The Beach

So, I decide to go to my local beach – actually, it’s not that local – it’s in another town. It’s one of the few times I stray from my discomfort zone. Seeing how the living half lives helps to get my mind off the looming specter of that hag, Old Age. I haven’t been to the beach since my body was in fine working form. I had a six-pack that I wasn’t shy to show off and the confidence to go with it. I never dug too deep within my psyche for any traces of self-doubt, ‘cause youth rules. I was young and somewhat dumb, oblivious to the fact that Tomorrow was another fast forward to arthritis and mild throat pain. I just didn’t care. I was twenty-five and glad to be alive, dammit.

“Beach pass, sir?”

I look the possessor of that question up and down with world-weary eyes. Chiseled bod. Check. Blond, slightly tousled hair. Double check. A look of I know I’m hot but I need to act like I’m not? He had that in spades, too. He seemed to be about twenty-something, fresh in that not caring about the news/current events phase. I had been like that at that age. Not a care in the world about the world. Didn’t know or wonder about my place in it, nor did I want to know…

“I didn’t know I needed to buy a ticket beforehand. Haven’t been here in ages.”

“It’s okay, sir.”

I hand Mr. Tousled Hair the money and receive a stamp on the back of my hand for my troubles. I envied him – I guess it was more the idea of him – uncaring, unfeeling, just concerned about the next wave and the next lay. Oh, to be so carefree and unknowing... They say (I always wondered who “they” is) that with age comes wisdom. Sometimes, though, I’d rather be young and dumb.

I look around and all I see are tanned, slim - key word, slim - supple bodies in various states of undress. Bathing suits, trunks, bikinis, G-strings – you name it – it’s youth at its finest. I’m digging it all, too. I’m a sucker for all things beautiful and unfettered youth is beautiful indeed. I’m so psyched at this throwback to my youth that I want to heave a big fuck you to Old Age, but my beer gut won’t let me. Funny thing is, I don’t even drink beer… That six-pack I told you about is nowhere to be found - it was last spotted between the ages of thirty-six and forty. I put out an APB but a list of suspects never turned up. If I could find out who stole my youth, at this moment I’d pay a hefty ransom just to get it back for one day, so I could swim with all these beautiful fishes.

“Sorry, sir!”

I almost get knocked over by a six-foot beachgoer on his way to join a volleyball game taking place a few yards ahead of me. At least, I think it’s a few yards – my eyesight’s not like it used to be. Guess I’ll be bowing down to King Diabetes sooner rather than later… Until the blindness hits, though, I’m going to enjoy the rest of this equal parts sad and happy trip to the way things used to be when I was close to handsome and just didn’t give a shit. Middle/Old Age – kiss my ass…

Life, at least the way I see it, is a classic mustang – 66-68, I’ll take either one – with some nice tunes, driving down to the beach with nary a care in the world. A hot babe by my side, eagerly hanging on to my every word, whether I’m spouting nonsense or the deepest philosophical musings known to man – that’s what I call living. Yeah man, those were the days. But those days are gone, replaced by yearnings for yesteryear. I sigh as I think about these things, ‘cause I know that those days aren’t coming back, at least for me. I look at old pictures of what used to be, high school sweethearts and girls I mentally wished to be my high school sweethearts. Then, I look at present-day postings of what I once loved or wanted to love - middle-aged spread, arm and elbow fat and the post-pregnancy pouch that I first observed on my second-grade teacher. I should’ve known then what was waiting around the corner once I hit forty. Sometimes, I play the hits of the day that were in steady rotation as I peruse photos of my latest dream girl of the hour. It’s funny how music can take you back, filling you with a nostalgia that makes things a lot rosier than they really were. I find myself, from time to time, getting teary-eyed at a memory of would-be high school love, unravaged and untouched by adult life. Times were much simpler then. They had to be. A whole lifetime of shit wouldn’t be any fun, now would it? Even the devil himself (or herself – I’ve met some in my lifetime) has to take an ice water break…

“Mind if I join in?”

I notice the questioning eyes of the younger players on both sides of the volleyball net. I’m a stranger to their private youth party, an adult in Candyland. According to the looks on their faces, I must’ve gotten lost on my way to bingo.

“Um, yeah, sure.” Not very convincing. Undeterred, I join in anyway.

“Let’s go.” I am ready. “Yeah!”

Wow – that was quick... My mind was ready, My spirit was sorta ready. But my body was in full mutiny mode. I still have skills, though they were nowhere to be found on this occasion. My volleyball sojourn lasted about twenty minutes, which is roughly the amount of time it took for me and my woe begotten body to totally disrupt their game. I was an intruder to their land, an old dude trying in vain to relive his youth. I tried my darndest, creaky bones and all, but I was always a step behind and a decade or three too slow. I bumped into, knocked over and damn near broke the ankles of every one of my fellow players. And that was within the first five minutes. My legs were like those of a newborn colt attached to an aging sow’s upper body. I was all curds and whey, with not a hint of warm, sweet milk. In other words, I was sour and ready to be thrown away. I wasn’t needed and I wasn’t wanted. That was made clear to me by the exasperated faces of the youth market that was steadily waiting for me to either collapse or realize that my time in the sun had been up eons ago. I chose the latter and politely excused myself from further embarrassment.

“Nice game.”

No response from either side of the net. Face it – my time had come and gone. There was nothing to do but face my destiny. I had to save face, though – I couldn’t leave with a whimper. No, this old man wasn’t going quietly. I would leave ‘em with a trace, a little hint, of what I used to be. I tried to spike the ball, hitting it with all the fury and denial within my being. It hit the net.

I turned my back to the youth army and slowly made my way back to my hitching post on the far side of the beach, where Destiny’s cruel cackle informed me of my lower lot in life. Earlier, I had ignored the calls. This time I listened. It was time to go home.