“I’ll walk with you. Let’s go,” my sister says, lifting her head to the side, to the sea. She adjusts her sunglasses and starts walking up the access path. I hand my cane off and follow her. Where won’t I follow my sister?
The sun warms my skin. I slip off my flips and bury my toes in the sand. I hear waves break and wash up the shore, then roll back into the salty ocean. I hustle to catch up with her.
“My pants,” she says, stopping short of the waterline.
I shake my head, pointing to my shorts and say, “I got it from here. Sand doesn’t trip me.”
It’s like all those years as a kid when I stashed my glasses in my beach bag and ran for the ocean sightless then, too. I squish down to where the water bubbles up over my feet. Warmer than I expect for July. I decide to splash into the water a few more yards. I register the noise of summer laughter around me. Seagulls caw into the breeze, and I watch one more wave hit the sand. I sense the water level rise, and I wiggle my toes.
You know the sound in the board game Battleship when you sink a boat? Imagine that as a wave hits me and soaks me to my waist. I tip my head back and laugh. I spin around and holler to my sister, but she doesn’t hear as the wind carries my voice away.
We hike back through the sand and meet our other halves. I look at my husband. I point to my wet shorts.
“Nice, dear,” my husband says, smiling as he hands me my cane. “Classy.”
I smirk and step back into my flips. I follow my sister again to the boardwalk where I will blend in with all of the other beach-goers.