This day dawned cool and light, but soon the air began to shimmer with heat. So, on a Tuesday, in the final week before the start of AP testing, we went to the beach, Nina and I.
We spread our ratty towels out upon the sand, smoothing and fussing the sand until it suited the contours of our bodies, and threw ourselves down. Sweat burst from our pores. Everything near the ocean turns to salt, returns to water and wind.
Before the sun had time to sap all our energy, we waded into the the shallows. The water was very cold, likely due to a recent bout of cold weather rains (As if San Diego wanted to prove that it, too, knew what real weather looks like). My skin yearned towards it yet it crawled away from the chill.
Does there exist a greater glory than bathing your face in sea water and feeling the sting of salt like nettles against your skin? I am sure there isn't. Try it sometime. Cup your hands together and dip them into the sea, close your eyes and let the water wash over your face, running into your hair and trickling onto shoulders bared to the sun. Try it and tell me you are unmoved.
We began to walk along the water's edge, keeping our toes well-wet. We met a very interesting lady, who is the reason for this post. She was older- fifty-seven, she later told me- and standing by herself, clutching a white bit of cloth like a sarong.
Her skin was deeply tanned against a bright bikini and against her pink lipstick. She came toward us, smiling.
"I was wondering if you could please take a picture of me for my friends back home in Spain," she said. Her voice was marked by the same lilting cadences I'd heard in AP Spanish last year. Pretty.
"Of course," I said. "This one"- I jerked my head at Nina-" already made me take a ton." Nina didn't have the grace to look ashamed.
"I know," the lady replied. "I asked some people, some other people, to take pictures, but..." her nose crinkled and she shrugged. Young parents in their neat t shirts and khakis would eye her aging body in that skimpy bit of nylon and spandex and usher their toddlers away. Ah, but not us. We who wore less and taught ourselves to appreciate the human body. "You do you" being the new generation's mantra. Sort of.
With Nina loudly recommending my skills as an iPhone, photographer, the lady (I'm really annoyed that I never asked her name) handed me her phone with a cheery: "Make it look sexy!" and stepped carefully a ways into the tide.
Now, I hate to brag, but I really am a top-notch Instagram photographer. I took some shots standing, then kneeling, then on tip-toes, tilting this way and that. I stepped forward and back, holding landscape, then portrait. I handed back her phone with a quality portfolio contained within it.
"Do you think...?" and she held up her sash hesitantly.
"Yes, yes," I said enthusiastically, and she bid me take more pictures as she tied it. I obliged. Finally, she came back and I handed back her phone for her to look over, offering to take more if she wanted me to. I was enjoying myself immensely. Nina was amused, I think.
"Oh-h-h...thees one's nice," she said. "You take very good pictures." I smirked. "I knew you would be good at taking pictures. If I had a body like you guys have, I would take pictures all de time." By this time I had decided she was a very nice lady, and considered inviting her to lunch.
We had a nice chat, about her children, about Spain. She was from Sevilla and upon hearing my gasp of recognition, was delighted to speak about her hometown. We spoke in Spanish for a little; she complimented my accent and I demurely accepted the praise.
She left rather abruptly, after imparting some words of wisdom.
"I got divorced, the best thing that's ever happened to me," and I choked a little. "Be good, be safe, be free!" She tossed the words over to us as she retreated. "Go, just go for it. Be great!" And with a farewell smile, her eyes twinkled, and we took our leave of each other.
Isn't that funny? To be young, then old, then young again. I think I will appreciate youth better then, not that I don't now.
No comments:
Post a Comment