I’m here again. The place I treasure most. My toes in the loose, grainy sand. The roar of the rough but comforting ocean. The place where my worries drift out with the tide-The Langley Beach House. But it wasn’t real.
I found myself sitting in detention with Principal Sherman, telling us to write an essay on why we are here. I knew why I was here, because I kicked a ball at someone’s face by accident. I was at a loss for words, knowing I couldn’t have what I needed. I was hundreds of miles away from the beach. I live in Maine; the beach house is in Florida. The farthest I could be.
Finally, I’m free. The year couldn’t get worse. It’s time to go to the beach house. As I was packing my things, I realized something. The only thing I actually enjoy about the beach house is the beach itself. I despise being forced to attend the annoying family gathering we host every 4th of July. I love my family, but all they want is for me to be a perfect child. That’s hard. All I want to do is escape to the beach.
I come across my Langley Annual Beach House sweatshirt that I always wear on our drive home from the house. It’s such a surreal feeling just sitting and looking out the car window and staring at the big sky. Suddenly, my brother barged into my room. He told me our Aunt Heidi and Uncle Drew had shown up early, which made me feel extremely rushed. My brother, Hurley, is three years younger than me. “ Come on, Mira, you’re going to be late,” he said.
The drive felt like forever. All I could think about was the beach. Hurley and my dad make fun of me for it. “ What are you thinking about, Mira? Oh, let me guess, the beach! I knew it!” they said in the car.
“You guys are so annoying,” I say roughly every time. Don’t they know how to just leave people alone? My mom suddenly got on the phone and became serious.
“The house? That’s impossible! I made sure it was in perfect shape when we left last summer.” she wailed to the anonymous caller. She then whispered to my father in the driver’s seat and told him what happened. Why aren’t they telling me? My brother and I gave each a quick sly. We knew not to ask our mother any questions or she would get over-worked.
We finally entered the sunny state of Florida. Approximately three hours until I could go straight to my room in the beach house. I would grab my one piece from my suitcase, and change the quickest I’ve ever changed. I was so ecstatic. If only I could prepare myself.
We pull up in the long driveway tucked away into its own little nook, separated from the rest of the neighborhood, and my heart drops. It felt like I was on the boardwalk’s slingshot when it plunged to the bottom. I could see the smoke coming from the house. It was suddenly dark and gloomy. The entire left wing of the house was made entirely of ashes. Thankfully, the right-wing- where my room is located- was still standing. I don’t know what to do or even say. My parents look at me. I could tell they knew, but I didn’t understand why they wouldn’t tell me. Why would we drive all this way just to turn back around? I couldn’t comprehend the fact that the place I admire most is gone. Or at least half of it. I knew what I had to do.
My parents began to tell me what happened. Why wouldn’t they tell me before? If my mom had gotten a call about the house burning down, why wouldn’t we just turn around? I don’t want to see the house this way. This is not what I want to remember it as. I made so many memories here, but now I feel like they just burned down to the ground with the flames. Like the time I laid out by the pool directly under the sun for three hours and got extremely burnt. My brother and uncle called me a lobster for at a week. Those are the things I remember, the things I cherish.
I see my shadow in the ashy, cracked pavement. I am not sure how long I was standing there staring, but it felt like forever. I was crushed. My dad started to yell at me to get back in the car.” Come on, Mira, we are leaving”. There is no way they are getting me to leave. At least not before I get to that beach one last time.
I tell my parents I’m going to check out the house just for a couple of minutes. Of course, that’s not what I’m doing. I scurry towards the back of the house until my parents can’t see me anymore. Once I’m far enough, I run. I felt so free with the wind blowing through my thin black hair. I made it. The beach.
It’s just as calming as the year prior. I completely forgot about the house and had to get back to my parents. I sat in the sand, looking at the ocean’s sharp, choppy waves. This is where I belong. This place brings out the best in me. I’m sure my parents are beginning to worry about me. I am unsure of how long I’ve been gone. All I know is I don’t want to go back.
I’m wrapping up my final trip to the beach. I thought this day would never come.As I’m jogging to the ashes and gloomy skies, I feel cold, wet droplets come from my eyes. My parents looked relieved when they saw me. I get in the car, and everyone glares at me. They know where I went. Now, it’s time to go back home to Maine.