The plan, always, is to drag our chairs, our books, our sunscreen, and our bottles of water down to the beach and enjoy a lovely afternoon of relaxation. And this we do. The blue sea, endless and beckoning, its waves crashing to shore, each with a different style, a different sound, a different purpose. But the many times we have been to the beach, I have yet to pick up a book. I have not closed my eyes for a quick siesta.
I cannot pull my eyes away from the surf, as it is mesmerizing. The last time we were there, my attention was given to a couple of coconuts that had found their way to the shore. They were bouncing and rolling with the waves, as if they had together planned a day of fun in the sun.
I imagined them being lovers frolicking in the surf. One was caught by a wave and rode it high until it was dumped onto the incoming rush. He then rolled until the wave deposited him onto dry sand far up onto the beach. His mate bobbed in the surf and caught a wave as she called for her lover to join her. She rolled and bounced, attempting to reach him, but the surf only pulled her back again into the sea. Soon a crashing wave rolled in far enough to catch him; he grabbed it and was washed out to her. They again played together enjoying the cool sea. Another roll of the sea and she found herself on the sand. She watched him as he was tossed about and calling to her. Occasionally they both were together either in the waves or on the sand. But they were never close enough for an embrace.
This continued for the duration of our visit to the beach. As the afternoon passed, the waves grew stronger and fiercer. One of the lovers got a little too far out. Her mate rolled and twisted on the sand trying to catch an out-going wave, only to be pushed higher onto the beach. I could imagine his calls to her as he watched in horror. She continued to bounce and with futile attempts, she was pulled further and further away. A wave finally caught him, and he pushed to reach its peak. He threw himself out to her with a frantic heart and sickening fear. But she was nowhere to be seen. The under tow had swept her beyond the protection of the small cove and had sent her tumbling onto the rocks. His attempts to join her beyond the barrier of those rocks, was in vain. He was sent rolling, as the waves spit him out onto the sand.
As we prepared to leave, a wave rushed ashore and he soon was on it gaining speed and heading out to catch a climbing roll to the sea. I turned and watched him, as we climbed the steps to our car. He was bouncing and turning, calling, and crying for his beloved. At last, I saw her. She had made it to the safety of the beach away from the fierce waves and the rocks. But jagged rocks now separated them. She was calling to her love, trying to be heard above the crashing sound. She was safe. Did he hear her? Was he trying to catch the wave that would carry him to her? My hope is that they would find one another and the sun would set as they finally shared an embrace.
George, who has not the imagination that I have, had one remark after reading my story.
“I wonder if one of them could have been Wilson?” Copyright Kathleen M. Brosius – December, 2007