“Write about the beach: your favorite memory of a trip, what you love, what you hate (e.g. sand gets everywhere). Would you live on the coast if you could, or is it better just for a visit?”
My sister said we were going to the beach. Something about it being a Saturday in the fall. Nothing fancy. Just down to the Jersey shore to soak up the last seasonal rays of the sun, to sit on benches and work on our tans. Oh wait. I don’t tan. But it sounded like fun anyway, just sitting there doing nothing…
In traffic because everyone else had the same idea, to catch those last rays of the sun before it was replaced by the cool chill of winter. Decidedly not beach weather. So we were stuck between a Corolla and a Chevy truck, both loaded down with beach accoutrements. Sort of like we were, with our folding chairs, our towels, and our beach bags.
She had texted me while I was at work. I had planned on leaving straight from Target (where I work) and hitting the road, so my luggage was already packed and in the trunk of my Santa Fe. So when she told me we were hitting the beach I immediately thought about not having packed trunks. Why would I have? I thought we were hanging on the streets of Philadelphia.
Luckily I work at Target, so I flew off to the Men’s section and found a pair of trunks on the clearance rack, quite a find because they were the last XL ones in the entire store. It didn’t matter that they were a bright red with the semblance of fire running up and down them. I wasn’t choosy, so I bought them quickly and hit the road.
So we were sitting in traffic, talking about relationships and money, and not necessarily in that order. There’s apparently a thin line between trust and “money trust.” How much do we trust our significant others with the money we made? How much do they trust us with theirs? The beach could wait. We had bigger fish to fry. There’s just something about talking to my sister that makes me see things in a different perspective, and I think it works the same way for her.
The hour-long wait smushed between those two vehicles as we sputtered down the highway on our way to the Jersey shore went by way too quickly. I miss those times I used to spend with my sister, just the two of us doing who knew what, just enjoying each other’s company in a way we never truly did as youngsters and sandbox playmates. I mean, the beach was fun too, once we found a parking spot and lugged all our stuff down to the sand, but I remember the car ride even more.
But damn, didn’t I rock those shorts?