Coffee's Corner

A faint voice was trying to pierce the steady rhythm of his Samsung headphones. He tried his best to resist the voice and pulled his hoodie over his head.

“Kiddo, we’re here.”

He hated being called “Kiddo.” He was 14 years old, on the cusp of starting his freshman year of high school. He wasn’t like his younger sister, who still consumed endless loops of Peppa Pig.

But also, it reminded him of his dad.

He slowly pulled the hood back from his head and was instantly blinded by the sunlight pouring into the car. He made a grunting noise and begrudgingly took off his headphones and opened the door. 

A gust of wind blew his black zip-up jacket open like a vampire cape. All he could see was miles of white sand stretching as far as the eye could see. Flocks of seagulls circled the cloudless sky as the sun blasted the earth relentlessly. Beads of sweat had already started forming on his head. 

He hated the beach.

Not because of the intense heat, not because of the salty air that dried out his skin, and not even because of how hard it was to clean the sand out of every crevice of his body.

“Can you please help me get the chairs and towels from the car, Kiddo?

“Mom, for the last time, stop calling me Kiddo,” the boy said. “I don’t know how many times I need to tell you how much I hate that name.”

His mother sighed and brushed his hair back with her hand. Her face was etched with traces of melancholy and heartache, and he could see the grief in her eyes.

“You’re right, I’m sorry and didn’t mean to upset you,” she said. “I guess it’s just taking me a while to get used to this new life.”

He shook his mom’s hand off and went to unload the car. He knew his mom was going through her own pain and realized his comments probably didn’t help the situation. But that didn’t mean his feelings should be discounted and he hoped she truly understood why he hated that name.

As he was pulling the beach towels from the car, something fell onto the ground. He looked down and saw his old shovel and pail. A knot started to grow in his throat as memories of him and his dad playing in the sand began to flood his mind. He picked up the shovel and pail and could still see his name scribbled on the side, though the Sharpie had naturally worn off a bit over time. The light blue and white on the child-building equipment was also chipping from age.

“A little too old for that, huh?” His mom wrapped her arms around his neck and squeezed him. “I don’t know, I just had this feeling that I should toss it in the back of the car. You don’t have to play with it or anything, I heard you loud and clear earlier. You’re getting older and I’m proud of the young man you’re becoming, I’m sorry for not saying it more.”

He sensed a hint of reluctance in her voice as if she was finally letting a piece of herself go. After what they’ve been through the past year, he wanted to comfort her.

“It’s fine, Mom,” he said. “Maybe I’ll finally dig a hole that reaches the ocean floor like Dad always talked about.” Right when he mentioned Dad he felt his mom’s grasp tighten. “Also, if you want to call me Kiddo you can. I guess it’s a cool nickname as long as you remember I’m heading to high school.”

His mom continued to hug him and nodded her head. “Thank you, Kiddo. Or maybe, Mr. Kiddo?”

He let out a snort and laughed a bit. “Uh, no Mom, never say that one again.” His mom started laughing more until they heard his sister shout for her.

“Mom! I want to go swimming!”

His mom gave him one last look and headed toward his sister. He couldn’t remember the last time he saw his mom smile and almost forgot how beautiful it was. He felt his own cheeks begin to form a smile and he picked up the shovel and pail with the towels and followed his mom.

It was midday, so the tide was already moving up the beach. They set up their chairs a safe distance from the coast and a good ways away from the closest family. Usually, they would be outgoing and welcome meeting new people but it didn’t feel right without his dad.

After bringing the towels from the car, he laid down on a beach chair and pulled out his phone. Damn, he thought. The fourth reason why he hated the beach. No reception.

He tossed his phone in frustration and stared out toward the water. Giant waves crashed together behind the steady flow of the ocean breeze. He could see fishing boats and jet skiers out in the distance, knowing full well that he would never dare head out there.

The fifth reason why he hated the beach. The water. Or rather, his lack of swimming. He never took an interest in water, even though his family had as many beach vacations as possible. He didn’t like feeling wet and when you throw in the fact that literal creatures live in the ocean? Count him out.

He looked around for his phone, realizing it would probably be a bad idea if it got full of sand. He spotted the phone safely inside the blue pail and realized his old toy saved it from the sand. The boy took the phone out of the pail but instead of trying to walk around the beach to find a bar of reception, he decided to pick up the shovel and pail and look for a place to dig.

His dad was obsessed with coming to the beach and would always find an excuse to bring us there. What’s weird is he didn’t even grow up near the beach, he just loved the smell of the air, the sun on his skin, and any sort of fish fry he could find. It was his happy place, and in a certain way, the boy’s happy place too in a sense. The beach allowed his dad to be free, allowed him to truly enjoy life instead of racking his head on how they’d make ends meet at home.

One of his dad’s favorite beach activities was digging holes. He always said that he was “looking for buried treasure” or trying to dig until he hit the ocean. As a kid, it was mesmerizing to watch him shift through the sand. After a few hours, he’d be shouting about how he was halfway to Atlantis and needed a breathing apparatus to survive.

The boy sat down on the sand and started digging. With each thrust into the soft sand, more beach memories with his dad flooded his mind and he remembered why he used to love coming to the beach.

When he was four, his dad found a seashell that he could’ve sworn was made of diamonds.

When he was six, his dad dug a hole so deep that he needed a lifeguard to help pull him out.

When he was nine, his dad ate the most fried fish anyone had ever seen.

And that’s when things started to get bad. There were less trips to the beach and more trips to the hospital. Less talk of mermaids and sea creatures and more talk of treatments and bills. It only took eight months for the cancer to take his dad away.

The boy felt the hot, angry tears stream down his face as he continued to dig. He wasn’t dumb, he knew about death but never did he ever think it would hurt this much. Since his dad’s death, his family avoided coming to the beach until his mom decided on a whim to return. He didn’t want to be here because he wanted to preserve his memories of his dad taking him to the beach and he knew if he returned, he would have memories of being at the beach without him.

Just then, he heard his sister squeal and looked up and saw his mom with the biggest smile on her face splashing water at her. Despite all his mom’s pain and suffering during his dad’s treatment, she still returned to this place. If she had the strength to do that, he could too.

He wiped the tears from his face and stood up, admiring his hole. It wasn’t as deep as the holes his dad dug, but he noticed something strange at the bottom. A small pool of water had begun to form near the bottom, almost bringing a set of fresh new tears to his eyes.

“I finally did it, Dad,” he said. 

“I finally reached the ocean.”