Sinking deeper with each step, my anticipation grows during my feeble attempt to trudge through the twilight sands. I hear the ocean beckoning me. I must hurry. I must reach the shore before the sunrise disrupts the mystery of the moon reflecting against the clashing waves. Inhaling the overpowering scents of salt and darkness, I reach the shore. My feet melt into the wet sand. I hear the ocean beckoning me.
“Shhhhhh,” she says. “Rest,” she whispers with the clash of one wave and, “listen,” with another. The moon entices me with her cunning smile plastered on what seems to be the center of the water. I feel the cool wetness engulfing my feet, then my ankles, then my knees. I realize that I am getting deeper, but it’s too late. I have been captured by the ocean’s allure. I am paralyzed- powerless. I cannot distinguish the difference between my terror and my intrigue. Though I feel my heart begin to race, a stillness overcomes me. I could live here. I could die here.
Walking, walking, walking. That’s what we’re doing. Walking down Collins Avenue searching desperately for a place to get some frozen yogurt. Walking to Lincoln Square to spend our money on things we could easily find at the shopping centers back home. The metal detectors usher the bee line of off guard spenders with accents from all over the world in and out. Walking to the strip to participate in the Urban Week festivities on Ocean Drive. The sun beams down on our brilliant brazen bodies as condensation pours down the smalls of our backs. The palm trees have mercy on us and bend to give us shade on our voyage. Walking past shops selling liquor, volleyballs, and t-shirts reminding us that we’re in Miami, trick. Walking to the beach and regretting the decision to, yet again, wear shoes without support as the steaming sand burns blisters onto our already tired feet. Leaping into the ocean and pretending to surf the waves. Walking back to the hotel trying to avoid the aggressive displays of interest by desperate suitors on the street. Drinking more alcohol than our mothers would approve of. Walking to the hotel from Mansion after the big birthday celebration and a narrow escape from a street brawl. Realizing just how far the hotel seems after wearing heels all night. Limping into the lobby. Vowing to make better decisions the next day. Crashing. Waking up and doing it all over again.
Our last night was a blur. I don’t remember too much. Something about Wet Willie’s,a lot of alcohol, absolutely no sleep, a red eye flight, and bickering in the streets. I do know that it’s hot in Texas, but the sunshine hardly compares to Florida sunshine. I also know that I came back five pounds lighter, and two shades darker. Take me back.
Just keep swimming!