The Beach

I want to take you to my first memory as a three-year-old in a mint green swimsuit, with wild, curly blonde hair, and standing on the beach at sunset watching the surfers in California. The wind blows gently from the left, bringing the scent of salt air and sunscreen to my senses. I wave to a dark figure in the shallows beckoningly, my child-like mind screaming, “Come get me!” The dark figure waves back in the same motion. But I fear the water. I want to go to the dark figure. I want to feel safe and experience an adventure in the waves like the surfers who effortlessly dance with the seagulls laughing above them. I want to know that there are no monsters in the ocean and that the dark figure will save me lest I lose my footing.
Yet, to the horror and disappointment in my three-year-old mind, the dark figure turns away. I remember a feeling that was so intense that I quickly pushed it down because, well, it was scary. Like a sucker punch to the gut, my brain told me, “You are not worth the effort.” That figure was always dark after that memory. Sure, there were times when the shell of the figure was shiny, and all thought they were great, but the sad part was that it was just a shell. The monster was not in the water; it was the dark figure…and even to their death, they haunted me.