You’d think growing up in the land of red clay, sand wouldn’t have factored into life.
And yet, it is the glue that cements my memories firmly together.
Sunset Beach and Ocean Isle were like second homes to my family. I remember summers by the feel of sand on sunburned skin. Grains of it everywhere, in the carpets, in the sheets. My mother’s hands, gentle on my skin, rubbing sunscreen onto my back and exfoliating at the same time with the sand that made its way into all the open places of our lives.
It crept into red solo cups, first full of juice, then Coke, then beer. It was a defining part of the oyster experience: swallow, then taste the sand between your teeth as the salty brine washed through your mouth.
It covered the dance floor when we shagged on the old wooden floor of the Pad on the strand. Tiny grains moved in my shoes as the music got louder and the pivots got faster. Even the songs waxed poetic about it. “I’ve still got sand in my shoes, and some rhythm and blues, to remind me where I’m from…”
We sang about it as we danced with it, upon it, letting it fill our empty spaces. As if there were a choice.
Sand can either grate at you and drive you crazy, or, if you can accept it, cradle you and keep you. It is hard and unyielding and soft and pillowy. It’s as malleable and inconstant as we are.
We threw our arms open and welcomed sand. It was in our blood. It was what gave us our love for the North Carolina coast, saltwater, seafood, and beach music. And the alternative, to hate the sand? Was to sign up to play Sisyphus.
Closing my eyes, I can still feel, hear, and see one of the most peaceful afternoons of my life. It involved nothing more than a beach towel and an old paperback novel, high on the beach in the soft sand. Seagulls cried overhead, waves gently rolled in, and I was warm, perfectly warmed, by the sand underneath me and the sun above. That sand cradled me like a pillowtop mattress, and no matter how I’ve searched, I’ve never found as comfortable a patch of sand.
Except the white sand beaches on our honeymoon. This was a different kind of sand, like soft sugar poured onto a beach. It made for the happiest week of my life, softening our first walks together as husband and wife, faithfully holding my piña coladas, infiltrating every nook and cranny of my books.
Sometimes I still find sand in the pages of a book. And I smile.
This post was written for the online writers’ workshop Write on Edge. The prompt? Write 450 words about sand. (Proud to tell you this post is EXACTLY 450 words.)
Commenters: please give me constructive criticism! Full disclosure: this was written in a rush. But I still want honest opinions about what could be better.
Awesome last line.
Thank you!
This was beautiful, Angie. Your descriptions were so vivid that I was there with you.
So glad you enjoyed it! Thank you so much for coming by to read!
This isn’t constructive because I was so wrapped up in your sincere beautiful words I was just there. Lovely. Thanks!
Wow, thank you!
Not a critic here – thoroughly enjoyed reading “my feelings” through your words…grew up on the Connecticut coast…can’t imagine life and childhood without sand and saltwater. Great job!
That makes me so happy…to have made you re-live feelings through my words.
I liked the stream of conscious feel combined with the well crafted lines of emotional impact. The last line is money.
good writing…and you’re tall
Funny you said that re: stream of consciousness feel. This started out as me brainstorming ideas for a piece about sand, and I realized that all those ideas *were* my piece.
And now I’m going to have to do a post about being tall.
This is really beautiful; I like that you used different scenes to show how your appreciation and love of the area changed and became so tied to the sand as you got older. The the different, yet familiar, sand of your new marriage? Really a great piece.
Thank you so much, Angela! That’s exactly what I was going for with this.
Very nice and that last line is perfect.
nice post! I particularly like the line “…the sand that made its way into all the open places of our lives.”
Lovely isn’t strong enough a word. Beautiful is an understatement. Perfection is rare, but I think you nailed it. Very, very well done.
I don’t know that you need to worry about a thing. This was a well crafted, eloquent piece. I love how something so simple can be such an integral part of your life. Very well done!
You ask for concrit and I want to give you some, but then you write so purposefully and gracefully that I find it difficult.
This is lovely and so full of warmth and sweetness.
If I were to be truly tough on it, I’d say the honeymoon paragraph feels a little like an afterthought because of the opening line. With a stronger turn of phrase there it would fall more seamlessly into your sandy narrative.