Summer Beach Days

Carmelene Melanie Siani

The summer I was 12 my father would drop me off at the beach on his way to work. I would bring with me an Italian tuna sandwich, a book, a jar of coconut oil — which made me smell like an Almond Joy Candy Bar — and a folding wooden beach chair covered with green-striped canvas. On the way to the beach we would stop at the store to buy a Coke in a bottle — which always got warm as the day went on.

I wore a little pink, green, and pale yellow gingham bathing suit that wasn’t a bathing suit at all but was more or less a sun dress my mother had made from leftover kitchen curtain fabric. I thought it was really cute with its short little skirt, but I couldn’t get it wet because it became see-through, so I never went in the water above my knees.

In the mornings when I arrived, the ocean would be shrouded in fog, her waves soft and purring. But by eleven o’clock or so she would begin to open her full glory to the California sun. As the day wore on, I would have to move my little beach chair back off of the wet sand, away from the water, so I wouldn’t get soaked.

I stayed at the beach by myself until my father came to get me on his way home from work and the sun was dropping in the sky.

It was magical.

I fell in love with the Pacific Ocean, with her colors, her constancy, her abundance, and her crashing. And I fell in love with myself, wearing a homemade bathing suit, smelling like an Almond Joy Candy Bar and Italian tuna fish sandwiches.

Note: Italian tuna fish sandwiches? One can of tuna mixed with a little olive oil, chopped garlic, parsley and tomato served on crusty Italian bread.

Carmelene Melanie Siani’s widely published stories aim to help others see how life constantly opens to reveal lessons. Find her at www.facebook.com/StoryBelly