Galveston Beach

Our white van slowed next to the curb of the street, and I set my feet on solid ground for the first time in hours
Half-listening to my mother telling me to apply sunscreen, I looked out over the yellow sand tainted with footprints of tourists and locals alike
Walking along the edge of the wall, I smiled at the sight of young children in lifejackets frolicking with their furry companions

I slid my feet over the rough cement of the Galveston wall that separated the world of industrial engineering from that of everlasting beauty
The soft whisper of the waves crawling over the sand seemed almost nonexistent, drowned out by the dull roar of conversation
I began to run.

I kicked off my uncomfortable blue flip flops, ran through the squishy wet sand, and immersed myself in the warm water to my waist
I bent down, narrowly avoiding a mouthful of salty fish-water, and retrieved a coiled seashell the color of an Arkansan winter’s sky.
My siblings joined me soon thereafter and held up shells of their own, routinely making trips to the shifty, dry sand higher up on the beach to store their stolen treasures

I lay in the shallows, letting the all-knowing, all seeing waters wash over me, almost as if this simple act would allow me to see what they have witnessed throughout the years
For as we come and go, the waves crash obviously no matter which of our loved ones has passed on
A vacation, we call it, but no matter the buoyancy of the trip, I see through the innocence of the turquoise immortal