The Waves of Father

A hazy night with one of my sisters leads us to the shores that neighbor Europe. In the gentle breeze of the Atlantic, I can barely stand straight, let alone walk without swaying like an unbalanced scale. The air smooches my cheeks as if they were my lover, and satiates my nostrils with the charming scent of serene oceanic salt. We stroll down the beach a little further and notice green, yellow, and red flashing lights in the distance. Some shine brighter than others as they permit us to stop, yield, and go at their discretion. The sound of minute waves crashing down on the beach is like the sublime music of old. A joyous and tipsy grin slides across my face as if the surface of the former was a waterslide at a park. The sand betwixt my toes is both grainy, like uncooked cream of wheat, and smooth, like cold all-purpose flour. What intricate positivity is this? Relative amusement fills our voices as we giggle drunkenly.

My sister and I converse about our familial matters, and I feel our long overdue bond growing steadily yet rapidly. Though it may have been due to the island that stretches out and knows the nature of being long, she appeared, in the moment, to have turned into a crab. I then see a vase conjure up between my hands. Subsequently, water drains from the container onto the sand below. My now crustacean sister dances around the waterfall as if it were a message from the gods. The water that pours is as salty as the ocean and releases a chemical into the air that is conducive to peace and happiness. The mystical ambiance in the distance dances on the ocean’s horizon and fades one by one, as if the curtains had closed on a magnificent performance.

It was not too long ago that I would have found it impossible to feel this optimistic about life again. That feeling hasn't embraced me in well over a decade, but I'm sure I'm ready for it now. I then soon realize that the vase that I had been pouring water out of is no more, and that the origin of the liquid is wrought from the appeasement of my eyes. My sister is no longer of crustacean descent and is back to her normal self. A joyful drunken moment of bonding has occurred for us for the first time, and we could not have been more giddy. Our high spirits led us off of the beach in search of a ride home. We walk the streets of the oceanfront as my bladder begins to knock on the pleasant doors of release. We subsequently frantically searched for a restroom for me to use. It is near midnight, so most of the shops are closed. We eventually stumble across one eatery that is open, and I ask if I have to make a purchase to use the restroom. The angelic employee shakes her head and tells me that it is my lucky day and states that I may use the restroom with no strings attached. I thank this divine worker and head straight into the restroom with glee. By the time I finished and my sister and I were out on the street once more, our ride had arrived.

We venture back from our night of bonding and arrive at our grandmother’s home; the place where we were both staying during our respective vacation times. As she resides in the motherland, naturally, and I in the arid desert. As our night comes to a fortuitous and delightful close, our grandmother greets us at the door and hugs us both in satisfaction that we made it back safe and had such a wondrous night out on the beach. I reach towards the falling water once more, and in the shape of a circle, it falls down my milk chocolate skin, giving me a gleam like no other. My teeth also know water and fluoride before they turn out for the night. As I lay my head upon my designated pillows in the room of my resting father, I briefly recollect this night and think of what the future will hold. I can only think of prosperity and peace. Oh, how a hazy night with one of my sisters has led me to the gates of freedom and a new frontier in my life. Do you see me, father, and are you as happy as I? Wave back at me in a proud manner and know that your son is now who he should have been all along.