this is where we look for things
1.29.01 - 10:10:52
it was warm outside, or at least not cold, so we decided to go to the beach. it's a little strange wearing sweaters to the beach. but it's nice because you get there, and even though you're wearing a sweater, it's still the ocean. so anyway. we're there and we've spread out our blanket and all the sandwiches are sitting in the middle in a big pile. the sun's in our eyes, but it's ok because it makes you think it's a little bit warmer, not that it's cold, but you know, not like it's warm, either. so we figure out what the sandwiches are and we get everyone the right sandwich and we sit down on the blanket to eat. there's not quite enough room, so we sit with our legs off the side of the blanket. i have my feet buried in the sand.
we start eating and i'm facing the ocean so i can see the waves instead of the condos and hotels and tacky seaside restaurants. i've turned a little bit so i don't have to see the big gaudy pier with the boardwalk and the lights and cotton candy. i loved cotton candy when i was little. i think it takes some of the magic out of it when you learn about how it's made. we buy this ice cream sometimes, and one of the ingredients is 'the touch of an angel,' and it makes me think about cotton candy and the way things used to be. now i don't really think an angel is touching my ice cream, but there's definitely something less appealing about cotton candy now that i'm older (besides the fact that it's 100% sugar). anyway.
we're eating out of plastic take-out boxes, the kind with little compartments for all the different kinds of food. today we have sandwich, salad, fruit, and french fries. it's all sitting out and i'm feeling a little bit disconnected because the waves i'm seeing and the waves i'm hearing seem to be coming just a split second apart and it's making me feel just a little bit crazy. then i think about lightning and thunder and maybe there's a good explanation for this, but maybe there's not, i don't know, it just freaks me out that it's not happening at the same time.
and somewhere in the middle of this, this big shadow swoops down and then a couple of french fries are gone, and i think i tune in in time to watch these white wings flapping, and then it's gone. so my brain processes the information and it's a seagull, of course, and it's gone, and we cover the fries so it won't happen again.
but you, you've never seen the seagulls before. you don't remember the ocean, but you have been here. and now you've forgotten your french fries and your turkey sandwich and you're staring up at the sky like you think you could find it, that bird that flew away with our french fries. you're staring so intently it almost makes me think we could find it, if we just tried hard enough. but it looks just like a million other seagulls, and besides, the french fries are long gone, anyway.
so that's the end of that moment for me, but you're tearing the crusts off of your bread and running towards the water, stopping where the sand just starts to get wet. you stand there for a minute, and when the bigger waves break, they come in just far enough to touch your feet before they slide back again. you're standing there with your toes wet and your face to the sky and you've got all those torn bread crusts in your hands. i turn around and look at the trash can, which is orange, shockingly so, almost the color of a life preserver, which strikes me as strange. it looks like it's been there for the past hundred years. someone just comes by to paint it every once in a while -- the orange looks almost new. i wonder how they empty out those heavy steel cans; i never see bags in them. i never see them filled either. i'm thinking that's a job i wouldn't want to have. i wonder when they come out to the beach and pick up the trash. probably when the beach closes. i've never stayed at the beach until it closed; i never really liked the sand all that much. i wonder what happens when the beach closes. how does everyone know to go home?
i'm sitting there thinking about the mechanics of the trash there at the ocean and you're standing in the damp sand, tossing bread crusts over your head with both hands. the birds are starting to gather around you, so many that i can only describe it as a horde. some of the birds are able to catch the bread in mid-air, sweeping through in a graceful arc, flying off with their beaks full. the rest of them are settling on the sand, searching for bits of bread.
i'm watching them, and you're watching them, and i'm thinking about tippi hedren and seeing all these scary pictures laid out against the waves. i want to run out there and scare them away, i want to throw rocks and watch them scatter, but you're absolutely still, your hands reaching towards them as they gather around you, reveling in the beauty of their white wings.
