A Day at the Beach in 1960

Sue Robinson is 13, a very mature thirteen.
I’m twelve; she’s an older woman.
To me, at least, she is definitely a woman, nothing childish about her.
She’s from Tennessee; she has an accent that knocks me out.
We are lying in the hot sun, fanned by the cool ocean breeze, on the beach at Malibu.
Dad, muscular and tan, is wrestling with Mom, but he looks over at Sue and me from time to time.
I get the uneasy feeling he’s looking at her more than me.
Sue looks up as she lies on a blanket on the sand and the waves roll in like liquid, caressing hands, lapping at the shore.
“Do you like me, Michael?” she asked, coquettishly, moving in a way that always takes my breath away.
“No, Sue,” I replied, a smirk on my face.
She sat up abruptly, her cheeks flushed red, she looked out at the Pacific,” You don’t?” she pouted.
“I don’t like you. I love you.”
I answered, and looked into her dark blue eyes.
She relaxed and ran a hand through her long black hair.

She is on my mind all the time.
I feel light-headed when I’m around her, and lost when I’m not.
I’ve had girl friends as far back as I can remember, but this was different.
This was passionate, overpowering, and sensual.

I leaned over to kiss her, she pulled back, “Not here, Michael, not in front of your Momma and Daddy.”
I felt a surge of disappointment.
I stood up and grabbed the rope looped through the surf rider we’d rented.
“I’m going out. Watch me, OK?”
She licked her lips and batted her dark eyelashes “Don’t go out too far.”
I trotted through the soft golden sand towards the foaming, greenish surf.
The sand was hot.
It burned my feet.
I sighed with relief as I trod across the firm, damp, sand at the water’s edge.
I looked towards the pier where Pat, Maureen and Rick are building sand castles.
The water is cold as I wade in and clamber onto the raft.
I used my hands to propel the surf rider past a group of laughing teenagers, splashing and playing at shoulder depth in the ocean.
A flock of snowy white gulls is wheeling overhead under the flaming sun; the deep blue sky is a roof with no ceiling.
I floated over the swells and felt the sea breeze cooling my body.
I looked over my shoulder towards the beach.
The people looked tiny in the distance.
I started to sit up on the surf rider and with a feeling of panic I slid off of the slippery plastic, plunging into the depths of the sea.
I can’t swim!