I smiled in that in-between time. I posed with my parents and my grandparents and brother and the man who is now all mine.
Half-packed boxes sat in my apartment. I wasn’t sure if I should stay or go.
So, I took a trip to the ocean. That place that has always held so much mystery for me. Probably because I’m a Colorado girl and I only know of the mysteries that point up to the sky, not the ones that birth the sun in the morning and tuck it in under a shimmering blanket at night.
We found our hotel, my college roommate and I. We opened the window in the morning. Water, as far as we could see.
I don’t know what possessed us to walk into the ocean. But start walking we did. Eventually, we would have to stop and turn around, right? We didn’t. We discovered a sandbar instead.
And there we sat. Water all around us. Up to our necks in mystery. Laughing and talking and dreaming. Hours went by.
When, oh when, was the last time I let hours go by?
The sun drifted downward, into the other ocean that night. We slept in peace.
We stayed out of the vast waters the next day. I have no idea why. A retired couple joined us in the pool. They had stories to share. Lots of stories about their life.
Then they told us why they were in the pool. Sharks. The day before. Where? They pointed to a place near the sandbar. Are you sure?
He had dragged his lovely wife from the water, not caring about his failing knees.
We didn’t return to that place in the water again. To the spot where we sat unaware.