LJ Idol Week 12: Salty

[flipflop_diva]

There was a picture of me my mother used to have, hanging on the side of the refrigerator. I was small, less than two years old, dressed in a yellow and orange bathing suit that just screamed 1970s. On my head was a bonnet that perfectly matched my bathing suit. On my face was the biggest grin and in my hands were little piles of sand — sand that was also plastered to my arms and legs and face. Behind me you could see the ocean — so blue it was almost black, and wild, white glints of foam visible in the faded photograph.

I’ve loved the ocean as long as I can remember, and I know I must have loved it before I can remember, too. There is something about the roar of the waves and the taste of the salt on the air and the feel of wet sand squishing between your toes.

It’s strong and powerful and free. And it’s beautiful.

•••

I was seven years old the summer we packed up the tent-trailer and the big old white van that I would have the misfortune of driving when I was in high school and drove up the coast of California. We stayed at the beach for two weeks that summer, our van and tent-trailer parked next to the vans and tents and campers of my parents’ best friends and their kids.

We took a hike one morning we were there, all the kids and the dads, walking down the beach as far as our little legs could take us.

The spot we stopped at was secluded, pristine white sand, big huge boulders. The ocean was calm there, a little inlet in the rocky coast.

“Go in,” the dads all said, and we stared at them with the horrified faces of children.

“But we don’t have our bathing suits on!”

“It’s okay,” they said. “You can swim in your underwear.”

We stared at them, like maybe they would change their minds. But they smiled, and we asked no more questions. We tore off our clothes, ran into the freezing cold water without a care in the world, spent the next few hours laughing and playing and splashing and try to collect as much seaweed from the bottom of the ocean floor as we could.

“Mom! Mom!” we all shrieked hours later when we arrived back at camp. “We went swimming in our underwear!!!!”

Our moms all shook their heads at our dads. They were not pleased.

It was the best day of the year for us.

•••

I was twenty-five the cold wintry day in February when I got in my car and drove thirty minutes to the nearest ocean. Monterey, California, was never a beacon of warmth, but that morning was even colder. I found a place to park, climbed over a few rocks, and sat down on one, staring into the gray, swirling water below me.

My mother had died the year before, her ashes scattered in a lake nowhere close to where I was right then, but sitting there on that rock, staring down into the water, it felt right. I felt close to her, like maybe she was there, looking down.

I sat there for a while, until the rain started, just tiny little drops splashing down on my hair and my hands and my face. I tilted my head up, closed my eyes, listened to the sounds of the waves below and thought about all the trips to the beach with my mother I’d made in the past, about the times I’d held her hand as we walked along the ocean’s edge, about the time we were on a cruise in Hawaii and she threw her lei off the side of the ship and the wind blew it right back into her hands.

“I miss you, Mom,” I said to the waves, and I hoped that wherever she was, she knew.

•••

I was thirty-something the last time I was by the ocean. My friend Aaron and I had taken a cruise around the Baltic. We were in a little town in the north of Germany. We hurried off the ship and down the small streets, past the groups of tourists and made our way to the public access beach.

We took our sandals off, buried our toes in the cool sand, smiled and laughed as we made our way through the white drifts until we got to the place where water meets land.

We took turns then, touching the water, grinning at the other as a camera snapped and the perfect picture was captured.

I’ve been to many countries, a couple different continents, but there is something about touching the ocean, thousands of miles away from where you started, knowing that the water all connects together. Connects us together.

It’s magical almost.

•••

I didn’t know then, by the shore in Germany, that it would be my last time by the ocean in so long. I don’t know now when the next time I’m by the ocean will be.

I miss it at times, crave it, want to stand next to it and just stare out over it.

I live by lakes now, not the ocean. I love them too. The glistening water, the smooth little ripples. We swim in the lakes, boat in them, ride on tubes down their adjacent rivers while drinking beer and telling stories.

But I still miss the ocean. I miss the feeling of freedom standing beside it. I miss that little girl who was so happy to be holding that sand. I miss the little girl who went flying into the ocean in her underwear, no cares in the world.

I’m a lot less daring now — I dip my toe in the pool and take one step at a time instead of just leaping in — but I still remember that summer. Maybe someday I can be a little more like her again.



Thank you so much for reading! This was written for Week 12 of therealljidol. Voting will be up later. If you would like to read any of the other entries for this week's topic, you can find them here.

Comments

[bleodswean.livejournal.com]

I, too, am drawn to the sea and could relate to so much of this. I hope you can return to the shore soon! Nice work here.

[beeker121.livejournal.com]

The ocean wasn't an instinct for me, but it was for a few friends and I learned to love its rhythm and immensity. The vignettes here add up to a wonderful whole.

[shadowwolf13]

I think the ocean has a much larger personality than lakes.

[eternal-ot.livejournal.com]

This made for a nice read :) And I hope you get back to the ocean sooner than you think because these are beautiful memories and you need to add on to them :)

[roina-arwen.livejournal.com]

This was a lovely reminiscence. :)

[halfshellvenus.livejournal.com]

I love those early stories-- gripping the sand with both hands, it was so wonderful, and swimming in your underwear.

It is so hard to be without the ocean when you've grown up knowing it, and lakes just aren't the same. :(

[dmousey.livejournal.com]

This was a beautiful read. Am sorry about the recent loss of your mother. ::Hug::

When I lived in the Phila. I would drive the sixty miles or so to the beach every chance I had. Funny, now, when I live seven miles from the ocean, I haven't been in years. I have a tendency to visit our back bay- which is only a mile away and a wild bird refuge.

There is something about the salt air that always stays with you. Hugs and peace~~~

[rayaso.livejournal.com]

I understand your affinity for the ocean. The early stories were very sweet, and the part about missing your mother sad. This was so well written, and I hope you return to the ocean again.

[mamas-minion.livejournal.com]

Personally I love lakes (Born in Minnesota), I have been to the ocean a few times only the East coast, west coast and gulf coast of the US. but every time I am in awe of it's hugeness.

[penpusher.livejournal.com]

A wonderful treasure box of memories you have crafted, and, perhaps a little like Pandora's Box, you have left some hope inside there as well.

Here's hoping!

[fodschwazzle.livejournal.com]

I liked the progression of life events, each one a totally worthy entry. I especially liked the underwear conflict, because I can imagine being a kid that would think that was hilarious if my dad enabled it to happen.