Surf & Sand

“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.

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