Prompt #6

A few years ago, my friend British Beth invited me to go with her family to Disney World over Christmas vacation. I went, and we had a blast. It was a tough week, though, and when we ended up at the beach toward the end of the week, British and I were worn out and starting to get snippy with each other, a common problem among people who are born loners and forced to spend a week together is a very small shared space. Our hotel suites were right on the beach, though, so after we were settled in we decided on a walk.

It sounded like a lovely idea. I always remember that the beach smells so good, and that I love the sound of the crashing waves, and the feel of the water going over my feet. I forget that sand gets everywhere, and once I'm wet the sand will then stick to me everywhere, and the sand is hot, and it hurts my knees to walk it in for long periods. I forget that crabs build little nests or something and if you kick one the crabs will try to attack your toes. That wonderful smell is actually salt and decay. The wind can be fierce and kick the sand into your face. There's nowhere to pee unless you go out into the water. There are jellyfish. And regular fish. And sharks. (Well, maybe not sharks).

Luckily, it was later in the day, and the sun was setting, so the sand wasn't too hot. I wore sandals that I could remove, so I was able to bury my feet in the sand if I needed to and not worry about getting sand in my shoes. There was a breeze, but just a light one. There was a boardwalk almost up to the water. It was winter, off season for jellyfish, and our patch of beach was dead-thing-free. Few people were still there, so we had a patch of beach to ourselves.

British and I walked together for a little bit, but we pulled away from each other after a while, looking at shells or just sitting and staring. The sun was really starting to set, and the sky was turning so many different shades of pink and red and orange and blue and purple. I decided to just stand for a bit, and watch the water, and the sun, and listen to the ocean, and breath in the air.

The breeze stayed the same. The air got a little cooler, but it was still comfortable. I stood with my feet in enough of the waves that the water would sometimes crash up to my calves, maybe my knees, but usually stayed down around my ankles. I let my feet sink into the sand, feeling the wet slimy grimy bits get in between my toes and massage my heels. The air smelled like salt, or like Dover after a rain storm. There were very few people on the beach, and it was quiet except for the occasional seagull or jet speeder out on the ocean. The waves crashed in and out in a rhythm that was exciting, soothing, and unpredictable.

I closed my eyes and felt the sun on my face. I found a moment of calm.

In that moment, I felt a peace that I only felt once before, at a midnight retreat at my church. Standing in the water I found that I wasn't worrying, or thinking about tomorrow, or what I would order at dinner, or wondering if I had eaten too quickly or too much at lunch, or if I should repack for the third time, or what I should have for the first day of school when we got back from the break, or if my mother was really OK that I was missing her birthday, and if Dad was angry I'd spent the holiday away from home. I wasn't analyzing everything that British said to see if she was upset with her mother, or her father, or me, or trying to find the perfect way to be the buffer between them all, the perfect guest and hostess all in one. I wasn't wondering was Marie meant when she said, "Well, do all Americans take Disney studies at school?" because even though she clearly meant it as a joke, was she secretly saying I was being too controlling in the park, and should I have let us wander around lost instead of finding a map and directing us along? Are the asthma attacks I keep having asthma or am I dying of bronchitis? Should I take the medicine when we get back to the room, knowing that it is going to make me sleepy, but knowing that we have dinner to go to yet? Can I listen to my headphones when I get back without being rude? What if there are jelly fish in this sand and I get stung? What if we get lost on the beach? What if we get locked out of our hotel? What if Mom doesn't like the present I got her? What if Tony and Marie need us while we're out here? What if...?

I was listening to the waves, and feeling the sun on my face, and breathing deeply.

I wanted to find a way to show my appreciation for the moment, but quietly. It wouldn't do to run up to someone and say "I just found peace with my lord and saviour! Come join me!" That's not how the moment presented itself, and that wasn't the purpose of the moment, anyway. It would ruin it to share it in such an ungraceful and unpeaceful way.

I had found some shells earlier on the trip, and I had them in my hand. I took a few steps away from the waves, so the sand was still went but not in the surf. I took a shell and wrote Be still, and know that I am... in the sand, and set the shells around it.

It would disappear in a while, the shells taken back into the ocean, the words filled in when the tide came back. But it was there for a while. And so was I.