Life's a Beach

Beach Day

Sometimes, I wish I could stay by the ocean for days, watching the waves pull away bits of sand away from the beach and into the water. The serenity of the rippling water has always calmed me, made me feel closer to home, even if I was getting farther from my house. My life has always revolved around the ocean, between family trips to the beach, dinners at the beach, and learning to sail my grandfathers boat.
          Instead of being able to satisfy my wishes and fry my skin for hours on end, I am dragged from the sun by my sister to the nearby ice cream shop. Caty, the younger of the two of us siblings, always claims that this dingy building has the best ice cream in the world, even though this is the only ice cream she has ever tried. I'm not much of a fan of this shop. The owner, Rebecca, is always trying to sell us little pieces of sea glass and broken watches she finds on the strand. Today's item is a red turtle pendant she probably "found" from a beach goer. Per usual, Caty supports the cause by digging a few dollars from her pocket to take the pendant home as I poke at my vanilla ice cream, the only flavor offered. For a nine year old kid with no income besides the money she finds on the bottom of my grandparents car when she cleans it out, Caty sure is carefree when it comes to spending her money.
          Once, I tried to convince her to save instead of spend at her will. This venture of mine concluded unfavorable for me. Caty went to our mom afterwards and swayed her to believe that I was trying to steal her money. Mama came back to me with a swift slap to the face and a week of being grounded. Since that incident I try to keep my disapproving looks to myself, but sometimes I can't help myself.
          Now, I keep my opinions to myself and watch the unfair exchange of the red turtle for a crisp ten dollar bill between a nine year old girl and a fifty year old woman. The turtle had sad eyes, I don't think it wanted to be all dirty and eroded. The shell was dented and a leg was missing. All of these imperfections made it more perfect to Caty. She held it close to her chest and sighed deeply, seemingly wishing that the turtle would come to life and whisk her away from her oppressive, innocent, middle class life. When we finish our unimpressive ice cream, Rebecca pushes us out from her store to invite the others who need seats.
          It's not that her store is crowded, or that she has only a few seats, but she gets nervous that it might. After years of operation and barely making enough profit to pay rent, Rebecca still insists on a twenty minute maximum of each customer to stay inside, even if there is nobody waiting to come in. When we leave, there is no one aiming to enter her little dumpy shack, just a few teenage boys throwing a ball around on their way to the water.
         Caty requests that we sit on a rock outside of the shop for a few minutes so she can inspect her newest treasure closer. I happily oblige, a reason to not excercise my legs is what keeps me happy. I sit in the sunlight for a few extra minutes as Caty assesses the damage done to the sad and expensive turtle, and wondered about how she would be able to get a chain for it. I tell her that we can craft one at home with her embroidery floss. The broken down pendant hardly warrants a real chain for jewelry, besides, I do not see the warrant for spending so much money on something which will be worthless to her in a week.
          The weather becomes ominous, so we leave the rock for shelter as rain becomes a more sure threat. If there's something that I hate more than people wasting money, it's rain. The dreariness always projects a miserable rest of the day it intrude on. Heading home is a direct route on sidewalks, except for one intersection where the two of us run across as though we are going to be hit by an invisible car that blew through the red light. When we sprint through the crosswalk, we have rules which need to be followed:
1. Don't go when cars are moving
2. Only step on the painted lines
3. Don't be last to get to the other side
So it's a race. A race to the ultimate goal of getting closer to our house. When we approach this most exciting section of our route, Caty makes the noise of an engine reviving when she sees that the little person on the crosswalk light is already green, signaling us to commence our contest. It's a full on battle to the finish, feet seamlessly pounding only the recently painted white lines. Of course, I am winning, seeing as how I am 15 and she is 10, so I slow down to give her more motivation to beat me and cross quicker. Her short little legs make it about half way when she misses a line and instead lands on grey pavement. She doesn't seem to notice and we both make it to the other side.
          I inform her of her grave mistake in landing on the grey. And seeing as the crosswalk signal  light is still green, she takes the opportunity to prance back to the line she missed and promptly stomps on it with her little feet. My feet go numb as I see her victory dance in the middle of the road and simultaneously the crosswalk light change from green to red. Out of the corner of my eye I see a massive pickup truck barrel towards my smug sister, who senses the danger and begins to scamper over to me, in direct route of the truck which shows no intentions of stopping. Brakes screech and tires squeal on the pavement which just began to be rained on, but no human noises are to be heard.