A&N, Always

A&N, Always
By Elle Cee

The beach was empty, a rainy mist over everything. He stood for a moment on the boardwalk, watching the waves crash relentlessly onto the wooden beams before walking onto the sand. The spot was just ahead, beyond a grassy knoll to his right. Some detritus had washed up there, and he bent down to clear it away, wincing once. Thirty years later, and the pain was still there. He put down his cane and eased down again, remembering.
Their Dad had found this spot, letting the two of them run off and play tag in the water, leap into it from the rocks. When they got tired they helped their mother collect seashells, picking them out of the shore or the shallow area of the ocean. Soon people began leaving, taking bags, closing umbrellas. As they all got ready, his brother found the stick hidden under the sand bank. In big, preschool letters, he wrote his name. When he was done, he offered it for him to do the same.

That was so long ago. Adam had been seventeen when he died. But that memory was the only thing Nick could think of clearly. He looked down on the ground, pressed his hand against the grainy surface. Without even thinking, Nick made the first inital, then the next. He ignored the slight pain pulsing in his knee, the wind that tugged at his jacket and hair. None of that mattered, just so long as he finished this.

"I miss you." He said quietly, when he was done.

He walked off, leaving the water to wash it away.

A&N, always.