fair haven

Why has everyone gone already?

The water is still wet. The sun still shines.

The sand is still hot, stretching that quarter mile between the rocks in the distance and the man-made channel, the concrete breakwall running out to the lighthouse (automatic and uninhabitable, too bad -- I'd love to live there. Probably impractical, that's what dad would say, right?).

I feel the sun on the back of my head, staring across the water to the unseen shore. This day seems no different than any day last week when the beach was packed. Maybe a bit breezier, that's all.

So why did everyone suddenly stop coming?

Yes, it's getting cooler in the late afternoons. I feel a little of the autumn, smelling slightly of old damp leaves, as I emerge breathless dripping from the sea-lake. Played in the surging surf for a good long time, waves hitting my chest, imagining storms, hating and loving the fear spike when my feet can't find the bottom anymore (is this the end?). Always a strange empty feeling in my belly after a swim, not quite hunger. The wind definitely colder. The sun considering not if but when to set.

The parents, so old, take their walks in the mornings, or early afternoon, or at sunset. Five to fifteen minutes when they're not back at the temporary home base. I am left to my own solitary amusements, which suits me more than

noise and fun, children, cheap bright unnecessary necessities. Bathing suits garish colors. Concession stand snack banquet, too expensive they grumble and pay and are pestered by gulls (I like some of the nasty treats but rarely have money and hate to ask mom for it, to admit why I want it). Suntan lotion and sodden cigarette smoke, maybe a distant barbecue or two, and always under everything that dead fish smell. Impromptu belabored volleyball. Boats and waterskiers between the beach and the horizon. Tinny tiny speakers feebly blasting summertime songs. Plastic sunglasses, cheap bestsellers, plastic straws, nameless litter, plastic inflatables. Tanned laughter. Other towns' teens, never ever anyone I know or could meet

and maybe I'm glad of that. I don't like crowds. Too visible...no shirts, no shoes, no pant legs, no armor, no disguises. Foolish with the shirt on or off, wet or dry. Avoiding eyes, may as well be city streets or the mall. Can't have fun, gotta lose yourself in fun but can't lose yourself with so many people around to notice when you're doing it wrong.

Don't take it personally. Nobody really cares. Thanks mom. Which is better, unlikely laughing at me or usually laughing without me? Why let them take away your fun? Because it's me, not them, who is wrong. Don't take away their fun by being wrong. They can have my fun, I know how to live without it, my gift is to not disrupt their fun.

So I love the sad empty beach with all of my little wrong heart. Love is sadness, not laughter and fun.

I don't really see the tiny ghost town of concession stands and restrooms, nor the blackened satellites of the charcoal grilles like stubby signposts along a park path, nor the big empty parking lots where the wind is even colder.

I just take in the waves, the sand, the rocks, and the cooler and cooler breezes. Even that nasty old seaweed looks lovely when there's nothing artificial tangled in it.

Funny, there's more rock than sand once the sand isn't covered by people. I want to see fish, alive, or something even more natural and unexpected and beautiful. Not washed up on shore to dry slowly and rot quickly. The gulls are more distant than insistent, but their cries carry farther. Much more airborne. They somehow know I never have fries. I don't mind if they laugh at me.

The cold wind...it's not even the end of summer, how dare the wind be so cold already? I still sweat during the noon hours.

If I was anywhere else it would still be mostly summer, the hot steamy latesummer county fair circus carnival season...but the beach needs it to be all summer, I guess. No half measures or it loses something essential, may as well be winter. And only weirdos go to the beach in the winter.

I've done nothing but walk and look the whole summer long. And now it's over. Missed whatever chance.

Next summer, maybe, I'll be better. Maybe I'll be able to have fun with people. If not, I might as well stay home because it would be the same anywhere.