Letting it Go

The car slowed and came to a gentle stop. Before she could even pull the key out of the ignition, the back door was thrown open and slammed shut again. She stepped out of the car, leaned against it, and watched the small figure toddling along as fast as his short legs could carry him. He stumbled when he hit the sand and ended up on all fours, but he was up within a second and moving faster than ever. His small, wrinkled feet sprayed sand in all directions.

For a moment, she was enveloped in that same childish sense of excitement she had once known so well. She paused to breathe in the salty air and let the memories wash over her like the waves on the shore: the long drives squirming in the backseat with anticipation, the initial surge of excitement at the first shimmering glimpse of blue, the dash to the water’s edge, and the adrenaline rush that accompanied the shiver that always occurred at the first contact with the freezing water. But as soon as a wave comes it is gone again and this moment was no different. And just as it is useless to try to hold a wave and keep it captive on the shore, she could not chain her memories. She made no effort to do so but let them go without resisting and without regret.

With the push of a button, the trunk of Volvo station wagon popped open. She disappeared from the waist up and emerged holding a fire-truck red plastic pail and matching shovel. They had been forgotten by their owner in his haste.

She walked slowly, allowing the warm sand to flow between her toes until it was no longer warm but wet and soothing, conforming to the shape of her feet. She took one fragile hand in hers and traced the short, newly formed lines with one finger. She let go of his hand and it tightened on red plastic. For a moment, neither of them moved. Then she released her hold on the shovel, set the pail on the ground, turned around, and walked away. The beach chair remained in the trunk. There was no need for it. She sat directly in the sand and watched.

She watched him lay the strong foundation, pounding the sand with his fists until it was compact. She watched the towers appear, one by one, in the shape of the shiny red bucket. She watched the walls grow taller and taller and the moat grow deeper and deeper. Then she watched the long search and, finally, the discovery of the perfect shell for the very top.

She watched him dig frantically as the moat filled up. She watched the sand flung in horror on the top and sides of the wall in fruitless attempts to strengthen it and then just to keep it standing at all. She watched the look of pain overtake the young face. She watched the tears run down the smooth cheeks and become lost in the very water that had caused them. She watched the sobs that violently shook the small body, and she waited.

She waited as the shaking ceased and the tears stopped flowing. She waited as he wiped his red eyes to clear his blurry vision. She waited as the remains of a once glorious castle ran through his fingers and became undistinguishable from the rest of the beach. She waited as the same hand that had eagerly received the shovel sorted through the sand and grasped a broken piece of a seashell. She waited as he looked longingly at it for a moment, uncurled his fingers, and let it drop. And then she smiled.

~ This story was written by Elaina Faust, a student at Culver Academy. An attendee of Sacred Silence, she is in a class that has just concluded the segment on Buddhism.