Sweet Chariot
February 23, 2006Tokarau Beach, New Zealand
7:58pm
Close your eyes and come with me along a magical journey.
Imagine awaking to a gentle fog coming in across the ocean, smothering the cute cottages and rolling hills surrounding you. You dress, quietly, hoping your early morning ritual does not wake up your family. You open the door and smell the cool, sea soaked air. You begin your walk, knowing as the sun moves higher in the sky, the fog will drift away, and the cool air will quickly become quite balmy.
The first part of your walk is along the street, running perpendicular to the beach. You nod stoically to the men in their early morning construction trucks; you wave gaily at the female bus driver beginning her route. After 20 minutes you reach the end of the street and the beginning of the beach. This beach is long, 18km, and wide, at least 30 metres when the tide is out, like it is this morning. The fog is almost gone, skimming the water, hovering as if hummingbirds are pulling a large blanket across the surf. The waves roll in sets of five, the back one breaking hard, looking big even though its at least 100 metres away. The first of the set, the leader, trickles up to your toes, kissing them, before sucking back to the waiting sea.
You look down the coast, and you squint, looking for any sign of life. You see a dog chasing a flock of gannets, leaping in the air as they tease him with their easy flight. You see big ugly gulls, with eyes like rats and beaks curved in a scowl. There are many of them, picking at dead fish, cracking open oysters and clams plucked from the moist sand. They part as you walk, but they do not go far, they are afraid, but not terrified, knowing full well if they wanted to, they could gather, circle and do you in Hitchcock style.
Looking further down the coast, appearing almost like a mirage, a visual whisper, is a shape entering the sea. A person, looking to begin their day with a dip in the ocean. You look harder, somehow hoping that this person is a female, draped in seaweed, blessed by Neptune, and ready to sweep you into your own personal moment of ecstasy. You keep walking, noticing that this person is indeed naked, furthering your fantasy even more.
You pick up your gait.
As you approach, the figure becomes more apparent, it is long, lean, balding.
It is a guy.
You brush off your fantasy quickly and chuckle at your own silliness. As you continue walking you notice the man, the naked man has finished his swim and his rinsing off his mask and snorkel in the surf. He does this bending over. He is not facing you. You shudder.
He stands up and starts walking toward his camper van or cottage beyond the dunes. You continue walking.
You slow down your gait.
It is unavoidable. To stop would be rude so you continue walking, now knowing that no matter what, fate is meeting you at the intersection.
You approach. He approaches. The man is old. Not ancient, but much older than you.
His testicles are hanging down just above his knees. He is uncircumcised. It looks like an interrupted banana.
You smile politely. He smiles and says:
“I thought I was the only person on the beach this morning..” He shrugs.
You are speechless.
You pick up your gait.
You don’t look back.
Love to all,
J.
posted by Jason @ 11:20 PM
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