BEACH DAY

Beach Day

‘Are you excited?’

‘Dad.’

‘What do you mean? Or are you too cool to get excited?’

He looked at his father and smiled. He liked his father, he thought. What that meant was that he enjoyed spending time with his father. Most of his friends had nothing but negative things to say about their parents. It was always strange for him to listen to them complain. They screamed at their parents. They never wanted to be with them. It was different for him. He loved his parents. He was sixteen years old, and he still looked forward to dinners with them. He loved sitting on the sofa between his mum and dad, eating pizza and watching one of those old films from the past that they would insist he absolutely needed to see. Yes, sometimes it was fun, sometimes it was boring, but he didn’t care. The film didn’t really matter at all.

‘When I was your age, I used to save up all my lunch money, and every two weeks my friend Martin and I would take the train to the beach. We’d spend all day there and then find a hidden spot to sleep at night.’

‘What would you do on the beach all day?’

‘God. What didn’t we do? I lost my virginity on one of those beach days.’

‘Dad.’

His father laughed. He looked at him. It made him so happy to see his parents laugh. Most adults were stuck in the past, before it happened. They suffered from PTSD. Well, at least that was what the leaders said. They did nothing but complain. ‘I remember when’ was the beginning of most sentences for adults. He understood. Like all of his friends, he had watched the photos and videos in disbelief, but he had never lived in that world, so he could not feel what they felt. He stared at his father and thought that he was so lucky.

‘Let me just have a word with your mum, and we’ll be off. Okay?’

‘Yeah.’

He watched his dad walk inside and saw him talking to his mum. He could just imagine the conversation. Mum was making him promise to be careful and to be back before dark. He would laugh and kiss her, which he did right on cue, and then he would do his little dance, which he also did. He laughed. His dad was so proud of himself that he’d managed to get permission for this trip. He really didn’t care to go, but he was looking forward to being with his dad alone.

‘Come on, son. We’re off.’

He held his hand, and images from the past rushed towards him. He took a deep breath, looked down at his hand in his father’s hand, and had a strong feeling of safety. They walked like that for a few minutes. His father was telling some story about Martin. He wished he had met Martin. From the stories it seemed as if he was a kind, funny and generous person. He was one of many who didn’t make it. He wasn’t really listening to the story. The odds were that he had heard it before. He was looking at his dad. Most people got sad talking about the ones they’d lost. Not his dad. His dad was happy to talk about Martin, his parents, anyone he had lost.

‘Then he just jumped. He didn’t even hesitate. He was always more adventurous than most.’

He smiled. He had heard that story before. It was the one where they had gone to a river, and Martin had climbed up to about twenty metres, turned, and jumped without any hesitation.

‘Dad, how long will it take us to get there?’

‘It shouldn’t take more than a couple of hours. It’ll give us some time to catch up.’

‘Catch up?’

‘Yeah. You’re sixteen now. A lot may have changed in this world of ours, but being sixteen will always be the same.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘You’ll see. Anyhow, tell me something that’s going on in your life that I don’t know.’

Silence. They were both quiet. He was thinking. He looked down at his feet moving one step after the other. He thought that it was strange how his feet could move like that without the slightest command from him. They just moved, like robotic limbs with a mind of their own. He looked at his father. He knew what he was doing. He was waiting patiently for him to start talking. It was something he had done many times, and it always worked. He sighed. It wasn’t that it was hard to talk to his father. He never judged. He was always supportive. It was hard for him to talk about how he felt, because the truth was that most of the time, he didn’t know what he felt. Sometimes, it was even worse. Sometimes, he didn’t feel anything.

‘Dad.’

‘Yes, son.’

‘How is it that you seem to be okay with everything?’

His father looked at him. He looked away.

‘Most of the other adults just complain all the time.’

‘I see. You think it’s strange that I don’t complain?’

‘Well… yeah, kind of.’

‘Would you like me to complain?’

‘No, of course not. It’s just strange that you don’t — in a good way.’

‘Hey, it’s okay. Many people have asked me the very same question. You’re still too young to understand. I’m hoping that you will one day. I’m looking forward to helping you understand. But for now, all I can say that may make sense to you is that I have always, and will always, enjoy living. But I know what you’re trying to do. This is not a day to be talking about me. So come on, tell me something new.’

He smiled.

‘Okay, okay. Two days ago, I kissed a girl.’

‘First time?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did you kiss her, or did she kiss you?’

He had to think about that. He realised that he really couldn’t remember.

‘Does it matter?’

‘Kind of, but not really.’

‘The truth is that I don’t remember.’

‘Do I know this girl?’

‘Not sure. You’ve met her — at least once. Her name’s Grace. She’s got red hair. A bit tall.’

The father tilted his head to the side, as he did when he was thinking.

‘Nope. Nothing. Is she your age, younger, or older?’

‘Older — just by a few months. It was just a kiss, Dad. I don’t know if she actually likes me.’

‘Do you like her?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe. It doesn’t really matter.’

The father could sense that he was becoming uncomfortable. He changed the subject.

‘How’s work going?’

‘Work? It’s just work.’

‘Are they still sending you out scavenging?’

‘No. I’m in the lab now.’

‘Really? You never said anything. That’s great news.’

It really wasn’t, he thought. It didn’t matter what he did at work. It didn’t matter if Grace liked him or not. Nothing really mattered. Nothing except spending time with his parents. Spending time with his friends. They’d cured cancer. They’d cured many things. But there were still so many other things that could kill you. He’d be lucky to make it to thirty. He looked at his dad, smiling, as usual.

‘Yeah, Dad. It is. Sorry. It’s only been a couple of weeks.’

‘Are you enjoying it? Are you learning a lot?’

‘Yeah. It’s cool.’

‘I bet. Congratulations, son.’

They walked in silence for a long while. This was the furthest he had ever been from home. They were walking past something that looked like an ancient machine. His father did not seem to notice it at all. It was burnt and appeared to be missing many parts. He thought he recognised it.

‘Dad! Dad! Is that a car?’

‘Yes, my son. That is a car. Well, to be exact, that is a Sports Utility Vehicle — what we used to call an SUV.’

‘What? The combustion engine cars that caused so many problems?’

‘That’s right. This one was a Jeep Wrangler, four-door. A very popular model.’

‘Did you have a car, Dad?’

‘I did, but I had an electric car.’

‘Did they not have hydrogen cars back then?’

‘There were a few, but they were too expensive for your dad. Not like today.’

He thought about the world they lived in. The history books confirmed that their world was safer, cleaner, healthier, happier, better organised and better managed. But there was still a lot to fix, to clean, to do for the world. The most important thing was cleaning the air. They had really mucked things up — the past generations. Why didn’t they just stop? He could never understand why they didn’t just stop polluting, stop consuming, stop ruining the world that he would inherit. Sometimes he couldn’t imagine how his father had survived the dark end days. He turned around and looked back, trying to see the sun reflected off the dome, but they had gone too far. His father started running ahead.

‘Look! Come on, son! We’re almost there!’

He ran after his father and started to feel a little excited himself, but his dad came to a sudden stop and dropped to his knees. As he got closer to his dad, his excitement slowly changed to confusion.

‘Dad. Is that it? Is that the beach?’

His father stumbled to his feet and grabbed his hand, and they started to walk slowly towards the water. The closer they got, the more debris and rubbish they could see on the surface of the water, which was a brownish-red hue. The sand was littered with bones and rubbish as well. When they got to the sand, his father meticulously cleaned an area that was about two metres by four metres, opened his bag and placed a large blanket on the sand. He sat down and motioned to him to sit down as well. He could tell that he was sad. He rarely saw his dad sad. He didn’t like it.

‘Close your eyes, son. I’m going to describe for you what a beach day used to be like when I was your age.’

He closed his eyes. He was happy to do so — that way he didn’t have to look at his father. His father began to tell the story of a typical beach day. He talked about getting everything packed with his mum and dad, about the things they would bring, the food they would pack, the games they played. He talked about the waves, the colourful fish you could see with something called snorkels. He could hear his father’s voice getting happier and happier. He opened his eyes. His dad was crying, with a huge smile painted onto his beautiful face as he continued to tell the story in minute detail. He looked at him. They looked at each other. He hugged his dad tightly.

‘Dad. I love beach day.’