In the city I lived in, we had a beach. It was miles long, it shone in the sun, it was piled with yellow sand, it was quite simply magical. On each day in the summer I would walk past my friend's houses as they joined me one by one and when we got to the beach, there was at least twelve of us drawing patterns in the sand. It was the best days of my life. The summer at the beach.
Wearing our striped bathing suits we would chase each other in and out of the water, up and down the sand. The water was always warm and the ice cream was always cold leaving us somewhere in the middle, like Goldilocks. I learnt to swim in that very sea, the sea I would swim in for another twenty years.
I have one bad memory from that beach.
Despite the soggy sandwiches and the sandy socks, every other day I spent there is shrouded in a haze of positivity that blotts out the insignificant details. This particular day was average until a boy came down the steps. He was followed faithfully by a shaggy but admirable dog. I believe it to have been a Golden Retriever and in that sunlight it certainly was golden. The boy was throwing a stick along the beach as he strolled and the dog would bound along, pick up the stick, and bound back to the boy who would repeat the process.
Another young woman was throwing another stick for another dog and the boy's dog set it's sights upon this new stick. It changed the direction of it's bounds and sprinted straight into the sea. At first nobody cared, and then the boy started shouting and then he shouted some more. Other strangers began to join in the shouting and a tanned gentleman began jogging down the beach toward us before plunging into the sea. By this point, I could no longer glimpse the golden head above the waves and my heart had sunk all the way to my toes. My heart broke for the boy as he stood and cried, until the shouting changed key and the lifeguard began swimming back to the shore. The dog resumed it's bounding, oblivious to the cheers surrounding it and the boy's tears which were now of joy.
Today I went back to my beach and I took my grandchildren. My favorite place was always there and with my limited time, I wanted, as a last memory of me, to take my special people to my special place. It is still miles long and the sun still shines but instead of shining on sand, it shines on bottles. It is not piled with yellow sand, it is piled with straws and bags. There being no anger left in my old body, all I could muster was pure disappointment and guilt.
I now have two bad memories from that beach.
