Wildwood Childhood

The days start out early, the caw of the morning gulls that soar over head pulling me from my sleep. I wince as I stretch my burnt body across the rough hotel sheets. I can feel the heat pulsing from my raw skin, and so I rise and walk towards the balcony, hoping that the morning air will cool what burns. I can see the beach from my view, and it is mostly waves of sand, interrupted by small, scattered clusters of people. The ocean water sparkles blue behind them, giving them—and me--a jeweled backdrop of a perfect day.
It’s hours later and I am on that wave of sand, burning my eager toes as I run from sidewalk to blanket. My feet blister when pressed into the boiling particles of sand. Its energy propels me further, faster and suddenly I am upon the blanket, and kicking sand on my brother.
“Hey!” he shouts, head swiveled back, eyes squinted against the sun.
I giggle and drop down beside him. A coke can rests in the sand and I pick it up and swig. The sand is wet from the can’s condensation, and it becomes loose in my fingers. Grains end up in my mouth and I crunch down on them with my back molars.
The sun quickly warms my already burnt skin and it itches in the light. My mother’s old portable Walkman belts out 70’s dance classics as she waves her hand at me and smiles
“Hi babay!” she mouths.
“Let’s go in,” I suddenly say, eager for the cooling splash of sea foam.
My brother is already up and grabbing his boogie board as I finish my statement.
We wave our goodbyes to our parents and younger brother and head down the slope of sand. Small, black mussels lay in a thin line where the surf meets land, a visible barricade between the aquatic world and ours.
“Okay, on the count of three,” I say, commencing the start of our race.
“One, two, three!” and were off, feet slapping wet muddy sand as waves break against our knees, then our chests. The icy slap shocks me and I dive under, allowing the salt of the earth to permeate my every orifice, every pore. The water cools my shoulders and I pop my head up for breath.
“Here comes a good one!” my brother shouts, pointing eagerly at a swelling wave behind us.
I quickly move to position my board and again take off, this time riding on the crest of a wave, feeling the surge and pull barely tug at my feet. I ride it the whole way in.