Floating at sea

The mercury had climbed steadily all day. By mid afternoon the shrunken shadows offered little refuge. Minor effort brought fresh beads to my forehead so I sat out the heat-storm and waited. Wafting a shimmering CD case I shut my eyes and thought of cool deep water.

By 5pm the intensity reached its peak. I peeled off my shorts and tee and wandered onto the patio in briefs. My verdant garden paradise was slumped under desert heat. Leaves hung lifeless, anticipating the sweet relief of evening dew. I should go now. I pad back through the house and step into swimming shorts. “See you, I’m heading for the beach...”

No reply so I kick on sandals and shut the door. My old Ford is an oven inside but I squint against the sensation and gun the motor onto the open road. Oakleys shield my eyes from the savage sky and I settle into the rhythm of the thirty-mile drive. Green Day crashes from the stereo as I roll the windows and feel that blessed blast of fresh air.

“Don’t wanna be an American Idiot...” screams Billie Joe to the pedestrians as I cruise onto the cliff top for an empty bay. I swing into one and kill the engine. Deafening silence descends and I buzz the windows up leaving a cigarette-paper gap. Opening the door I step back out into the furnace of the early evening.

The sea sparkles invitingly as I stroll the beach path, my eye taking in the sandy sweep of the bay and distant, miniature white sails. I chuck my sunglasses, mobile and car keys in the little bag with my shorts and drop it on the sand near a young family. Now I turn and run, splashing and jumping until depth slows me and I drop into the waves. The icy water slams around me and siezes my breath momentarily. I blow out a spout of salt water and start kicking lazily away from the shore, ducking my head through the breakers every few seconds and relishing the delicious cold.

After a couple of minutes I tread water and look back, rising and falling in the swell. The beach is one hundred yards off and the children’s shouts are lost. I swim slowly parallel to the beach. Rolling onto my back I close my eyes and feel the sea breeze across my face. The water is deep here and its solid, flowing mass feels powerful beneath me. Vaguely I consider razor teeth and black, soulless eyes fixed on my paddling feet from the depths... Gently I change heading and backstroke in slow motion towards the beach. I glance between the cobalt sky and the glittering horizon, feeling nature’s heat on my closed eyelids and her chill beneath my back.

My feet touch the seabed and I wade back through the shallows. I unroll a soft, blue and white towel on the burnished sand and pull my Oakleys from the bag. The lowering sun dries me in minutes as I stretch out and feel my tired muscles softening from the exercise. Two hours have slipped comfortably into the past and soon I must guide my old Ford back home.