A Creation based on the first four Writing Prompts, by H.J VandeRiet
My feet sink into the soft sand, toes burrowed beneath the grains. The waves rush up the beach and stop just a few feet short of where I stand, foamy bubbles dissipating, leaving green slimy seaweed behind. The salty smell is strong today, and somewhere in the distance I hear kids laughing, adults calling out to them…something about keeping close to the beach chairs. That life feels distant, the sounds of the voices mere background noise to the screaming in my mind.
My feet haven’t touched the ocean in ten years. Not since she disappeared beneath the surface and never emerged, since dad ran out into the water after her, shouting her name, and I stood paralyzed, watching it all unfold. I was a kid, picking up seashells out of the sand, and somehow I knew I had failed her. I was told to watch her, told to protect her. To make sure she didn’t wander too close. I froze, and have frozen ever since, too afraid to move forward because of what I may leave behind. Can I set that burden down? Can I leave it here on this beach where that one moment set fire to the rest of my life?
I look over at my backpack sitting in the sand, and think about the plane ticket inside it. A one way ticket to Mexico, where I will start to walk across the world. The smell of the burgers on the boardwalk call me, but I cross my arms and stay still, fixating my eye back on the ocean waves, moving back and forth, back and forth. The pull of the ocean is strong, and the rush of it sometimes stronger. What will I allow to pull me, to push me? What will define me.
I said goodbye to my dad at his grave yesterday, telling him that I didn’t think I would ever return. I explained that without him, there was nothing left for me here, no roots to keep me tethered, and that if I was going to be alone, then I was going to make the most of it. That I had allowed myself to be weighed down by his guilt, and my own.
“I love you dad,” I whisper to myself, wiping my eyes, hoping no one else on the beach sees me standing here crying, “I love you Moxie. I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”
I chuckle to myself, thinking of Moxie with her pigtails and boy shorts, throwing sand in the air and allowing it to fall around her. Dad would shout at her to quit it, but she loved the dirt. She loved the earth. He could never keep her totally clean for long. She was fearless.
I long to be fearless. And as I look to the ocean I know deep down that the only way to be truly fearless is to take the step. Don’t think, don’t question…just do. How long have I carried the weight of that day, allowing it to hold me still.
I lean down and reach into my bag. I take out my iPod and earbuds, and put them in. I pull up a song my dad would play for me: Just Be Held. I play it, and listen to the words, allowing them to take root in my heart for the first time. The ocean blurs behind my tears, and I reach down into my bag again, taking out five tiny seashells, worn with age.
I take the first one into my hand and pull my arm back, hurling it into the ocean. An exasperated sob escapes me as I pull back with the second one, and chuck it. It flies far, too far for me to see, and disappears. I laugh as I pull back with the third and send it away, cast away all my fears, all my pain, all my doubts.
The fourth one sails into the air and lands somewhere among an encroaching wave. I drop my hand to my side, the fifth one nestled in my palm. The water reaches for my toes, and this time touches them, cold and wet, and recedes again. I look at the seashell, smile, and toss it onto the beach.
For more content, follow and like H.J VandeRiet on Facebook to see our weekly Coffee Talk live-streams, keep up on Otherside news, and see other people’s writing creations from the prompts. You can also follow me on Instagram at H.J VandeRiet
H.J VandeRiet 