Notes From The Road

I haven’t taken a single photograph so far.

I have blurry captures from my phone, the kids a moving target and the sun blinding me. They either squint up at me and scrunch their noses, or they run so fast I can’t get them focused in the frame.

It’s hot; my back is lobster-red from a lackadaisical application of SPF Not-High-Enough. In a hurry to catch the last few waves of the day, we rush out without important items — an extra towel, that long-sleeved sweatshirt, where is my phone?

We fall asleep too late and rise too early. We rub our eyes as we shepherd the boy downstairs. He yells with joy at the sight of his sleeping sister and cousins so close to his own bed, and we whisk him out of the room, wincing as they stir under their summer quilts.

We climb dunes, exclaim over blue waters. We point and explain and warn. The boy has no fear and drags me into the frigid surf, my hands searching for purchase on his slippery rash guard as the hungry riptide nips at our shins. I fall and the water is a thousand icy needles.

(I am 11 years old. My father, young and healthy, rides the water. It’s like a thousand needles, my daddy yells. A thousand needles!)

But it feels so good, to give yourself up to that power, and so, I do.

I run back in, facing the white surf. I let it knock me down. I feel the rocks tumble, bruising my ankles, as helpless as I am against that giant, sucking tide. I get up again and turn my back to the surge, laughing as my little brother (he has a beard, when did he grow up?) holds the hand of my long-legged niece two feet closer to shore. The water is up to my ribs, it’s high tide.

Look at your aunt, he yells. If your aunt can do that, so can you!

I meet his eyes and grin, knowing exactly when he means.

Another wave hits me, pushes me forward, propelling me back to the shore. There I sit, watching a seal bob and weave, bob and weave.

Tagged as: Cape Cod, Crazy Ass Summer Road Trip™, dispatches, family vacation