance, battling over who would take the lead, and then the umbrella got angry. For a moment, I feared it would take the teenager out. He was determined though, and despite his gangly looking arms and legs, grabbed hold of that umbrella like he meant business, refusing to allow it to escape.

His friends and I clapped and cheered, and as he handed the defeated umbrella to me, he announced, 

    "I have been training for this moment my entire life!" 

I appreciated his enthusiasm, and through my laughter, responded, 

    "You're my hero!"

I walked back over to my chair and plopped the umbrella down. 

    "Do you want me to try to put it back up?" asked Mike.

    "Nope!" I said, as I picked up my book and turned the pages to try and find the place where I left off. It's not difficult to do with a Hallmark book. 

Weightless

There was a constant breeze coming off the coast, and the saltwater felt amazing on my skin. I had the pool completely to myself, and I soaked it all in.  At first, I kept my hat and sunglasses on, treading water to keep my head from getting wet, but the water felt so good I could not resist. I swam over to the edge of the pool, removed my hat and sunglasses, and immersed myself entirely. 

Oh, what a feeling!

When you don't do it often, you forget. Renewed, restored . . . refreshed.

I put my sunglasses back on, leaving my hat behind. I tilted my head back, allowing my body to follow, and floated. Weightlessly floating, floating, floating, remembering what it felt like as a child, when I would spend entire summers at the pool. As I stared up at the blue, blue sky, I listened to the sounds of the water rippling up against my ears, and the muffled, distant sounds of things going on around me. I felt completely and entirely in the moment, and invisible at the same time. 

When I decided I was ready, I made my way over toward the ladder. Remembering (from when I stepped in) to skip over the wobbly, top step, I pulled myself out of the pool, picked up my hat, and walked over to my spot - one of the (many) turquoise blue lounge chairs, partially protected by the shade of a palm tree. As I began to adjust myself into the perfect position, I heard the sound of a very loud helicopter. Must be military, I thought. I sat up to look, and it was. Always such an impressive sight. 

As it flew off into the distance, I adjusted myself again, and looked up at the palm tree. Riding along in the breeze, atop the flowering branches, were lots and lots of bees. I could count ten just on one branch, and as I looked up into the higher branches, I could see more, and more, and more. As I watched them, I did not feel concerned. They were way too engaged, visiting and flirting with those tiny, white flowers. And, as I sat and listened to the sound of the palm leaves rustling against each other in the wind, I was happy to share my spot with those bees. Or, happy those bees were willing to share their spot with me. 

 

 

 

 

 

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