10/07/21 03:35:28
②My bedroom at my parents' house holds no memories for me.
My memories of Florida are all a mile away, at Eighth Avenue beach.
I live in Boston now and visit my parents in Florida twice a year.
Whenever I visit, I spend many hours at my beach, usually under a hot sun,
but sometimes at night, when the sand is cool and the sea seems
to offer answers it won't share during the day.
I go to my beach not only to relax and think, but also to feed off the sea.
The waves are gentle,the water soothing. But more important to me is the sea's
permanence and sheer force.
l want to be strong like that During one visit to Florida last year,
l was sad about the end of a relationship,
and l knew that my sadness would worry my parents.
had to stop at Eighth Avenue before l could see them.
After flying infrom Boston, l drove straight to the beach. It was late
afternoon in May, and the sun had softened. When l reached the beach,
l parked at the end of Eighth Avenue and slowly walked barefoot to
the water. l tasted the gulf, and with it, some hope.
l have taken a few friends to my sanctuary,
but it's not a place lshare with many.
Five years ago l brought Jack, a former boyfriend,
and I'm glad l did. Now when l look down the shore or across the water,
he is there, too,laughing at the pelicans as they dive for food,