On the Beach (standard:other, 451 words)
Author: scarlettorocker	Added: Mar 19 2004	Views/Reads: 3092/2	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
A childhood snapshot

It was one of those rare hot days in East Lothian, when people donned
their swimwear and raced onto the sand with windbreakers, buckets and 
spades. I remember that this was a spring day, for the photos that my 
grandad took had the date  - May 1974 - printed in blue letters that 
ran vertically along the right edge. It was a muggy warmth, the sky a 
deep azure, the sea complementing its tint like a fashion swatch. There 
was a foggy heat haze which shrouded the Bass Rock, and we could hear 
his foghorn honk across the Firth of Forth. Letting the passing 
container ships know that millions of years of volcanic protrusion were 
there, so they'd better watch out! I was in a outgrown, fuddy green 
swimsuit that my granny had hacked into an awkward bikini, and my long, 
dark hair was clipped into a clasp from Boots that I'd harassed her to 
buy me. It was a red rubber ring, too small to save a drowning man. 
When Debra, the class golden girl, had worn one into school, I had to 
have one too. The sun's golden heat surged through the sand and up 
through my feet, making my bones glow and adding to my happiness. 
Grandad sat on the beach, enjoying my rosy-cheeked laughter. How 
parents are said to mellow when they become grandparents! I still have 
the photos he took on that battered old 126 camera, that had once been 
state-of-the-art... was that a real Scottish suntan? How amazing that a 
distant ball of light, ninety-three million miles away, can yet bring 
such heated harmony. As for what I was doing... relatively little, 
except being a child. It was true what my elders told me. Being a child 
is a good time, when there are no responsibilities and when, all being 
well, your life is gently ordered and taken care of. A time when you 
fall asleep oblivious to where, waking to find yourself safe and snug, 
transported by love. Or at least, that's how we all want it. Now I find 
myself in stark opposition, sitting in a flat growing ever chilly with 
the approaching winter, the view from my window desolate paving slabs 
that children must call their playground. But not to complain. That joy 
of being truly loved hasn't left me, though my grandparents have long 
since joined the angels. That day ever glows in my memory. Six summers 
later, I watched my little sister run in and out of the indigo sea, her 
little smile as wide as the stars. Perhaps if we get another hot day, 
I'll take my little boy to North Berwick beach. When he gets here, of 
course. 


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