I haven't seen the ocean since I was 4. I've been to the beach, I've seen the water, but I've not really SEEN the sea since I was 4. I vaguely remember warm summer days, squirming in the back seat of our Subaru as we cruised under the sign
"WORLDS LONGEST BEACH"
I don't know if it is the worlds longest beach, 22 miles doesn't seem much, and didn't seem anything when I was 4. I remember trying to swim, freezing, burying my body in the sand to warm myself back up and then trying to swim again. I remember Uncle John and his dogs. I remember ice cream and the carousel I was never allowed to ride. I remember the kite shop, the toy shop, the taffy shop. And I remember you. My Papa and my Nanny. Already old and grey when I was 4. I don't remember what you'd do while I tried to swim, but I remember you. Buying my seashell boxes and Papa's smell of oak and cigarettes. American Spirit. "They're cheap, ****** and I can buy em online and there's no ******* tax" you'd say.
I looked at the ocean again when I was 8. I don't remember the trip at all. It was long, our stay was short. Nannys ashes and the box they came in disappeared quickly into the waves, and Papa's tears mixed in with the salt water, and his sobbing was buried in the noise of it all. I didn't see the ocean that day.
I looked at the ocean again when I was 10. I remember it a little. We stood in a circle, all of us. Uncle John was their but his dogs stayed in the trailer. Papa was in a box in the center of it. Daddy said some words, but I don't remember them. We all cried. That box disappeared slower than Nanny's. The two of you are probably in Japan now.
Today, I saw the ocean. I'm 16 now. I've grown up a lot, just because I wanted to. I could smell the sea air the second we hit the town, we all could. It's been a decade, but the smell never really left us. We rode out bikes down to beach, Mom, Dad, my sister, her husband and I. I had no memory of what the water looked like, but once my bike was secure, I ran the rest of the way to the crest of the hill and it all hit me like a brick.
I won't describe what it looked like because it really doesn't matter. It's one if the most beautiful things I've ever seen, but it could've been a ******* beach and it wouldn't have mattered. We all crested the hill and I almost heard our stomachs tighten. At first we all smiled, and we walked towards the water. I slipped my shoes off quickly, sloppily, kicking sand everywhere. I walked alone, and soon my smile hurt and soon I was crying and soon my whole body was shaking and I was running towards the water. My sister was too. We stood there, letting the waves crash over us for longer than we should've taken it. My toes turned blue and I didn't care. I cut my feet on oyster shells and I didn't care. I didn't care about anything. I wanted to fall on my knees and sob until my throat bled and bury my face in the sand and swallow the water and let all of it fill me up, fill the hole you two left inside me, all the things I can never remember, everything I never got to do with you.
The ocean is inside me. All of it. It's in my blood and my heart and my veins and my lungs because of you. I may not remember it, but I ran on that beach, not sure if what I was running to, just that I had never needed anything more. Maybe one day, I'll run on that beach towards the water where you'll be waiting for me. American Spirit and seashells.
A short story based on my Grandparents and all our trips to Long Beach, Washington.