Seaside Drabble

The first time Orlando had been to the seaside, was when he was six. He, his mother, Sam and his biological father all packed into the old Volvo that was covered in hair from Sam’s cat, Captain Custard (this was just before Maude came along) and headed out to Wells-Next-the-Sea. Orlando didn’t remember most of the car ride; he was sulking from a fight with Sam, over what he can no longer remember. The sea, when he first saw it, was unimaginatively big. It was as if he was standing at the edge of the world. No one could blame him for not believing, when his mother told him, that France was just across the way.

The first thing he did was toddle off into the water. Sam dove in ahead of him and began body surfing the big, blue-brown waves. Her head and chest bobbed above the water like the duck Orlando had so often played with in the bathtub. When Orlando wouldn’t come any further in, it was deep and besides which freezing cold, his sister came back and retrieved him. Tucked up against her chest, the two of them swam a little ways in, until he could no longer feel the rocky sand beneath his toes. Frightened, Orlando began to cry and claw at Sam’s hair.

“Orli, it’s okay. It’s just water. It’s just the sea,” It wasn’t exactly a comforting tone of voice, but more annoyed. When he only balled harder, his sibling softened, and repeated her words gently.

“It’s just the sea,”

Neither one paid attention to their parents, who had abandoned the lovely shade of an umbrella, to argue in the sun. What the fight was about, neither knew, but both Sam and Orlando suffered the cold silence in the car ride back. Sam tempered the silence by flipping through the travel maps and picking cat hair off the seat. Orlando, instead of his regular teasing of his sister or sulking, stared out the window with new interest, looking back at the receding sea.

Orlando was never quite sure what it was that continually drew his memory to that first time at the beach, but when Viggo asked to see his home, it was the first place they went. Perhaps it was the perfect version of home Orlando could think of. In any case they walked along the beach in mid-morning shade. They spoke of children and homes while wearing sunglasses and hats. They chased and ran, buried their toes in the rocky sand. And Orli introduced Viggo to the sea as his sister had done, but Viggo didn’t cry.

They teased and never once thought they might be the epitome of love or discussed what their love was. They didn’t call each other “baby”, or “angel”. They were in love, simply, and that was enough; just as his sister and family had loved him. They could stick together on that. So when Viggo and he turned their backs on the shore and bought ice-cream (which Viggo used to tease Orlando with), Orlando quietly combined Viggo and the sea. Viggo became the wide, beckoning cool to his fever. Like the sea, Viggo was the idea that the world was wide and the world was his home.