A Sea Snapshot

Megan V. Luebberman

“Can we please go to the beach?” My mother pouted. “I guess,” I groaned reluctantly.

It seemed an inconvenience to leave the house and drive to the beach, even if it was only a 20 minute drive. For Californians that lived so close to the coast, we hardly saw the beach maybe 2-3 times a year. However, in response to my mom’s insistence, my stepdad and I packed up the car for an afternoon beach trip. The drive took little to no time, as expected, and then we were there staring at the beach. Sand flew into the air as a couple ran by to reach the water. Lots of people enjoyed the waning sun at the beach: photographers, dog-walkers, couples, and a good many surfers.

The beach was generally unappealing to me. I disliked the sneaky sand that always trailed into one’s car and home. The sticky salt water of the dark ocean also added to the discomfort. In most cases, I would much rather be at home in the comfort of my room. However, for my mom’s sake, I decidedly chose to enjoy the view.

The three of us walked towards the water, stopping where the damp sand began to smush under our feet. The sky already displayed vibrant hues of orange that continually shifted among the sparse clouds of the day. Even though I began bitterly at the start, the view did provoke simple joy inside of me.

A blond guy staggered up next to us as we stood looking out to the water. He held a surfboard in his hand and scanned the water with his eyes.

“How are you doing? Isn’t this great?” He said suddenly in a tone that made it seem as if we’d been waiting for his arrival.

“We’re in paradise, a beautiful view,” my step dad replied in a friendly manner.

The surfer agreed fervently, murmuring more appreciation for the beach.

“Thank you for your service,” he said, noticing my step dad’s military hat.

“Anytime.”

“My aunt used to build subs in the military,” the surfer rambled on in an almost incoherent sense. “It was wicked–some cool stuff. Very cool stuff. You see, she–”

My family and I peacefully watched the water come in more and more as the tide rose. Internally, I laughed at the talkative nature of the surfer. He was too talkative to not be under the influence of something.

Many surfers sat in the water, catching waves that formed very close to the shore. They rode the waves sideways, careening along the shore rather than in the direction of it. Children toddled along the water’s edge. A few picked up the wet sand and hurled it either in the ocean or at their friends.

I peeked at the surfer, who continued to chatter away about the beach.

“This is the life, right here on the beach. There is nothing better than this. The water, the sand, it’s the beauty of nature for ya...All you gotta do is get a cheap apartment with a couple roommates near the beach. It’s perfect.”

I reflected on this. The simplicity of his mentality caught my attention. He really did love beach life. He continued to talk on and on about this surfer lifestyle he’d chosen, but I didn’t listen to all of it. However, at one point, I whispered to my mom,“There really are surfer dudes out there. Just like the stereotypes.”

“Yes, of course,” she replied, as if this were obvious. Eventually, the blond surfer went into the water and we saw him no more as he blended in with every other surfer. I wondered if someone really could surf day in and out and never tire of it. As the sun finished its journey below the horizon, I wondered what would become of him. Something he enjoyed so much I only could tolerate. Yet, glancing at both my parents I saw that it brought life to their eyes. Maybe the surfer tried to feel that awe every day, maybe he even succeeded.