Sand
Stories
56 Stories For Preaching
The smells of the beach reminded Molly of being a kid. When
she was a teenager, the smells of thick suntan oil and bright
pink bubblegum had lured her to the shouts of her girlfriends by
the lifeguard station. Now, the smells of the salt air and
seaweed set her mind on Jim. Not Jim her husband, the other Jim.
"The Other Jim" was his designation in her mind. He was kept
in a mental box and taken out to be examined only at certain
times in certain circumstances, in certain moods. He was to be
designated and not named; nothing so personal as a name.
They met on a late afternoon when The Other Jim had seen her
swimming alone in the smooth grey and white water. They spoke and
smiled, no jokes or laughing, but oddly serious. She thought of
that day as, "Our accident." He called it, "Our mating dance."
Like any mating dance it was frantic and confusing; there were
quick movements and boasting, missteps and retreats with squawks
like pain, much preening and quick togethernesses.
When they met, they were on the south side of the pier. It was
where knots of young people gathered on bright towels crowded
with radios, sodas, chips and chatter. Now they met on the north
side with the older adults who sunned themselves on their too-
small towels, a beer hidden under the sand, a paperback book
across their eyes.
The moment they had kissed, she changed. The kiss was not what
she had expected. She was thinking about the kiss instead of
kissing Jim. It was the climax of the mating dance, not the
prelude to something more. She realized anything
following that kiss would not be celebrated in hot-blooded
abandon, but accomplished by cold-blooded calculation.
Things had changed, not just her marriage to The Real Jim --
but her discovery that she now "designated" her husband "real"
instead of recognizing him by his real name. She had put herself
into a category as the "Before" and "After" Molly.
The smells of the beach stuck to her like cotton candy. The
odor of suntan oil and bubblegum were sickly sweet. The seaweed
smell reminded her of stale sheets. She lay on her towel waiting
for him. Which Jim? Did it matter? The wind blew off the sea.
Sand popped against her face, across her hand, over her towel and
stuck like freckles on her oiled skin. Her jaw ached from chewing
the gum and waiting for Jim. She dropped the gum in the sand -- a
pale pink glob, saliva shiny, flavor gone, gritty.
she was a teenager, the smells of thick suntan oil and bright
pink bubblegum had lured her to the shouts of her girlfriends by
the lifeguard station. Now, the smells of the salt air and
seaweed set her mind on Jim. Not Jim her husband, the other Jim.
"The Other Jim" was his designation in her mind. He was kept
in a mental box and taken out to be examined only at certain
times in certain circumstances, in certain moods. He was to be
designated and not named; nothing so personal as a name.
They met on a late afternoon when The Other Jim had seen her
swimming alone in the smooth grey and white water. They spoke and
smiled, no jokes or laughing, but oddly serious. She thought of
that day as, "Our accident." He called it, "Our mating dance."
Like any mating dance it was frantic and confusing; there were
quick movements and boasting, missteps and retreats with squawks
like pain, much preening and quick togethernesses.
When they met, they were on the south side of the pier. It was
where knots of young people gathered on bright towels crowded
with radios, sodas, chips and chatter. Now they met on the north
side with the older adults who sunned themselves on their too-
small towels, a beer hidden under the sand, a paperback book
across their eyes.
The moment they had kissed, she changed. The kiss was not what
she had expected. She was thinking about the kiss instead of
kissing Jim. It was the climax of the mating dance, not the
prelude to something more. She realized anything
following that kiss would not be celebrated in hot-blooded
abandon, but accomplished by cold-blooded calculation.
Things had changed, not just her marriage to The Real Jim --
but her discovery that she now "designated" her husband "real"
instead of recognizing him by his real name. She had put herself
into a category as the "Before" and "After" Molly.
The smells of the beach stuck to her like cotton candy. The
odor of suntan oil and bubblegum were sickly sweet. The seaweed
smell reminded her of stale sheets. She lay on her towel waiting
for him. Which Jim? Did it matter? The wind blew off the sea.
Sand popped against her face, across her hand, over her towel and
stuck like freckles on her oiled skin. Her jaw ached from chewing
the gum and waiting for Jim. She dropped the gum in the sand -- a
pale pink glob, saliva shiny, flavor gone, gritty.
