SHORT STORY: The Tide — A Love Story

The tide came in.

Gulls played along the blue-green surf. Foam tickled the feet of the little girl playing along the water’s edge. She dug with purpose, building a sugar-white sand fort.

“This castle will be where I meet my prince charming,” she announced to the curious gull. He cocked his head knowingly as a slight breeze blew in off the Gulf of Mexico.

A voice startled her. “Can I play with you?”

The brown-haired girl looked at the skinny, freckled red-headed boy and laughed. “I don’t play with boys. Boys are stinky.”

The little boy sniffed his armpit. “I don’t stink.” He walked away with a frown, looking for his own patch of beach to build his dreams.

Ten years later.

The little girl had grown up into a teenager. She and her two friends walked down the beach, looking for boys to impress with their new bikinis. There, at the water’s edge, were two boys playing football. One was a god — blonde, muscular and just beautiful. The other, well, the other was skinny and pale. “Hi beautiful!” the pale boy awkwardly said, “Do I know you from somewhere?” He did. But neither of them remembered that moment ten years before. The brown-haired girl laughed and began flirting with his friend.

Neither of them noticed that the tide was rising.

Ten years later.

The Pensacola Bar was smokey, loud and crammed full of Naval Aviators and women who wanted to meet them. At the end of the bar was a stunning brown-haired woman who was sitting alone. “Five bucks I get her number,” the red-headed lieutenant dared.

“You’re on,” his buddy laughed. “there’s no way a scrawny, pale ghost of a man will ever get her to talk to you. And you don’t have five bucks. I stole your wallet five minutes ago.”

“OK, then can I borrow five bucks so I can win five bucks?”

Both men laughed as the red-headed lieutenant walked over to the beautiful girl and started talking to her.

Maybe it was the white uniform. Maybe it was the gold wings. But the two of them danced on the beach underneath a full Gulf of Mexico moon.

The rising tide tickled their toes.

Ten years later.

“Push! Push! Push!” The red-headed commander looked as he held his daughter in his arms. She was beautiful — brown eyes and hair just like her mother. And that moment, the tough Navy man broke down and cried. He was in love for only the second time in his life.

It was high tide.

Ten years later.

Storm clouds painted the horizon a sickly green.

He held her hand has she heard the dreaded three words. “We can do your treatment here,” doctor said clinically. “I’m afraid you’ll have to have a double mastectomy. And unfortunately, radiation and chemotherapy. Your lymph nodes are involved.”

She soon lost her beautiful brown hair. As they walked on the beach — the only place on the planet that could ease her pain — storm-driven waves crashed on the beach. The surge pounded at their feet and threatened to sweep them away. Sand stung their faces.

“You won’t love me anymore. I’m not beautiful!” She began to weep uncontrollably.

He pulled her close and held her tightly. Then put his hand on her chest and said all he could say, “What I love is in there. You are perfect the just the way you are.”

The winds calmed and the waves dissipated.

They were in the eye of the storm.

Ten years later.

Weak from another round of chemotherapy, she shuffled through the sand. “I can’t believe it came back.”

“It’s OK mom,” her daughter held her up on one side while the Admiral held her on the other. “We will always hold you up.”

“I know dear.”

They eased her into the surf. She felt the warm Gulf water baptize her and washing away her fear. Looking up at the two people she loved the most, she felt her pain leave her.

The tide was going out.

Ten years later.

The retired admiral and his daughter carried the urn to water’s edge. They sprinkled the ashes carefully on the warm Gulf water. “I will come back and see you often. And when I see you again, I hope you’ll let me play with you,” he said.

It was low Tide.

As he and his daughter walked out of the surf toward their condo, the admiral had to smile. There, on the same beach where he had met his wife so many years ago, his red-headed grandson was playing with a brown-headed little girl.

The tide came in again.