Beach

Beachballs, swimsuits, dark tans, beautiful women laughing and playing, deep waves, fine sand, sunny day, snow cones, Cadillacs . . . “It is summertime: shall we visit the beach?” I say. — And you reply: “What did you just ask me?” — “Yes or no?” I say. — Then, after contemplating for a while, you answer: “Yes.” — So we gather our fishing net and walk over to the beach. A mother and her large group of offspring now gather around us in a semicircle and jump up and down, as we cast our net in the water. “Go swimming,” I say to the woman and her kids. They obey, and one of the children eventually vanishes. “Have a cola,” I point to the cooler that we brought, which is positioned next to our beach-blanket. The mother and her offspring all follow suit, minus the one who disappeared. We all now stand on the sandy shore and look at a wooden raft that is tied to the dock. “Let’s catch some rays,” I shout. Everyone continues to stand and stare. I leave my shirt on. “Those people who are out there in the water might catch a leech,” I say, gesturing to the multitudes. The mother and her children look wide-eyed at me, as I continue to share interesting facts. “The lifeguards will help anyone who’s drowning,” I proclaim. “Everyone should follow the rules of order, when having summertime fun. Can you name the most important rule of order?” — You yourself now nudge the mother’s shin with your foot: “The man’s talking to you,” you say. And the mother shakes her head. — “No horseplay; no clowning,” I announce. Then I point at the mother’s arm: “It looks like you caught a leech.” The woman gasps and uses table salt to rid herself of the creature. — “It probably happened when you were accompanying us on our fishing expedition earlier,” I say. Then we all go back to our homes and write in our diaries.