Land's End

7 | bestie

I lay my towel near the ocean, put my stuff on it, stripped my clothes, and ran toward the ocean. I squealed when my toes met the cold water but kept walking forward. I'd missed being in the water.

I stopped when I was half in the water. With closed eyes, I listened to my surroundings: the crashing waves, the happy birds, the Sun. Pops used to tell me that it was impossible to hear the sunlight, but he was wrong. I could still hear it—the radiating buzz in my ears. I took in the scent of the ocean and let it tickle my bare stomach.

I am home.

Pops and I went to the beach near my hometown when I was little. He'd taught me how to swim there, told me stories about him and my mom, and bought me ice cream. That place was sacred and other-worldly to me as I grew up. It was an exception. It was the only place we'd openly talked about the past—my mother—and we didn't feel guilty or sad about it. It was the only place where Pops laughed loudly, carefreely.

So, the ocean always felt like home to me.

Ironically, I'd never been to a beach since I moved to New York for college. Maybe it was because I didn't want to remember home for a while. I tried to define a new home for myself, but nothing gave me the secure feeling of a home there.

Taking a deep breath, I lunged forward and dove underwater. The water clogged my thoughts, gifting me the quiet of the present, the ocean, and my ragged breath. When I surfaced, I laughed—laughter that reminded me of Pops, genuine laughter that was free and loud. Then, like a haphazard storm, the tears rained down my cheeks, crashing on my heart. My carefree laughs turned into sobs, and I didn't stop them this time.

I just shut my eyes and let it rain.

No one is around, Amber, you're still strong. I didn't cry much—I didn't like showing it. Though people found me sentimental, they also blamed me for being heartless at times.

The truth was, I never let someone in because they only let me down. I thought about my relationship with Marcus. I was there for him, but was he there for me? Did I want him to be there for me? Did I need him? Actually no. I never asked for help or told him about my problems.

I didn't know why I didn't—I guess I learned not to ask for help long ago.

After countless laps, until I'd got pruney fingers, I walked out of the ocean. Waves and cries washed away yesterday's turmoil, but my chest was still heavy with emotions. They were a collection of years, cemented into my heart. I probably needed more than a crying session to wipe their trace.

To my surprise, there was another towel near mine with an umbrella on the beach. I looked around to find the owner but didn't spot anyone. I toweled off my body and hair. Then, I took out my sunscreen and lathered my legs with it.

"Do you want me to help you put sunscreen on your back?"

I turned around and found a teenage girl looking down at me with a grin. Her soft blue cap shielded her green eyes and a wide grin on her face. I noticed a venti iced Americano in her hand. Is there a coffee shop around here?

"Oh," she breathed, wiping her other hand on her cotton skirt and extending it out. I must've looked shocked that she felt the need to explain. "Hi, I'm Tuesday."

I smiled back and shook her hand. "Amber." My voice cracked a little, and I bet my eyes were puffy, but she didn't seem fazed.

She sank her plastic cup into the sand and sat on her towel, facing me. "Nobody comes here this early." I didn't know what she implied by that—was she bothered by my presence? "You know," she huffed, rolling her eyes. "they're all oldies."