Continued from April 9, 2007


Sea Grapes

We parked the car at the Juno Beach Pavilion, an octagonal wood structure with benches and open-air beach shower at the top of the sea grape crowned dunes. A short path runs between coconut palms and expensive shorefront real estate to one of the few natural beaches left in this area. A senior citizen sat reading an Isaac Asimov science fiction novel on a bench in the pavilion as we passed on wood treads that angled down to the beach, and a limpid sea breeze tugged at the wisps of hair on the top of my head. I glanced up and down the beach as I walked, looked over the aqua water sunlight dazzling the eyes and sparkling off gentle rolling waves.

Peter said, “Let’s walk down toward the golf course.” There is a 2-mile section of beach behind a seaside golf course with no houses, condominiums or other structures on it. Sea grapes cover the dunes between the golf course and ocean creating a natural barrier between the civilized greens and beach. Occasionally a wild coconut palm peaks up through the grapes, and pelicans often fly by in lazy formation over our heads as we walk there. The ancient reef is clearly visible below the surface of the water, and portions of it peak through the beach sand. I have taken many pictures here because the light changes constantly creating a soft contrast of shadow and striking tableau as it picks out a single person walking ahead on the beach. It is one of the most tranquil spots I know. That afternoon we had taken off our shoes and were walked quietly at water’s edge, gentle waves lapping at our toes. Peter seemed about to talk several times but did not. I allowed him space because I thought it better to allow him to struggle with whatever demons possessed him, and because I enjoyed the sea-tranquility induced calm lapping quietly in my mind. It felt as though I floated through the intense sub-tropical sunlight.
“Finally, after many long minutes I decided to let Peter off the hook and said, “you seem so preoccupied.”

“Yes,” he said, followed by silence.

“Peter?”

“I don’t know how to...”

“Just say it.”

“We’re, well, we’re…”

“What?” I asked, concern causing my voice to shake in old man fashion. After hesitating, he stopped walking and poked at a seashell with his left foot. Finally, he said.

“We’re too close.”

“Meaning.”

“I’m worried.”

“Because we’re close?”

“Yes.”

“Why does that worry you.”

“Good God, Isaac, I’m just barely twenty-four. You’re eighty-seven!”

“I know.”

“Well…”

“So far, all you’re managing is to make an extremely ageist statement.”

“I think you know what I’m talking about.”

“Perhaps you should make your statement a bit more clear, Peter.” I know I sounded angry, and I know I was reacting harshly because I have been struggling with the same issue.

“Isaac, I’m falling in love with you, and that just doesn’t make sense.”

to be continued.



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