A Mid-Summer Tale (Part 1)

Marta sat on a low rock, near the edge of the water, picking sand from between her toes.  She hated the feeling of sand stuck to wet feet but she hated the feeling of shoes even more.  Satisfied that she’d removed as much as possible, she leaned back against the boulders and watched the waves crash against the shore.  It had been only three weeks since her family had arrived here and already she was bored.  The prospect of spending an entire summer at the beach had been an exciting idea that, so far, had not lived up to expectations.  Her older sister kept mainly to herself, always occupied on Snapchat or lurking on Facebook, and when she did lift her attention up from her phone it was only to complain about missing the summer with her friends. And her brother was simply too little to be much fun.  Her mother, for her part, did make an attempt.  On most afternoons she took Marta and Daniel down to the beach for lunch.  She’d spread a blanket and unpack the sandwiches and together they’d eat peanut butter and jelly or ham and cheese or (Marta’s favorite) egg salad with sliced cucumbers and watermelon.  But after lunch, Marta’s mother wanted her to play in the sand with her brother and she was forbidden to go past her knees in the surf unless her father was with her…which, most days, he was not.  Much to Marta’s disappointment, her father only appeared on weekends.  He’d tried to explain how grown-ups don’t get the summer off and how he needed to work so that they could afford to stay at the house on the beach but Marta only understood that he wasn’t there and she missed him.

The rock was warm from the sun, which made up for its hardness, and Marta stretched her legs out across its wide expanse.  It was bigger than her and certainly older, and Marta wondered what this place looked like back when the rock was part of a mountain.  She’d learned that in school, how rocks used to be mountains, and she liked to explore the wall of boulders at the end of the beach and imagine herself traveling back in time.  On this particular afternoon, though, Marta sat splayed across the low rock near the water, picking at shells discarded by the ocean on the patch of sand at the base of the boulder wall.  Her favorites were the ones that curled upon themselves into long spirals.  She picked one from the sand and peered into it and wondered why she never seemed to find one with anything alive inside.  Marta blew into the end and water shot out at her, a salty droplet landing on her lip.  She spat and tried again.  This time at just the right angle and the shell whistled faintly.  Again she blew but this time the air only whooshed and she blew again, more gently, holding the shell a little further from her lips and a whistle, strong and sharp, pierced the air.  Marta smiled, pleased with herself, then blew into the shell once more.  She’d figured it out now and again the shell whistled for her.  Over and over Marta pursed her lips, aiming them at the small opening at the end of the shell until she’d satisfied herself that she’d extracted the loudest whistle it could make.

The novelty of the whistling shell having worn off, Marta realized she was beginning to feel a bit like a baked apple sitting there on the rocks in the sun and she waded into the water.  Up to her knees was as far as she was allowed, but that was only when her mother was within sight, which she was not.  Marta took her chances.  The ocean felt cool against the hot of her skin, sending a shiver up her spine, and for a moment she considered retreating to the warmth of the boulder wall.  She looked back toward the beach…it was empty except for a few seagulls scavenging among the shells at the water’s edge.   Marta hoped her mother wasn’t missing her just yet and she edged a little deeper.  The sand was smoother out here…the jagged shell fragments and tiny pebbles all washed closer to the shore.   She dug around the bottom with her toes in search of hidden treasures.  Maybe out here she could find a conch shell or a real live hermit crab.  Daniel and Claire would be jealous and she’d have to tell them she’d found it washed up on the beach and not out here.  Or maybe she’d find a stash of golden coins, like in the pirate movie, and Dad wouldn’t have to go to work anymore.

Marta’s cheeks scrunched high up on her face and her brow pulled down tight, shielding her eyes from the sun bouncing off the surface of the water.  She hadn’t realized how hard she’d been squinting til it started to hurt and she covered her eyes with her hands.  She rubbed them hard, black spots appearing on the backs of her eyelids as she pressed.  When she finally opened them again, she looked out toward the horizon, careful to avoid looking down into the glare on the surface.  In the distance, Marta noticed a shape sticking up from the water…a shape that looked an awful lot like a person.  But it couldn’t be.  Out that far the currents were strong and no one ventured that distance from the shore on their own.  Marta curled her hands into the shape of binoculars, shielding her eyes from the harsh afternoon sun in hopes of getting a better look.  As she peered through her fingers, the shape slipped beneath the waves and disappeared.

To be continued…  (Click here for Part 2)

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© Kelly Rainey and 500wordsandcounting.wordpress.com, 2018.

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