John
You’d think I’d see him on one of those misty beach days.
When the world has gone gray and a heavy sea mist rolls in…obscuring what is
seen and unseen. But I actually have seen him on a ladder leaned against the
house.…when there’s a chip of trim that needs sanding and painting. Or sitting
and writing something in the wicker chair on our porch. On the brightest beach day as a face in the
crowd-walking towards me- on the boardwalk. Or watching me surf from the happy, white sandy beach with a rainbow of
beach umbrellas behind him.
I knew I’d see him on Father’s Day. So I went into the ocean
beyond where the breaking waves turn into a lulling roll. Like some flickering,
old camera, the waves make the beach appear and disappear as you lay on your
surfboard, rise to their crest and sink to their troughs. Down my blue board
goes into the trough-water spilling over my blue board and the blond hair on my
arms. Up I go onto a crest and I see a beach full of families-missing one
father.
Down I go into the trough-half asleep. Up I go and I see the
beach-where is he? Down I go into the trough-lying in wait-salt drying on my
upper arms. Up I go and there he is…at the end of the boardwalk. Down I go into
the trough-he always watched me surf. Up I go and he’s resting his foot on the
surfer’s bench-looking at me. Down I go and I want to catch a really good wave
to show off. Up I go and he’s walking towards me…down the broad beach. …the
only one in jeans and work boots in 90 degree weather. Down I go into the
trough and the beach disappears again. Up I go onto the wave’s crest and the
beach appears…but he is gone.
I want to catch the nextwave towards the shore…and home. But
he will not be there.
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