By John Christmann
Picture this: A quiet, romantic beach lining a sheltered cove.
A fiery red sun suspended low in a vibrant blue sky mottled rich by watercolor wisps of milk clouds. Warm, radiant skin soothed by sensuous gusts of sea air. Gentle, lapping waves caressing soft sand and the bare feet of amorous strollers. A setting that drives painters mad, poets to drink, and lovers to ecstasy.
Now picture this: A family beach vacation.
I am not sure exactly how we found it, but it was late in the afternoon under a still hot sun when we piled out of our dirty car along a bramble-lined road. Together we traced an unmarked dusty path dragging beach towels and Boogie Boards behind us until we finally crested the wide grassy dunes to the water.
What fell before us was perfect beyond pictures.
The kids ran ecstatically to claim a wide-open space amid the relatively sparse population that somehow knew of this low-trafficked coastline treasure. And from there into the glinting water from which we would not pull them out until dusk.
Like many couples with children, my wife and I grab our time alone when we find it. And like a gift, we found it strolling barefoot, hand-in-hand along this pristine beach at sunset unencumbered by time or responsibility or the never-ending need to prepare a meal.
We strolled the long stretch of sparkling sand. And if not for an outcropping of rocks, which forced us to turn back, we would have walked and talked our way off the end of the earth.
As we turned, the near vacant beach extended before us washed in the shallow light of sunset. In the distance, our children like ants scurried back and forth into the water chasing the low, delicate waves.
A fair distance ahead a young couple stood toe-deep in the wet sand gazing out over the jeweled water, marveling the multi-hued sky. She wore a dark sundress. He wore cream-colored shorts and a polo shirt.
She stood in front of him, entwined in his arms which encircled her from behind, the back of her head resting against his cheek, her diaphanous skirt swirling playfully around their legs in the light sea breeze. They swayed slightly, guided by their own rhythm.
I squeezed my wife’s hand and she squeezed mine back in silent acknowledgment.
As our meandering steps brought us slowly closer, we instinctively kept our eyes on the couple before us.
Abruptly, the young woman turned around to face the man. He was speaking to her now earnestly, taking both of her hands in his. She looked up at him as he spoke, never breaking his gaze.
Then, reflexively, she brought her hands to her cheeks. She started to cry and slid one hand over her mouth as if her very being might escape on the next breath.
The young man waited without moving until the woman nodded. And then he folded her up into his heart. So tightly it was hard to distinguish one body from another. So completely, the universe fell away. So long that time stopped.
Together, they could not do otherwise.
And there they remained, suspended in their moment until we came inevitably upon them. My wife and I squeezed hands silently again in our married code: Remember? And I back. Like yesterday.
Finally, the couple broke their embrace and bridged their souls through their hands like us. Up close, they appeared just as they had from afar. In love.
And on their faces their whole lives stretched before them like an endless beach.
“Congratulations,” I said smiling as we came upon them. The couple blushed at first, then radiated joy like the sun, which respectfully remained suspended for them over the horizon. They could not contain themselves.
As if by afterthought, the young man reached excitedly into his pocket. I hoped he had not forgotten the ring. “Will you take our picture?” he asked instead, presenting me with a small camera.
“I would be honored,” I replied, setting them against the jeweled water and color-burst sky, praying that I would not forever capture their picture perfect moment with redeye.
We did not ask their names. Yet we smiled knowing things about them they could not possibly know. Not yet.
Not until they walked down this beach years from now hand in hand on a family vacation while their children frolicked happily in the water.
My wife squeezed my hand again, clutching her free hand over her heart. “Enjoy it all,” she said. Enjoy it all.
And just like that, we left them to their lives on a beach perfect beyond pictures.
Still, picture this: Children jumping happily in the water on their family vacation waving at their parents on shore.
Hey, mom, hey dad! They call out. Where did you go?
