Salty Sweetness

I knew we'd arrived at our cottage in Gulf Shores, Alabama when I heard the crackle of oyster shells beneath the tires of the cramped station wagon. I'd witnessed the sunset at the Louisiana border, and after thirteen hours spent folded in the car with seven other people, traveling over seven hundred and fifty miles of hot asphalt, I'd finally arrived in paradise. I stumbled out of the back seat, cramped and exhausted, and was immediately assaulted by the dense air, the salty smell of ocean and sea life. My cousins and I groped our way up the cottage stairs and made our way to the open dormitory. We each collapsed into one of several twin beds and fell instantly asleep.

We awakened in the morning to the smell of Earl Grey and toast, and after a quick breakfast, we jumped into our swimsuits and headed down to the beach. The waves pounded salty ocean water onto the sugary sand, and we became coated in the fine dust as we ran towards the water, our bare feet squeaking in the divots we created--footprints in new fallen snow. I saw my mother smile as she watched us leap into the surf, splashing and diving and swimming out as far as we dared at high tide. In those moments I was just an ordinary eight-year-old, and not the cousin from the twisted and gnarled branch of the family tree whose brother was borderline autistic, whose father was a no-show. I was free from the stigma and pity imposed upon me in hushed whispers when no one thought I was listening, and I rejoiced in the freedom of the waves that cleansed my tarnished soul.

The peace of the ocean was ripped away from me with a suddenness that took my breath away. On the second day of our vacation, my cousins and I decided to play hide and seek. The cottage was the perfect place for such a game, with front and back porches, and fat wooden stilts that the cottage perched on to avoid the flooding of summer hurricanes.

My cousin Jason and I were the same age, which may have been the reason we always fought over petty grievances. This particular day, we were arguing over whose turn it was to be the seeker.

“It’s your turn,” I insisted obstinately. “You were the first one found.”

“No I wasn’t,” Jason said defensively.

“Yes you were,” I said firmly, shoving my face close to his. "You just don't want to be IT."

“Get away from me!” Jason shouted, his complexion changing from pale to crimson.

"Make me!" I shouted back, stomping my foot.

"I hate you!" Jason said as he pushed me away roughly

I’m sure he didn’t mean for it to happen; I know he didn’t. But he pushed me so hard that I stumbled backwards and toppled down the long wooden flight of stairs. I head a sickening crack as I bounced like a ragdoll down the rotting, yellow steps, and landed with a loud smack on the hard concrete at the bottom. I was so shocked and confused by what had just transpired that I couldn’t think or feel anything. Minutes seemed to pass in limbo before I heard the thundering of children’s feet coming down the stairs, followed by the heavier steps of adults. My Uncle Todd scooped me into his arms and placed me in the backseat of the station wagon while my mother climbed in beside me, sobbing. We rushed to the hospital, and after long hours of x-rays and doctors, my mother, Uncle Todd and I arrived back at the cottage.

I was sporting a walking cast on my left leg, which all my cousins eagerly signed. All except Jason, who was hiding in his bed in the dormitory.

When I hobbled over to his bed later that evening, he was all curled up, his face distorted in self loathing and anguish.

“It’s okay, Jason,” I said. “I know you didn’t mean to.”

“Ya, well nobody else believes me,” he sniffed. “Everyone else thinks I did it on purpose. They’re all talking about me.”

I felt a sharp pain in my chest. “I know what that’s like,” I whispered. “But don’t let it bother you. I know the truth.”

Jason turned away from me and I left him alone. I’d forgiven him readily enough, but it took a few years for him to completely forgive me for having the audacity to fall down the stairs. When we see each other now, twenty years later, all the hurt and pain is gone, and all that remains is a special connection we share; something that I'm sure everyone else enjoys talking about.