brightly colored flowers planted along the base
welcomes visitors to this picturesque town. It’s a lovely place too. The
country and seashore landscape mingle together and allures people right on in.
I slowly
drive past my childhood home and take a quick glance at it. Besides a fresh
coat of white paint and freshly landscaped lawn, the two-story colonial looks
exactly the same. Cars line the driveway as well as along a lengthy stretch of
the street. The wraparound porch has mourners scattered about it. All the
guests either have a plate of food or a cup of drink, as they huddle in groups,
deep in conversation. I’m sure the house is packed full of guests tending to
Jean’s every need. I can’t bring myself to hit the brakes and before I know it,
I am turning off our street. I set a course for the six-minute drive to my
dad’s prides and joys. Crossing over the familiar waterway, the clinking and
clanking sound of the ancient drawbridge welcomes me back.
Within mere
minutes, I am sitting in my idling car in the parking lot. I eventually turn
the car off and climb out to inspect the places. They look exactly as they
should with two exceptions. One is the fresh coat of paint. The other is the
fact that it is smack-dab in the heart of tourist season and these two
prominent establishments sit here abandoned. It’s an eerie feeling to be here
alone on this balmy summer day. The quietness allows for the ocean’s tune to
lull through the empty parking lot in a way I have never heard. The air is not
filled with the usual aroma of succulent seafood being cooked up inside. Only
the briny salt air is present, and this scene leaves me feeling hollow.
After
choking back the hurt, I walk up the porch of the restaurant that is lined with
lonely rocking chairs swaying mournfully from the breeze. On the door is a
wreath with an explanation as to why the tourists will miss the best beach meal
they could have found.
We are sad to announce the untimely passing of proprietor,
Mr. John Paul Thorton II. We will keep you posted as to when the businesses
will reopen.
People have
left cards and notes tucked throughout the wreath, offering their condolences.
In this moment, the impact of it all finally hits me. I’ve lost my dad… Lost
him and there’s no changing this bitter fact that I can hardly comprehend.
Not being
able to take it, I run down the block to the beach and stumble to a stop in the
sand. He’s gone. Really gone . And I
have run out of time to make amends. My chance is lost to know my dad and to
let him know me. The hurt is crushing and strikes me with such a blow that I am
brought abruptly to my knees. If the beachgoers find my meltdown strange, they
don’t act on it. I’m left alone to dance with a few of my demons for a spell.
I rock back
and forth in the sand for a while as I fight off one of my attacks. Breathe, Savannah. Breathe. In… Out…
Breathe.
The sea
breeze has whipped my hair across my face, so I don’t see it coming when strong
hands slide under my arms and pluck me from the sand in one swift snatch.
Before I know it, I am pulled around and encircled in a vice grip embrace. His
shaking vibrates through me, and it’s obvious he is close to tears. We say
nothing to one another in an understandable silence. Needing some space from
the beachgoers, he eventually leads me back to my car. He holds my hand the
entire way, and I rein in my anxiety over the physical contact. He’s not gonna hurt you . I’m guessing
his worry is that I’ll run off again is why he won’t let go of me. He’s no dumb
blond, because that is exactly what I’m thinking about doing. Once we reach the
parking lot, he turns to face me, and I get a good long look at him.
“You’ve cut
your hair?” I ask my brother. His long surfer locks are gone. I have not seen
my brother with short hair since grade school. John Paul is sporting a short,
yet perfectly messy, style. It looks good, but it’s not him. He is too rough
and tough
welcomes visitors to this picturesque town. It’s a lovely place too. The
country and seashore landscape mingle together and allures people right on in.
I slowly
drive past my childhood home and take a quick glance at it. Besides a fresh
coat of white paint and freshly landscaped lawn, the two-story colonial looks
exactly the same. Cars line the driveway as well as along a lengthy stretch of
the street. The wraparound porch has mourners scattered about it. All the
guests either have a plate of food or a cup of drink, as they huddle in groups,
deep in conversation. I’m sure the house is packed full of guests tending to
Jean’s every need. I can’t bring myself to hit the brakes and before I know it,
I am turning off our street. I set a course for the six-minute drive to my
dad’s prides and joys. Crossing over the familiar waterway, the clinking and
clanking sound of the ancient drawbridge welcomes me back.
Within mere
minutes, I am sitting in my idling car in the parking lot. I eventually turn
the car off and climb out to inspect the places. They look exactly as they
should with two exceptions. One is the fresh coat of paint. The other is the
fact that it is smack-dab in the heart of tourist season and these two
prominent establishments sit here abandoned. It’s an eerie feeling to be here
alone on this balmy summer day. The quietness allows for the ocean’s tune to
lull through the empty parking lot in a way I have never heard. The air is not
filled with the usual aroma of succulent seafood being cooked up inside. Only
the briny salt air is present, and this scene leaves me feeling hollow.
After
choking back the hurt, I walk up the porch of the restaurant that is lined with
lonely rocking chairs swaying mournfully from the breeze. On the door is a
wreath with an explanation as to why the tourists will miss the best beach meal
they could have found.
We are sad to announce the untimely passing of proprietor,
Mr. John Paul Thorton II. We will keep you posted as to when the businesses
will reopen.
People have
left cards and notes tucked throughout the wreath, offering their condolences.
In this moment, the impact of it all finally hits me. I’ve lost my dad… Lost
him and there’s no changing this bitter fact that I can hardly comprehend.
Not being
able to take it, I run down the block to the beach and stumble to a stop in the
sand. He’s gone. Really gone . And I
have run out of time to make amends. My chance is lost to know my dad and to
let him know me. The hurt is crushing and strikes me with such a blow that I am
brought abruptly to my knees. If the beachgoers find my meltdown strange, they
don’t act on it. I’m left alone to dance with a few of my demons for a spell.
I rock back
and forth in the sand for a while as I fight off one of my attacks. Breathe, Savannah. Breathe. In… Out…
Breathe.
The sea
breeze has whipped my hair across my face, so I don’t see it coming when strong
hands slide under my arms and pluck me from the sand in one swift snatch.
Before I know it, I am pulled around and encircled in a vice grip embrace. His
shaking vibrates through me, and it’s obvious he is close to tears. We say
nothing to one another in an understandable silence. Needing some space from
the beachgoers, he eventually leads me back to my car. He holds my hand the
entire way, and I rein in my anxiety over the physical contact. He’s not gonna hurt you . I’m guessing
his worry is that I’ll run off again is why he won’t let go of me. He’s no dumb
blond, because that is exactly what I’m thinking about doing. Once we reach the
parking lot, he turns to face me, and I get a good long look at him.
“You’ve cut
your hair?” I ask my brother. His long surfer locks are gone. I have not seen
my brother with short hair since grade school. John Paul is sporting a short,
yet perfectly messy, style. It looks good, but it’s not him. He is too rough
and tough
Similar Books
