Longboat Key ~ LILLY BECK

Longboat Key

LILLY BECK

The midnight blue wave crashes at my feet and pulls at the sand stuck between my toes. In the moonlight, the water seems to sparkle. A faint reflection of the night sky above covers the surface of the water. I see a crab a few feet to my right. Its pale white body would’ve blended into the sand if it wasn’t for the faint red marks covering its back. It climbs over hills of sand and weaves between seashells. As it approaches me, every bone in my body wants to move, terrified that it will come and get me. But the water is surprisingly warm for January, so I decide to stand there for just a little longer. As if the crab heard my silent pleas to turn around, it scurries in the other direction, and I let out a sigh of relief. I look back at the water. The waves are bigger than usual. There are white caps visible for as far as I can see. Every wave crashes on the sand with a thud, spraying my legs with water. Seafoam litters the sand around me, waiting for a wave strong enough to come and pull it back in. I don’t know how long I’ve been standing here, staring at the water. When my legs start to ache, I decide it’s time to head back in. However, as I turn around, I take a glance at the sky above me. I can make out the Milky Way, a cloud of dust painting the sky different shades of rust and coral. My feet carry me to a spot in the sand, just past where the crabs can reach. I sink down into the sand, not caring about the amount of it I’ll find in my hair later that night. I try to find as many constellations as I can but give up shortly after finding the Big Dipper. Just to the left of me, I can hear my aunt laughing with my parents and my brothers wrestling in the sand. My attention shifts back to the sky as a star soars by, and then another. The flash of golden yellow seems to emerge out of nowhere and fade into nothing just as quickly as it had appeared. I let my mind wander as I stare at the sea of stars above me—memories of childhood summers spent here with my grandparents. I remember spending many nights like this one, on the beach, staring at the stars. I remember my grandfather’s chair. The needlepoint pillow sitting in the corner with “sandy toes are a no no,” stitched neatly on the front. The brown coffee stain on the rug below it and the closet to the left that reeked of his 4711 cologne. The little bowl of peanuts he’d have while watching his old wild west films. I remember the gold ankh my grandmother would wear around her neck. Her short hair and bright floral shirts. Her deep blue eyes that I see in my reflection every day. The peanut butter and jelly sandwiches made with raspberry jam. A taste so distinct that every time I have one now, I am six again sitting at the kitchen table with my feet dangling off the chair. Innocent and naive. I remember waking up at the crack of dawn and crawling into bed between my grandparents. My grandmother would turn on the TV; it’s light hum stirring my mother sleeping in the room next door. My grandfather wouldn’t wake up for hours, his light snores filling the room. The faint buzz of a conversation pulls me back into the sand. For a moment, my grandparents are right there beside me, pointing out each constellation, but then the memories slip between my fingers. It’s been too many years since I’ve been back here. I can feel the grains of sand sticking into my hair and creeping their way into my clothes, nearly a handful of it to be found in

my sweatshirt pocket weeks later after I’ve returned home. I look to my left as my brothers yell at me to get up. They look disheveled. Their ties have come undone, and their suits are speckled with sand. My mother will be furious at their attire especially since they’ll be wearing the same suits at the wake tomorrow. I slowly lift myself out of the sand as my feet guide me towards my grandparents’ condo. It’s not until I hear my brothers call my name again that I realize I’m heading in the wrong direction. The condo has been uninhabited for months; the new owners are probably moving in any day now. I turn around and begin to head back to the hotel. I take one last look at the sky. The brushstrokes of purple and orange fade beneath the sparkling canvas of stars. My eyes blur with tears as I know this is probably the last time I’ll ever be here.