Short Story
I’ve always liked to walk on the beach. I like the feeling of the coarse sand between my toes as my feet sink into it with each slow step. I love the way the the ocean paws inquisitively at my passing footprints. The sea is truly beautiful. I’ve always admired it. I like to look out on the horizon and find the tiny waves throbbing on the line between sea and sky. Of course, in actuality the waves are probably huge, but from my standpoint here on the beach, even staring at something so unimaginably big, those massive waves look as big as a wrinkle in a tablecloth.
As much as I love walking the beach and soaking in the ocean’s beauty, I don’t like to be in the water. I don’t like how the salt feels, dry on my skin after I leave the ocean. Even if it’s not saltwater, there’s always seaweed, or sharp rocks, a piece of plastic or an empty bottle some douche who couldn’t wait for a trash can threw in inconsiderately...but really, if I’m being honest, those are only the reasons I tell people I don’t want to swim. Thinking about all the things that lurk in the water you can’t see -- that’s terrifying, but even worse is just thinking about the water itself. Water is powerful. It’s rolling waves may be beautiful, but the ocean isn’t thinking about you. …show more content…
For the next few weeks, we didn’t see her much. We’d see her leave in the morning in her old suits and she’d kiss us goodbye. Then she’d leave for the day for meetings and court dates. I would drive Joey to day care on the weekdays and I’d go to school. I would cook us meals and make us lunches. On the weekends, we’d do chores and play games. I took care of Joey. I gave him basic explanations of what was going on with mom, but nothing too detailed. I wanted to keep his sweet mind pure. There was no reason to subject him to how terrible his father was or how stressed his mom
I’ve always liked to walk on the beach. I like the feeling of the coarse sand between my toes as my feet sink into it with each slow step. I love the way the the ocean paws inquisitively at my passing footprints. The sea is truly beautiful. I’ve always admired it. I like to look out on the horizon and find the tiny waves throbbing on the line between sea and sky. Of course, in actuality the waves are probably huge, but from my standpoint here on the beach, even staring at something so unimaginably big, those massive waves look as big as a wrinkle in a tablecloth.
As much as I love walking the beach and soaking in the ocean’s beauty, I don’t like to be in the water. I don’t like how the salt feels, dry on my skin after I leave the ocean. Even if it’s not saltwater, there’s always seaweed, or sharp rocks, a piece of plastic or an empty bottle some douche who couldn’t wait for a trash can threw in inconsiderately...but really, if I’m being honest, those are only the reasons I tell people I don’t want to swim. Thinking about all the things that lurk in the water you can’t see -- that’s terrifying, but even worse is just thinking about the water itself. Water is powerful. It’s rolling waves may be beautiful, but the ocean isn’t thinking about you. …show more content…
For the next few weeks, we didn’t see her much. We’d see her leave in the morning in her old suits and she’d kiss us goodbye. Then she’d leave for the day for meetings and court dates. I would drive Joey to day care on the weekdays and I’d go to school. I would cook us meals and make us lunches. On the weekends, we’d do chores and play games. I took care of Joey. I gave him basic explanations of what was going on with mom, but nothing too detailed. I wanted to keep his sweet mind pure. There was no reason to subject him to how terrible his father was or how stressed his mom