Water Flight

 Water Flight

Anna Rohaly

The Frisbee soars over my head before hitting a tree and landing with a soft, swishing thump in the long grass.

“Maybe we should move this out to the field,” my cousin Danny jogs over to the plastic disk, his shaggy curls bouncing. Thomas, my brother, rushes past me, almost a blur of color as my eyes struggle to catch up with him. Danny sends the Frisbee flying. Thomas jumps through the air and catches it. I turn to watch and as I do, I see pink tinting the fluffy bottoms of some of the clouds. The idea hits like a rain drop.

“Guys! We should go to the beach and watch the sunset. We can throw the Frisbee out there,” both of the boys' heads snap around to look at me. I am the oldest cousin present and the only cousin at the Farm who can legally drive. The prospect of going to the beach while we are on the Farm is a welcome one because for us cousins, it is a rare treat. Thomas and I come from the heart of Indiana. The only oceans we see are the ones made up of corn stalks and bean rows, swirling in the wind. Danny and his sisters Katie and Pam come from the middle of Chicago. They can go to the beach but the experience is crowded, dirty, and unsatisfying. It doesn't bring life to a person. The nearby beach, surrounded by grass covered dunes and secluded shifting sands, is just one more draw to the remains our great-grandfather's farm.

“Lets,” Dan says. We scatter in opposite direction, preparing for our outing.

Five minutes later the three of us, along with Kate and Pam, are piled in the car. I'm driving. The freedom tastes good as I click my seat belt into place and turn the key. We're off!

We are all quiet at first but slowly the sound in the car grows. Pam and Kate in the back chat about soccer games, Thomas tries to poke Dan from the backseat. The drive is short to begin with, but with the pleasant chatter, we are there in just a moment. Pulling off the road into the gravel parking lot, I put the car into park and we unload ourselves. Dan grabs the Frisbee and we run to the top of the largest dune, ducking under the low hanging branches of the trees that block our path. We follow the small sandy trail up through the grasses and patches of woods. Thomas beats us all to the top, closely followed by Danny and me. Kate and Pam bring up the rear. Thomas and Danny already have their cameras out, taking pictures, their faces brushed with orange light. I step through the last trees and look out.

No matter how many times I have come to this beach, no matter how many sunsets I witness over Lake Michigan's churning waters, I still feel a fresh sense of awe for each new experience. This evening is no different. We are a little late, the sun has already made her exit and is now hidden behind the curtains of water. She has left a bright scarf of orange in her wake, lining the horizon with vibrant color. The orange scarf is trimmed in silhouetted clouds, once white, but now deep blue, purple, and gray. Above the clouds, the sky fades from orange into a satin blue backdrop, which stands silent and empty, missing the sun and awaiting the entrance of the stars. A sigh escapes my lips. Around me Thomas and my cousins have fallen silent with the same awe.

I glance down the dune itself. The wind is strong and cool this evening. My hair is blown out behind me like hundreds of silk whips. The tall sand grasses that cover the hill bend and shudder. The water is rough tonight. The waves are about five feet tall, crashing down on each other, spraying bejeweled water into the sky as if mocking it and daring the sun to reappear on stage. There is a line of trees at the bottom of the hill, their branches bending and bowing towards us. Beyond the tree line is a small strip of beach.

On the beach there are only two people standing, a father and his small son. I watch them play for a moment, savoring their simple pleasure. They move towards one of the nearby houses as I move to the other side of my cousins.

We have a tradition. When we come to this beach together, we all go to the top of the dune. There is one small path on the side of the sand hill that is free from grasses and trees, one space that is only forgiving sand. The path is narrow, not more then six feet wide, but it reaches all the way to the bottom of the hill to a vanishing path that goes through the thin line of trees. The incline is steep, more then a 45 degree angle. We have found that running down the dune, allowing each step to be swallowed up by the sand as your pace is hastened by the expected shifts of sand, is more then exciting; it's exhilarating. Tonight, I am going to be the first one to take the plunge.

I am holding my purse in one hand as I jump down into my first step. The sand slides beneath my booted foot and I gain speed. I feel like an imbecile for carrying my purse, but I had to bring it for my car keys and phone in case the mothers need to reach us. I hold it tightly and continue my ski-like decent. As the trees are brought closer, I slow down enough to control my footing as I duck beneath the branches and disappear into their arms. Coming out into the small patch of grasses on the other side I turn and look back up the dune.

From the top of the dune Thomas and the cousins had watched me plummet down the hill. Now Dan and Thomas are sprinting down the hill, sliding, aiding erosion with their large feet. The environmentalists must hate us.

Thomas and Dan vanish behind the veil of trees. Kate and Pam now are running side by side through the sand. They disappear as the boys reappear, bursting through the wall of trees. The girls join us shortly and together we all run toward the calling water.

The aunts had told us not to get wet. They had repeated themselves over and over and so out of the mandatory obedience required of offspring, we stop and watch the tall waves splash to the shore and slide like wet seals up to the toes of our shoes. Dan pulls out his camera again, catching the orange reflection on the wet sand and the towering waves. Thomas decides on a different course of action.

He pulls out the Frisbee, hurling it in my direction, shouting my name over the loud crying of the waves. He has miscalculated the strength of the wind though, and the Frisbee tilts, angling down straight into arms of the crashing turf.

Having been told to avoid water, I do what any good daughter would do and walk up to the very edge of the waves. I watch the Frisbee go round and round, surfing onto the shore atop one foaming wave before it is pulled out again under the next wall of water. I wait for some of the waves to be spaced out by a few extra feet before I make my grab for the Frisbee, rescuing it from its watery Ferris Wheel.

I fling the Frisbee towards Pammy. She lets out a squeal as water spirals off of the disk under the power of centripetal force. She is only a few feet away, so the wind does not bend its course. She catches it and makes a throw to Kate. The wind catches it again however, and I watch it veer off into the grasses. After a few more throws, it is apparent that this part of our plan will not work. The Frisbee is abandoned with my purse by a piece of drift wood.

I look out at the water. As the water recedes, the sand shimmers and glistens with reflections of the sky. I keep watching and see that as the sand is pulled back out with the water, an occasional rock surfaces and skips into the lake with the receding water. Like the Red Baron flying after his prey I dash across the wet sand to catch one of the tumbling stones. A waves comes crashing towards me sending me into a hasty retreat to avoid the water.

Thomas soon catches on to what I'm doing and we both continue to make a grab for the stones. Katie and Pam decide to go jogging down the beach and Dan begins racing the waves. This is what the beach should be, a place to revive. Here, out from under the watchful eyes of adults and the pressures of school and peers, we are free to act silly. We are giddy on freedom and happiness. Who needs drugs when beaches are still in existence.

Thomas runs up to me and hands me a wet stone. His jeans are dotted with water and he is grinning. I slip the stone into my back pocket and Thomas and I wait to time the next wave. It comes surging in, foaming up to our tennis shoes.

“Ha! You didn't catch me!” I shout to the water but the wind swallows up my voice and I am the only one who hears the words. The wave begins to pull out again and I see another rock. Thomas and I race for it. Dan joins us. We run full out but before any of us can grab the stone, the next wave is nearly upon us. We run away laughing, splashed by the foam that is caught on the wind.

By this time, the orange scarf is gone from the sky and stars appear as sparkling jewels. An airplane flies high over head, blinking a red light over us. We are alone with the dark waves.

I would like nothing better then to stay here with my cousins and watch the moon rise but as the darkness begins to spread, I know we have to leave.

“We should head back to the Farm soon,” I say to Dan as we retreat from another wave. Like my brother, Dan's jeans are wet at the bottoms. He doesn't hear me through the wind and for a few more minutes all of us run across the sand. I eventually stop and look towards the drift wood where my purse is sitting with the Frisbee. I can barely make out the drift wood.

“Okay guys, I think we should head out,” I shout louder this time. They all hear me over the roar of the wind. They look disappointed that we have to leave but they gather together and we retrieve the Frisbee and my purse.

Together, we trek over the sand and through the darkness to the head of the main trail that leads up the dunes. Going up is harder, the sand slides down under us back towards the water, back where we would like to go. Still, we trudge towards the car. We are out of breath by the time we break over the ridge of the hill. I dig through my purse, find my ring of keys, and unlock the doors. We didn't bring towels because we weren't going to get wet. However, we are all sandy and have to kick our feet against the car tires until the shushing of falling sand stops. We crowd back into the car.

The ride back is much quieter and much longer. The darkness prolongs the curves of the road and hides the turn-off I need to take. The silence is heavy. None of us want to leave the exhilaration of the beach. None of us wants to go back the pressures of every day life, for me in college, for Thomas and the others high school and grade school. None of us want to go back to acting mature, grown up, and in control of the lives that we can influence so little but we must and we will. We will not however, forget that visit to the beach or the freedom and giddy joy we felt during that trip. Instead, we will keep that memory close. That way, when we meet again at the Farm and realize how overbearing life has become again, we will know where to go. We will go back to the sunset, back to the deafening wind, the sand and the waves. We will go back to freedom.