A Sandy Get Away

May 3, 2008
By
A Sandy Get Away


The boy was filled with stress. His homework pilled up to the ceiling on a Sunday night. The boy has had a great weekend and has had fun with his friends and family. The boy gets decent grades and a C+ every once in a while. The boy sits in his bed, reading a book for school. He has about 60 more pages to read. He’s not necessarily at a good part but he’s not at a boring part. After reading a page, he puts the book down on the pillow that is sitting on his lap. He begins to talk to himself. He’s always talked to himself. Ever since he was little. He asks himself where he would like to be at that very instant. The boy contemplates the thought for a minute or two. Then in a loud whisper, he says, “If it were day, I would like to be at the beach.”

The beach. Not just any beach, but one that had his soul in it. He’s been to the beach before, many times before. He’s been to the beach when he was two years old. He’s been to the beach when he was four years old. He’s been to the beach when he was six, eight, and ten years old. There’s something about the beach. Something that can’t be described in words. The boy can hear the beach, even when he’s not there. The boy can feel the beach, even when he’s not there. The boy can taste and smell the beach. Even when he’s not there. The beach says, “Welcome! Long time-no see! Come swim in the water or build a sand castle!” The beach knows who he is.

The boy isn’t the only one who the beach is glad to see. There are other people walking onto the soft, silk sand that the beach remembers too. These people have also come to the beach many, many times before. They’ve been to the beach more times than the boy. The people walk onto the beach as if it’s their relative. They know the beach as much as the beach knows them.

The boy wishes he could be there. He wishes he could be lying in a lounge chair under the rays of the sun with the slightest breeze blowing by him every twenty minutes. He wishes he could have soda and sip some of the cool soft drink when he wants the sweet sugar. The boy wishes he could take a nap on the beach and not have to worry about anything. The only thing that is worrying the boy is what he’s going to have for dinner. Even the boy that harasses the beach boy is not in his head. Even the teacher that tells him to study is not in his head. Even the thought of homework is not in his head.

All he can hear is the ocean waves splashing up to the shore. All he can hear is a group of little girls playing in the sand and trying to make a figure in the sand. All he can hear is the breeze that passes his ears and shakes the palm trees behind him.

The boy closes his eyes. All of a sudden, the sky blue wall paper strips from his walls and unfolds into the beach sky. All of a sudden his floor begins to sink into the sand of the beach that has always known him. All of a sudden his desk begins to crumble into the boulders that have never moved an inch on the beach that welcomes the boy. All of a sudden his bed shrinks into the perfect lounge chair that has old sand from the last time he used it. All of a sudden a soda pours into the cup holder and waits to be opened into the salty air that has never changed its smell. All of a sudden. The boy is at the beach that has been waiting for him. He’s at the place where he’s been ten times before. Where he first walked onto sand. He’s at the place where there is no such thing as stress, or school, or work, or homework. He’s finally at the sandy get away.





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shark said...
Aug. 19, 2008 at 4:25 pm
This story places the reader into the head of the daydreaming boy. The author has successfully transported the reader to the beach, and used action and sensory words to reinforce the illusionary quality of the images and feelings that are brought up. I wanted to keep reading to see what would happen next. That is my only question--what happens once he gets to the beach, and what happens to the homework? The story is open ended--maybe it is a new kind of story, sort of like a poem. But I am sti... (more »)
 
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