AN OCEAN VIEW
By Adam Lovingood
Copyright 1999

In the cold, crisp October air, the flat land sped past my window. The steady drone of the engine played a monotone lullaby for us, the back-seat occupants. My sister lay groggily in the seat beside me slowly waking from her hour-long nap. Despite the soporific warmth of the cocoon-like car interior, I couldn't have slept. The fact that she could was but a testament to her immaturity; after all, she was only three. At my advanced age of five, I understood the import of what we were doing and where we were going and couldn't risk losing one momentous second to sleep.

We had left Culpepper, in Northern Virginia, earlier that day heading for the Virginia coast. I don't remember exactly what had prompted the trip. Mom had mentioned an aunt, from Michigan, who had recently died without ever having seen an ocean.

"You know, Ben, I've never seen an ocean either," Mom confessed matter-of-factly.

Dad looked at her as if he had never considered the possibility that such people existed. "What?" He said with the end of the word climbing an octave or two. "No. That can't be right," Dad firmly established in his that-settles-it tone assuming my mother just had a really bad memory.

"No, I haven't. And neither have the kids."

Before I realized what was happening, Mom and Dad had forced us into our coats and gathered us both into the station wagon enticing us with promises of sand castles and salt water taffy and other fairy tale manifestations. Wearing coats to the beach seemed odd to me. I had never seen anyone on television don a coat to go surfing or sunbathing.

As we drew closer to the coast, the air cleared but became heavier with a salty scent. I liked it. I cautiously rolled the window down to imbibe hoping my sister wouldn't notice. She had developed a habit of throwing her shoes out the windows of moving cars. Whenever she would indulge her habit, Dad would screech the car to a halt, go get the shoes, come back angry, and spank Susie. Then she would cry and then I would cry because I didn't like to see her cry. It was a situation best avoided.

The road to the beach was practically deserted. Occasionally a vehicle, heading inland, interrupted our solitude. The weather was cold even by October standards, and the blustery coastal winds aided the gradual drop in temperature as we neared our destination. Would we have the beach to ourselves? Beach? Did I really know what the word meant? I'd seen people on television talk about "the beach," but I wasn't quite sure what constituted a beach.

"Mama, houses?" Susie inquired pointing towards the side of the road. We followed her direction glancing at the buildings on stilts that crowded our vision.

"Yes, baby, those are houses," Mom replied soothingly.

As we drove farther down the straight stretch of road, stilt-houses gave way to yellowish brown grasses and sand in mounds standing sentry between us and what was on the other side. The dunes were at once inviting and repelling.

Dad pulled the car over onto the partially paved roadside. We sat silently for a moment. Mom rolled down her window and a strong, chilled, salty wind surrounded us.

"Well, what are we waitin' for? Let's go," Dad goaded. We slowly exited the car. Susie's two-and-a-half-foot-long frame slithered to the edge of the back seat seeking assistance in reaching the ground. I took her hand and helped her down. She looked up at me and smiled.

"Come on!" Dad said loudly, the wind snatching his voice after it barely reached our ears. At his command, the three of us moved forward anxiously and awkwardly the sand sucking each step with increasing ferocity.

We climbed higher up the dunes. As our gazes crested the sand hills, our vision filled with the new and magnificent sight. The vast continent of water crowded our periphery like a blinding flash of ethereal light.

The ocean roared like a giant just roused from slumber. Wave after infinitely numbered wave swept towards us. The blue-gray-green water, limitless and boundless, seemed alive and restless in its undulating motion of peaks and valleys.

Speechless we stood contemplating the sights and sounds of raw nature. I don't recall anyone saying anything. To this day words prove inadequate to convey the thoughts and emotions of that moment.

Much has been written about the sea and its wonders, and it's hard to imagine that there is anything original left to say. One innocent glimpse of uncharted experience drives away all the words as dandelion spores on a summer breeze. Words still seem inadequate, and probably always will.