Sound and Fury

It was pitch black when we pulled in, hours and hours after our planned arrival time. A series of bad navigational decisions and a wrong address were behind us. I hadn't even finished unloading the car when I decided I had to go to the beach. I couldn't wait even a minute longer. 24 hours of driving and fourteen hundred miles, give or take, and the water was calling to me.

Once down there, I kicked off my shoes and ran into the water, screaming over the noise of the crashing waves. My cousin and I screeched as the water came roaring up, soaking our skirts and covering our legs with sand. My glasses had a fine film of sea mist over them. It was dark, so dark that the flashlights barely cut the darkness. We could see other people coming by the lights bobbing up and down.

Further and further into the ocean, screaming. Tears started streaming down my face. Crying and screaming, crying and screaming. I ran further, arms raised high, driving away the hours in the car, the stress of getting lost, and the tensions of days spent at my mother's house, dealing with bureaucracies and mess.

On the slow walk back to the townhouse, we laughed giddily and attempted to skip in our sandals and flip flops. We were soaked, sandy, and so excited for the week to come.