A memory from long ago, but still fresh and alive....
There is something pure and powerful about the pounding surf. An ancient call for peace and reflection; a symbol of mystery and adventure.
As a child, I spent many summer weeks scouring the ocean sands. Exploring, building, learning, finding. Only to bear eventual witness to the destruction of the tides, which wiped clean all evidence of my creations. And so, once, it shall be with me....
What will I leave behind? What memories will I take?
I love my wife. She is a good, decent person. But...we have grown apart.
Marriage is hard. We enter into lifelong commitments, cemented by the onset of children. But people change. As do our tastes, our styles, our goals, our wants.
I don't wish to dwell on it, but the athletic, relaxed girl I met in college has evolved into an overweight, overstressed, overworked corporate manager, holding down a job that demands her attention 12 hours daily. She doesn't want those things, but it's hard to change.
We have been going through a difficult period of late. Please don't get me wrong: I am not looking, and will not look for, another woman. I have all that I need in life: A perfect home, perfect children, a perfect job, and a loving wife. The latter is not now perfect, but I truly believe that all things revolve and change and that--one day--she will again be the right woman for me. I see that in her. The potential. The original spark.
But...the difficulties.... Have you ever once needed an escape?
In such times, I have always run back to the ocean. The reasons are purely emotional: Leftover feelings from childhood. The thrill of discovery, the thirst for adventure, and the enchantment of possibility.
And so the arrangements were made. But--this year--it was not a vacation for all of us. My wife had an impending project and constant calls. They would not leave her alone. And she could not leave them alone. I understood, but I didn't like it.
Most mornings, on the beach, it was only the three kids and I. In the afternoon, the same. Alone.
I felt depressed. Even the excited squeals of my children could not rise me from my chair. A sick foreboding chill churned through my body. I felt the end near. I needed release. To laugh. To smile. To feel exaltation.
And then a pleasant voice, and light conversation.
It took a few moments before I realized that I had spoken briefly with her the day before. Perhaps you as well have had those inattentive conversations. You speak with someone, but your mind races elsewhere: the conversation unimportant.
The day before, as our children played, we did have a passing conversation from one blanket station to another. But I honestly could neither remember the questions asked nor the answers given. Surely it involved names, homes, children's ages, hotels, etc. The usual generic vacationers' chat.
But now she had my full attention.
(I completely understand why, in traditional Islamic culture, women's bodies are hidden. The moment that I see even a hint of a woman's cleavage, she becomes a sexual object to me.)
And so, Andrea became a known figure to me as she leaned over towards me from her nearby chair, slightly exposing the top half of her ample bosom. I smiled at her as I peeked from behind my sunglasses. I wanted to impress her, and I felt a pleasing surge of energy
Conversation drifted from children to spouses. She had a quick, sarcastic wit. I found myself laughing. And my jokes seemed just as funny to her. I felt a mutual like.
We talked and talked as our children played..
An hour later, she brought up her missing husband, who was at work in the rented house. Two full days into their family vacation and he had only briefly walked down to the beach on a single occasion. I could hear the distaste in her voice and recognized our common pain.
It had been only been a brief matter of time, but I felt that I knew her. (Had I always known her?) I felt a unusual comfort.
In the hot sun, slightly buzzed, I took a risk: I opened up to this relative stranger, who listened attentively and shared her own struggles in return. We did share a common experience. Happy yet unhappy. Struggling to balance marriage, love, business, and family. Wondering to ourselves: Is this all there is?
Meanwhile, our kids splashed in the rising tide.
It was Andrea who first stood up.
"Want to throw Frisbee?"
Moments later I desperately dashed through two feet of water before lunging forth and fully extending my body in a vain attempt to catch the falling Frisbee. I belly-flopped into the warm Gulf water, briefly submerging my body. It felt so good. Alive and awakened, I stood up, dripping, found the floating disk, and threw a return strike to Andrea, aiming it slightly out of reach so that she too might fall into the clinging waters.
And so we played. The warm sun. The salty air. The bright glare. The sensuous summer sweat. And the darting children, who screamed excitedly if for no reason other than to express their inner exultations.
I admired Andrea from a distance. She had a nice body: Neither chubby nor thin; the perfect in-between. Full and healthy, with wide hips and an ample bust. Her conservative bathing--save for a slender revelation of cleavage--covered her well, but she filled it nicely. In return, I hoped I pleased her with my athletic body, refined by years and years of early morning runs. It was fun to be attracted to someone. To feel an interest. And I hoped it was mutual.
I had no plans or wishes, mind you. Sometimes it just feels good to know that others find you attractive. We all need that, don't we?
The next day.
I brought my shovel. I always bring a sturdy shovel to the beach. The salty air and wet sand will destroy the metal, but it's a worthy sacrifice, for there is nothing better than to build a seaside sandcastle fit for an imaginary king.
I began to dig a deep, wide moat, piling great heaps of sand in the middle. My three children took to shaping the castle walls. We worked ably as a team.
"Can we help"?
It was Andrea and her two children. For the next hour, the seven of us worked diligently. The final result impresses: The moat, three-feet deep and two-feet wide, circles a broad fortification. The smooth castle walls stand three feet high from the lip of the moat. On top, seven spires--one for each of us--reached to the sky at differing heights. The structure cast a stern, monolithic strength towards the sea, as if challenging the waters to take it down.
The kids danced around it in celebration, believing that it could withstand the coming ocean tide.
"Hey, what have you all built here?"
A strange man. Prematurely balding, white-skinned, and overweight. It is Andrea's husband. There was a quick introduction and small talk. He seems a pleasant man, but he is not dressed for the beach. He has only come down for a quick visit before a critical conference call.
And then, out of nowhere, my wife appeared. A similar story.
The couples chat a bit. Both spouses are quite impressed with our castle. The children excitedly explain to them how it was built. My wife and her husband begin to talk business. They do similar work for dissimilar businesses. A commonality that creates a mutual interest.
Soon they go. Back to their air-conditioned, mobile vacation offices. Ever beholden to the trials and tribulations of corporate life.
