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I wrote this for an english class 10 years ago. Everything in the story is true, and I always loved the way this one day made me feel about life. Here it is, Beach Scene.

Beach Scene

I’ve never really had a love for the beach scene. I don’t know why, I just never enjoyed the beer-guzzling parties, the vanity of laying out to cook in the sun, or the trendy little stores that always appear out of nowhere to sell the usual assorted crap. Having stayed away from the beach all my life (except for that week every June when my parents took vacation), I chose to go to a college whose greatest claim to fame was its beach location. This didn’t make any sense to me either, but it just happened that way.

My first year at college went by smoothly, and I managed to go to the ”beach” only once, and that was because a van-load of my friends just decided to go while I was in the group. I did, however, find a love for the serenity aspect of the beach. I drove to Fort Fisher many nights, to what seemed like the end of the world to just sit and freeze in the cold winter night and imagine what might be just beyond the range of my eyesight.

As the academic side of college began demanding more and more of my time, I found myself changing—changing into what could have been considered an adult. I dont mean adult in the age sense, but in the sense that many adults are concerned with the important parts of life. You know, things like responsibility, or job security. I dont mean to say that these things should not be considered important, but I found myself becoming obsessed with these aspects of my life. I had no time for frivolous things. My evening trips to Ft. Fisher stopped, and I never seemed to do anything just for myself.

Fortunately I had several good friends, who on occasion, dragged me out to social events. I never really enjoyed them (well maybe just a little), but at least it kept me with friends. One of these friends, Greg, really fascinated me. I had never met anyone like him. He always had a smile and a warm comment to give to anyone he passed, but at the same time, he was very intelligent. Greg always seemed to bring out the best in all of our little group, but when the year was over, and we all moved out of the dorm, I thought that those times were over.

Moving brings certain changes you never expect. I knew that moving off campus would bring increased freedom, (and fewer noisy rednecks living above you), but I never expected it to bring loneliness. Fortunately, Greg found himself in need of a place to stay for a couple of months (I never said he was always prepared). While I didnt see him much, I always knew he was around by his banged-up surfboard. As the pressures of a new semester began to mount, I could feel the care-free summer drift away.

One warm September day, I came back to my apartment tired, weary and in desperate need of a good nap. Just as I put my key in the lock, Gregs face appeared (smiling, of course). He had a towel in one hand, and in the other he carried his board. I think he saw how bad I looked, and immediately insisted that I come surfing with him. I said OK, because I knew there was no way to get out of it, then grabbed a towel and my roommates bodyboard.

I hadnt noticed Gregs van when I had parked my car, but just as we rounded the corner of my building, I saw Oscar parked crooked in the space. Gregs burgundy Toyota van had been dubbed Oscar for some unknown reason, but it had stuck, just like when you name your pet dog something stupid. Greg turned the key, and we coaxed Oscar gently over the speed bumps that seem to follow me wherever I live. Greg (still smiling) started talking about the usual stuff, but I couldnt hear anything he said because of the noise from the tape deck. The closer we got to Wrightsville, the happier Greg got. By the time we reached the bridge, he was positively ecstatic, hands beating the steering wheel and on the Billabong stickered horn.

When we finally parked Oscar at Crystal Pier, Greg immediately bolted from the van and scurried up one of the nearby dunes like Theodore Roosevelts fictitious charge up San Juan Hill. I just watched him standing there, looking out at something I knew I would never see. He returned to the van, smile even wider, and grabbed his board and a big clump of wax. He told me that the waves looked pretty good, so I might want to be a little more careful. After we headed toward the water, stopping only to bury the keys in the sand, Greg turned his head to give me that Take care of yourself, I’ll see you later” look. I had to content myself with the smaller waves that were closer to shore while Greg moved into a completely different world, just beyond the set of waves I was working. I tried to catch sight of him several times, but every time I did, I caught a mouthful of salt water just as a wave dragged me under its foam.

After about a half-hour of pure torture (and fun), I decided to start heading in. I shouldn’t have taken my mind off the waves while I was making this decision, however, because just as I did, the biggest wave I had seen that day hit me from behind, causing me to flip with my board and ramming a fin into my stomach. I knew that would make for a pretty decent bruise later, so with one last thought about my own stupidity, I headed for the beach.

I knew Greg would not be ready to go yet, but as I settled in for a short nap on my board, I began to think how relaxed I was. I don’t know how I could be relaxed, as I was bruised and full of sea salt, but I was for some strange reason. I couldn’t have been asleep for more than five minutes when I heard a cry from a baby. I looked to my left and saw a young child with its mother. She gave me that ”Hello, sorry” look, but I really didn’t mind.

It was then that I started to understand why I was content. It was because I had finally allowed myself to just blend into the greater background, instead of trying to control my situation or status. Here on the beach I was just another organism, only one of the thousands that must be in my sight. I began to move the sand between my hands, playing just like that child might have in a school-yard sand box. I began to try to identify the shells and other objects I found, not in any scientific way, but just by their shape, color or texture.

I don’t know how long I continued this way, but I soon saw Greg coming up from the surf. He asked me if I was ready to go, but I knew from the look in his eyes that he was not ready. I told him that I wanted to just stay out a little longer, and with that he immediately headed back out to just ”catch a few more.”

We left just as the sun was going down, wet towels wrapped around our shorts. We didn’t speak much on the way back, we just listened to Oscar talk through its speakers, carrying its message of waves, endless summer, and something about ”Yakety-Yak, don’t smoke crack.” Greg dropped me off at my apartment, and just as I walked in the door, the flashing light on my answering machine brought me back to reality. It seems that I had missed several ”Important” meetings because of my afternoon trip. But for some reason, for the first time, I really didn’t care. I knew at that moment that I had been living on the edge, living on the edge of society’s ”Adulthood.” I was grateful that just one friend, just one adventure could postpone my entrance into this stage of my life.

Someday I will probably look at that day as a waste of time, wondering how I could have ever allowed myself to be delinquent in my societal duties, but I hope that day never comes. Until then, I will continue to live in my world of ”Adulthood,” with my own definitions of my responsibilities.

Posted by Alvin P. Phillips |