Everything else is just mud puddles
This past Sunday, Edgar & I took a short road trip with some friends and hit the beach! As my belly gets bigger, I long for the lightness and bouyancy of water. Not to mention it’s been as hot as Satan’s kitchen lately.
We arrive at Jones Beach, about 30 minutes north of Manhattan, and surveyed our surroundings. White, clean sand. Not many cigarette butts. We plop our stuff down; spread out our blankets. Opened up the umbrella … relaxed. The sun answered back with hot rays, and my skin steamed from its intensity.
In no time, I wanted to go in the water. Edgar relented. I pressed. “C’mon … just your toes!” I coaxed. Reluctantly, he agreed. We walked, hand-in-hand, to the water’s edge. And then we both – gawked.
Why was the water … brown? And why did it …. stink? We glanced at each other, and I swallowed the overly-emotional-pregnancy-induced lump in my throat that comes up too often. Other people were in the water, and their skin wasn’t burning and peeling away as if they were swimming in a vat of acid. Still, I couldn’t bring myself to walk more than knee-deep in.
As for Edgar, he decided to keep his toes dry. He grumbled something about not wanting a “bacterial infection.” This time, I didn’t argue. I just keeping trying to blink back tears.
You see, Edgar and I used to live in Playa del Carmen, Mexico, where the water and the beach look like this:
Everything else is just mud puddles.
We walked back to our blankets in silence. As we left the stinky brown cess-pool behind us, I leaned toward Edgar and said, “I guess we didn’t realize how good we had it.” And he squeezed my hand in solemn agreement.