A descriptive short story tells of a girl who longs to be at the shore, but ends up discovering that her illusion of the shore is only real during summer.Chapter 1: Summers Spent At The Jersey Shore
The salty air whips across my face sending my hair awry. My feet melt into the grainy sand. I stand. Seagulls race across the sky as the green waves race to touch my feet. The chilling water lures me in farther. My hair drips salt water as I rush “home” to make it in time to watch the sunset. I’m only here for two months. They say home is where the heart is, and my heart is always here. For ten months I persevere through long hours of strenuous learning in the hopes of returning to the waves. How can this be your home if you are only here for two months?
Since birth, those two months have continued in being my escape. My escape from reality, and my escape from the part of me which I despise the most. I despise the girl who stresses over every homework assignment. I despise the girl who procrastinates and then complains about how much work she has. I despise the girl who stays up late to watch a movie and is tired the next day. The only problem is, that girl is me. Having those two months relieves the constant stress that comes from being “that girl.” When I stress, when I complain, my mind constantly races towards the place that comforts me the most, the Jersey Shore. I can imagine the salt sticking to my skin. I can feel the sand glued to my feet. The uniqueness about this place is that it continues to act as my real life utopia.
It was February, an unusually warm one at that. The ludicrous weather made me crave the sand between my toes and long for the salty air to invade my lungs. So there I went. I sat in the car anxious. I looked out the window only to see the paved, interminable road. The car came to an abrupt stop as I jumped out to rush towards the beach. The paved road that had once seemed so consumed had been cleared, allowing me to rush across. It smelt like home. The treacherous sun allowed me to believe the water would be warm. I dipped my toes in the water, and upon contact, shivers were sent throughout my body. Still, the water lured me in. The green waves came to welcome me. I immersed under them, allowing my hair to get wet. Impelled by my body, I raced out of the water. Had it been up to my mind, perhaps I would’ve stayed in there all day. I lay in the sand allowing it to shield me from the sun as I watch my peers enjoy the day as well. This is my place. As the sun set and the day came to an end, I returned to my home. The only thing was, the place I had returned to was not my home, it was the cage that concealed me from living in my real life utopia.
This place has changed me. The sand, the air, the way the flag in the front of my house sways in the wind. I go back every year for two months. I only get eight weeks, 63 days, while I wish I had an eternity on the sand. Although I am wise enough to know that this cage keeping me from my two months somehow holds the key, I still wish I were free. My utopia only exists within those months. When you travel to my “home” in December, it is not there. The cold air consumes the salty air. The green waves fight to reach the shore. The water does not lure me any more. The sunny skies, salty air, my skin kissed by the sun, all of that is only an illusion painted in my mind. I realize now, I crave those things. My utopia is only there within those two months. So why do I crave it when it is not there? I crave it because I remember the times I had under the sun and on the sand. I remember the laughs, yet no cries. I remember a life without stress, which is why this place has changed me forever. A place that has altered my perception of a “home” and changed my life forever lies within the simple summers spent at the Jersey Shore.