Into The Breakers

I have long held the belief that salt water cures all.

Chicken pox? Take a dip in the ocean. Sinus trouble? Swim for a bit. Sore throat? Minor cuts and abrasions? The ocean will see you now. A broken heart or a worried soul? Well, yes, those too are cured with a few moments at sea.

. . .

We made our way over the dunes in the hot August sun. My sister and her friends were already there. Thomas and I plunged across the lava-like sand; sweat was already running down his face. He's a fair-skinned Irish boy and I'm a well-tanned Eastern Shore girl. In spite of his sensitivities, he loves the ocean almost as much I do. We found the girls and set up our makeshift camp: a rainbow umbrella, a chair, a towel, bottles of frozen water, and an ample supply of sunscreen.

My sister wanted to go swimming. The sun was beating down on us with the kind of intensity that threatens to destroy, not just burn. The thought of the coolness of the ocean on my skin ... we practically ran to the breakers. We had heard in the news that a tropical storm lingered off the coast of Bermuda, about 800 miles away. Even when storms are far out to sea, we can still feel and see its effects: this day was no difference. The current was stronger than usual and the waves were higher than normal.

As we swam out, I could see where the ocean was white-capping. Soon, I was diving under occasional three and four foot swells. We laughed and swam; we dove and did flips into the rolling ocean. The cool water ran over us and I could taste the sea water as it dripped down my face, through my hair. I watched my little sister, now a grown woman, grin ear to ear after surfacing from a plunge underwater. Thomas and I exchanged a few salty kisses that were more comical than romantic. There, in the sunshine, as I dove under a large wave, I felt free...

. . .

We retired from the ocean after a long swim. Thomas took up residence in the shade while I dropped my body onto a towel in the full glare of the summer sun. I dug my feet deep into the warm sand. I looked up at the Atlantic, and, just like clockwork, a thousand thoughts flooded my mind. This happens every time. Staring at that horizon makes my mind tumble and fall.

The past few days have been especially rough for me. I was looking to run away and so we did. We got as far as Ocean City and the Atlantic. For me, there has always been (and probably always will be) an irresistible draw to the ocean. She is wild and dangerous; she is beautiful and subtle. She reminds me that, although I am just a piece of a larger puzzle, I am lucky. After all, not everyone gets to bask in her glory and breaking waves whenever they want. I am beyond fortunate to live in such an amazing place.

My broken parts are on the mend, I feel certain. A few more trips and I may consider myself healed.

Fuel To Burn

Ten years ago, my grandmother asked me if I had ever heard of the Pilchard murder. No, I said. She directed me to a marble top desk in her living room. In the second drawer from the bottom was a stack of old newspapers, yellowed and fragile. Within moments, I was devouring the chilling tale of the Pilchard murder... a series of events that read like a Hollywood movie only this was real. It was wrenching and sad, but interesting and complex as well. As I read the words from that awful winter of 1940, something in the very core of me felt electrified. There was this burning to write, a desire to narrate this story. The intensity of the fire stayed; the research and the emotions became fuel for me.

Recently, I stumbled upon another story that has reignited that old flame. In the winter of 1968, a prisoner shot and killed two men while making an escape from the Salisbury courthouse. While this is the sum of the story, it too has several layers of complexity. I awake each day eager to write this story, to find a new piece of the puzzle. While I don't really want to make a habit of writing murder mysteries, this particular story has reached me in a way that nothing else has in recent months.

So, here's to writing. Like this again.

And may all these poor souls find peace.