14 Days

10

A strange distance continued to permeate between us, courtesy of me. See, I was in a bit of a rut. A rut of my own making, where I laid in dirty thoughts of self-doubt, guilt, and disgust. Guilt that there was anything other than hatred or friendship between Beau and me. Disgust that, perhaps, our parents would find out and the family that we had would be torn to shreds because of me, because of my feelings. Doubting these moments meant anything, or if they should, after all, wasn't this meaningless?

Beau would be gone by the end of August. Attending college ten hours away where he would meet new people, go on new adventures, start a new life without me. What started here would end before we even got a running start so why bother? Why start what we know will fail?

And yet, even with such thoughts, Beau and I still held hands during the car ride to Silver Sands the following morning. We had said nothing last night, and nothing this morning, again.

"How beautiful," said Aunt Zoey when we pulled into the parking lot for Silver Sands, which was drastically different from Old Orchard Beach.

"That's quite a walk," added Uncle David, groaning.

"Oh, shush, we've been lazing around all week! We all need a little walk."

"I don't want a walk," Uncle David groaned louder.

Outside of the car, I got a view of the boardwalk that stretched over high grass to a beach on the horizon. The beach was no more than a speck with the ocean blending into the sky so one couldn't even guess a beach was there.

Mom clapped. "There's meant to be a lot of seashells here!"

"Like the--" I held out my hands, mimicking what I thought the size would be. "Big ones?"

"Conch seashells," Beau elaborated.

"Ah, no, those are south. These are small shells that we're hoping to collect for some crafts later!" Mom grabbed Aunt Zoey, who had retrieved two buckets from the trunk.

"If you two see any that you think are neat, pick them up and bring them to us," Aunt Zoey requested, patting Beau's arm. Then they were off, getting a head start on the rest of us.

I followed, pretending Beau's presence wasn't lagging behind me. The boardwalk was busy with beach goers dressed in bathing suits, sunglasses, and hats. We weren't any different, carrying our belongings under our arms or over our shoulders across the walkway. I was actually shocked by how long it took us to reach the end where the path led us to a literal silver-ish sandy beach.

I balanced on the balls of my feet, pushing through to find scattered pieces of multi-colored shells that, when crushed up, did sparkle silver in color. One couldn't run around barefoot here because there were shells and rocks everywhere, although some chanced it, not me though. My feet would not be torn to shreds, thanks!

The sands along the shoreline were more of a murky brown with green moss, shells that swayed with the waves, and mounds of rock. That didn't make the sight any less striking. Beau agreed in that regard, seeing as he was continuing with his pictures. I caught him again though, focusing on me rather than the beach. I should have told him to pay me for being a model, but all that left my lips was a quiet breath. He froze, slowly lowering his camera. I wasn't sure what to say, so I walked away.

"Let's hurry and take the path out to the island," Dad suggested, gesturing to a stretch of sand that did lead out to an island. "We can't walk across once the tide comes in."

"I wonder if anyone got stuck out here before?" asked Mom, giggling.

"Probably, but let's not add our names to the list!" said Aunt Zoey.