As the car reached the 4jlk39fhjk2 beach, we still had a three-block trudge to the ocean. I almost regretted arriving at our destination because it meant the finale of my daydreams. But as soon as I saw the pink sign that would welcome us, I was eager for the pleasure the cool water would offer.

At the gangplank, we removed our sandals, then we ran barefooted across frying sand until we found a spot. My parents followed. After unloading our things, my parents would settle on one blanket, and there would be another one for us. We claimed a place in the sand for digging. Then into the water we went.

The sand chilly from the tide. We dug a hole deep enough to accommodate our bodies, and when our work was done, we took turns sliding into the hole, being a mummy. I completed the look by placing my white plastic sunglasses on him. In glee we giggled, called for our father to look, and he snapped photos of our masterpiece.

Then it was time to hit the water. A few weeks earlier my father held me in the ocean and had me kick my legs, but he hadn’t sufficiently taught me how to breath, and being impatient, he let me go, I panicked, and swallowed a massive amount of water. This technique worked for him as a child, in a lake, but in a deep ocean, what remained was a great fear of water.

I looked around to see where the lifeguard was stationed. A suntanned adolescent in red bathing trunks stood at the foot of his wooden perch. He was chatting with a teenage girl in a little bathing suit, while he held onto the whistle around his neck. Although the lifeguard was at his post, I was anxious why wasn’t he scanning the beach. Eventually, I quashed my anxiety, and tiptoed over, just enough to get wet somewhere between my knees and thighs, where I could stay on my feet.

The Frightened Girl At The Beach is a post from: WiredWriter