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The sound of the sea
That’s one ofan ice cream A boardwalk by the ocean—not sure which beach—and the feel of the sun, baking hot, war the crown of my head
I dream about the beach Unlike most people, I don’t have the luxury of a variety of different dreams I only have two When I do dream, it’s either that sunny day on the Californian coast when I was four years old, or…it’s not It’s the other dream
Tonight, thankfully, I’m visited by the lesser of two evils
“Cohter The scent of fresh flowers and soap,tissue to wipe lare of the sun has stolen host wrapped in a floral dress for the past twenty-five years, and in all that time I never see her face Or at least I don’t see it until later, anyway
“Where’s Daddy? Shall we go find hio to work, baby” My uides me down the boardwalk—the sounds of the a and the shts and sounds have created a physical place that exists within me
I squint into the sun I lick my ice cream I hold my mother’s hand, and I ith her down the pier Afor us at the end of the pier; my father He’s dressed in faded blue jeans and a sleeveless T-shirt; his dark hair is being lifted in the breeze He turns and waves, but for so
“There he is, baby You wanna go hang out with Daddy for an hour while I do o of er Mouse T-shirt “I won’t be long, sweetheart, I prolints off the loose blonde curls that flow around her face I should be able to see her properly now, but I can’t
Then I’m with my father He smells of the ocean—that’s where he was; he went down to the water for a swi to hold onto his hand He doesn’t complain that I’m sticky with aover the tops of the crowds
He needs to leave me for a mo knots into the drawstring of roups of people who pass by become smaller and smaller
It gets dark
I get scared