A Breeze Between

The breeze buffets my body. My skirt whips in the wind. I can taste salt on my chapped lips.

In the corner of my eye, I can see a child flying a kite. Vibrant colors of yellow, blue, red, and green flash high in the sky, like rippling fragments of stained glass. Next to him is a little girl. She is crying, likely for a turn with the colorful toy. I can faintly hear her over the waves crashing onto the shore — a high, tremulous sound swallowed by the surf.

Sand squishes between my toes. I don’t know where my shoes are. The grains cling like memories.

I have long hair; it is tangling as the breeze continues its gusts. My long hair streaks across my eyes, my nose; I can feel the salty strands in my mouth. Coarse and wild as seaweed.

My hand raises gracefully to pull the errant strands away. My skin is soft and supple, pale beneath the kiss of light.

The breeze dries my eyes. I don’t mind. I take a step toward the water.

I turn my head to the left, toward the children with the dancing kite. Their mother has come, walking a fine line as she says, we are having a fun day; remember to share. The boy begrudgingly hands the kite handle to his sister, his shoulders slumping like sails gone slack.

The kite begins to fall. Run! Run! Don’t let it fall! He shouts. The girl squeals as she races past me, her laughter stitched into the air.

The kite still falls.

Down.

Down.

Down.

It lands with a surprisingly loud THUNK! The striking shades are just ahead of me, a splash of color marooned in beige. Stuck in the soft mounds of sand.

See, mom! She can’t do it!

I can too!

My lips upturn in a gentle smile. I take a few steady steps forward and pick up the kite. The little girl is giggling. Throw it! Throw it! I close one eye in a wink, and I toss the kite high. She squeals and takes off running again. Her sweet laughter is carried on the wind. My body feels warm, filled with borrowed sunlight and joy.

I look to the right and see a young man buried in the ground. His body is enveloped by the earth. The youthful dark skin is smothered more and more as the mounds of sand consume him. The young men and women around him shovel the sand over him. They are loud. Laughing. Shouting. Joy bursts from them like foam breaking on a rock.

They are happy.

Suddenly, a large brown mass passes by.

A horse galloping across the wet sand. The rider’s long blonde hair whips behind her. The hooves beat the ground, sending wet sand flying. I can see the water glinting in the air like delicate flecks of glass, tiny prisms catching the sun’s stare.

The horse’s hooves drum a steady rhythm that reverberates through my chest. I take a deep breath and past the salt and seaweed, I can smell the animal. Sweat and leather mingle in the air; earth meets ocean.

Waves and wind and gulls crying in the distance soon swallow the beat.

A gull lands. A decrepit thing, a janky wing, a webbed toe missing, a scar on its beak. It cries and takes off once again, chasing the receding tide for a meal, a lone scavenger amongst the white churn.

When the tide returns, I inch closer. My feet hit the wet sand, and I shiver. Wet sand gathers between my toes. I watch the foam curl and stretch; I feel it yearning to kiss my toes before it retreats. I decide to meet it.

The tide inches closer. The water is frigid when it finally caresses my bare toes. Icy needles pierce my feet. I step further in. The needles slowly soothe. The water bids me farewell as it flows back into the deep. I wait to welcome it back, like patiently expecting a reliable friend.

Seaweed is deposited on my ankles. A slimy gift wrapped around me, sticky and green. I bend down and unwrap the present. Gritty sand grinds softly against my skin, a gentle abrasion, a reminder I’m still here.

I feel the breeze swell again, teasingly lifting the hem of my dress. My hair, still wild, brushes against my face, and it is damp from the spray. Laughter bleeds over the rhythm of the beach until I can’t tell where one sound ends and the other begins. The little girl has the kite once more. It dances in the sky. She’s improved. Her arms confidently pull and jerk the handle, and the colors soar higher, higher and higher until they appear as flickers against the blue sweep of the sky, a child’s triumph painting the heavens.

I walk into the water until my skirt is pulled by the waves. For a long while, I do nothing but breathe. The ocean pushes and pulls. The sand underneath me is stolen, bit by bit. Grain by grain. Air moves through me, and I shiver. I am cold but alive.

Bubbling foam meets me, the water beneath biting my calves. The sand shifts beneath me, sliding away. It’s a strange sensation, the earth beneath you disappearing, your body sinking further and further. I close my eyes and listen. My skirt now clings to my legs, now heavy with water. The sea takes my ground away, more and more.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The briny gales begin to slow, fading into memory.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The mother is taking her children away.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The horse and its rider have vanished in the distance.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The youth behind me are silent or gone.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

I stumble, no longer able to stand - the ocean has reclaimed its land. I brace myself for the biting cold. The sky begins to darken, like ink staining paper.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The darkness thickens, then cracks open. My heavy lids open to a dimmed room. A fluorescent light flickers rudely and illuminates the room in a sickly yellow haze. My lips are caked with Vaseline. I stare at the ceiling, a blank white void where the sky should be. Over the beeping machines, I hear nails tapping on a screen. Someone is in here with me; likely on their phone.

I’m cold despite the heavy layer of scratchy blankets weighing me down. Everything is bland here - the air tastes like metal and detergent. My hands, wrinkled and trembling, rest on my chest like wilting petals. I long for a warm hand to touch my papery skin. All I hear is tap tap tap. Beep beep beep. Tap tap tap. Beep beep beep. The scent of antiseptic and endings hits me like a barge.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

A curtain drags open; the metal-on-metal sound is sharp in my head.

“Good morning.” I hear a woman say. I feel a tug on my skin. Tubes and wires pull at me, anchoring me to this sterile shore.

A male voice fills the room. “Good morning, ma’am. Have you finished the crossword yet?”

The woman chortles, “Not yet. But it’s still early.”

My body is shifted, lifted, and rearranged. “Give me a hard one.” He says.

“Hmmmm. Oh, seven down. A Cary Comedy.” She supplies, “14 letters, ends in ‘t’, second letter ‘e’”

“Like Jim Carrey?”

A sigh fills the room. “No. It’s spelled different I think it’s the old guy, the one that’s not in Princess Bride.”

Cary Grant. I answer. Wedding Present.

My clothing is pulled down, a cold object skirts across my skin. “Older than Wesley? Got me.” The male voice says.

“Yeah. I’m not good with the black and white movies. Funny thing, she probably knows.”

“Maybe you can watch some oldies for her. She might be able to hear, you know.” A warm tear slides out of my eye. No one wipes it away.

“Well, call me if you need me.”

The curtain is pulled. The metal screeches. I feel a faint draft brush my skin - gentler, almost like sea air. I close my eyes and wonder…

What happens when the ocean steals the last grain of sand from under my feet?