Wednesday, February 23, 2011


(Pre-Script: This post will carry you out to sea when read as the song, "Uncharted," #44 on the playlist, plays in the background. Go down to the playlist, click on that song, then come back and resume reading. I'll wait...)(...still waiting...)

When I was 4, the ocean knocked me over. Not in a gentle or graceful way, just flat out, cold salt water smacking into my back and pushing me face down into the sand while it rolled over me, then back out. This is the risk that any small person takes when stepping into the ocean, never mind if she is wearing her prettiest pink swimsuit or not. Never mind if parents or grandparents are standing nearby with a large towel and a red box of Cheez-It's.
I have never been knocked over since.
When I got a little bit older, I used to go out as deep as I felt brave, and body surf. It was always cold, so I would wait until one level of my body got numb before daring to go any deeper, and finally I would be up to my shoulders, and finally, dipping my head under. Eventually, the chill of the ocean would take over the numbness I had taken for granted. When I realized I was cold, I would get out of the water in pursuit of warm sand and my towel.
It's surprising how much sand a body can hide and then later that evening deposit in a bath drain. You thought you'd left the water, but so much of it had stayed with you, in crevices you thought you'd already rinsed clean.


No comments: