Summers By The Shore

it's summer.

I watched him from outside my bedroom window that was facing the water. The clear blue ocean with white foam that reminded me of a fresh latte. He was there on days that were perfect to surf. When the winds were hitting east, the waves 3-4 feet, crashing not too far or close from the shore. The ocean was full of them, men and women- boys and girls- a mixture of black dots covered in wetsuits looking like prickles of chocolate sprinkled throughout the shorelines.

Sometimes I would run down to my wooden deck and be there for when he got out of the water. His wetsuit half on, half off, hitting his waist showing off his toned abs. His sandy blonde hair tousled in all the right places. My feet dangled off my beige cushioned lounge chair, my face submerged in the sun, my big house behind me, waiting, urging me to invite him in.

Instead, he walked past my house,his right hand gripped his surfboard, his eyes looking straight at me and smiled before continuing on to the public beach entrance. I watched as the days went on, the summer commenced and my big beach house lay dormant watching me do everything except get closer to him.

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Summers on the shore of Deal, New Jersey were a blend of relaxation and high end social scenes. The shore became a place, a destination, 10 million dollar homes sitting in the sand, inhabited by Brooklyn and City locals that couldn't be bothered to go to the Hamptons, rather they say, they 'made something cooler, something better."

What started out as twenty families multiplied and multiplied until there were mansions and ranch houses along the beaches and inland up until the train tracks. What was prized real estate everyone knew was the beach, but to be a part of this community, to have a house in the radius meant you were here, that you belonged. Our own little beach town that we devoured in the months of June, July and August and left untouched, like a summer fling, until the next year.

And every year when June came along the first thing I would do was run to the beach, hoping to see him.

The truth is it didn't start this way- my love and infatuation for the beach started those summers when I was 6- when my father would build sand castles with me- my mother dip her toes in the ocean and get here feet sandy not worrying about her pedicure or her thigh gap. We would run in the ocean, boogie boards in hands, chairs set up in the sand, waitresses attending us with drinks, (I had my favorite Shirley temple) and it seemed like heaven- the garden of eden- an ultimate bliss.

But as I got older, my parents became sterner, and the flirtatious ravendue we had with the beach ended. My father got too busy with his work, my mother too into her botox and Thursday night dinner with their couple friends. My two brothers were born (and honored, treated like the princes, the heirs to the throne) and that just left me and the beach.

We still used to come out here though, dinners on the deck, picnics sometimes for a special occasion. But for this summer, there were too many excuses. My father enjoyed the "morning" but really until late afternoon golf, my mother walked the boardwalk with her friends gossiping about the next party or latest divorce, my two younger brothers were away for sleepaway camp. So I took it upon myself to make sure the beach went to good use. Early morning runs where my feet dipped into the sand, speckles getting stuck in between my toenails, waves crashing on me devouring my hair with salt water, towels laid out, books in hand soaking in the UV rays from the sun.

My friends enjoyed it too on days they weren't shopping or spending hours in the gym or pilates. We all were "remote workers" Aka- working for our parents or friends of parents. Which meant thursdays-Monday we had off. We didn't mind it, not when our days were filled with an obscured view of reality, no responsibilities, nothing anyone wanted for us more than to find a rich man and make that our next and best job position.