Memory by Water

Five years old. Gulf Coast. The beach. Late afternoon. My sister walking along the water's edge, considering going in. Dad somewhere on the beach, talking with a friend. Mom reading a novel under an umbrella. I'm digging in the sand for seashells, the ones with scooped out centers left with indigo traces. My sister swims out in the water. Dad shouts, "Look out for jellyfish." I hear a scuffling in the sand near me. Looking behind me, I see a shelled creature scuttling across to the mound of sand I am creating. I move. He stops. His beady eyes must have noticed me now. Apprehensive. A sand crab. I stare enthralled with his shell, his little beady eyes, his legs in multi-hinged marvel. He is grey, white, pink, and carnelian. He inches forward when I move no longer - no signs of aggression. Excited with his comfortable visit, I scramble up on my feet, running to Mom, "There's a crab in my sand!" She laughs, tells me to sit with her a while. I sit, then boredom waves over me and I ask if I can go in the water like Beth. She reminds me that I don't know how to swim, to only wade on the edge, always stay where my feet can touch the ground. "Don't go as far out as your sister." I crash into the water, running, the salt gritty with sand in my bathing suit. My hair sticks in chunks on my scalp, slapping my neck and shoulders as I bounce with the waves as they come in from the Gulf of Mexico. There is no one else around us. Just a relaxing afternoon in 1981.

I had no idea of the Cold War, Reagan's politics, communism or neo-Nazism, the Atlanta child murders, Apartheid, Diana marrying Prince Charles, and the attempted assassination of Reagan. I did know of the Jackson's moonwalk dance moves, the space shuttle Columbia, Ronald Reagan as my President, The volcanic eruption of Mount St. Helens, the Olympic Games in Moscow, Voyager, Dallas, and Jesse Owens. I'd learn about John Lennon and his murder some time later. Dancing in the Powells' front yard to Madonna's "Lucky Star" and Michael Jackson's "Beat It" and "Bad" would come soon enough during my first year of elementary school. I'd learn about MTV as Dad got a chip for our satellite so we could get extra channels; many people were doing it this way. The Cars would echo a song in my head before I would bother thinking about a vehicle. Visiting my grandmother for evenings of black-and-white TV watching as my parents went out with friends. Family Ties and The Cosby Show in grey tones on a 15-inch screen, me sitting on a faded couch with a calico cat in my lap after she was no longer intimidated by my visit. Boo in her green recliner, a small woven footstool and a chair-side table -- locked drawer -- and cigarettes lit and burning ember to ashes as it lays idle. The trailer warm with the late afternoon sun's ever-lingering heat to late evening. I'd go to sleep curled fetal on the couch waiting for the morning.

I didn't mind the black-and-white television as I didn't see things in Black and White, but saw their Red t-shirts, the blush of Tina's cheeks when she came in flushed from soccer practice, Alex's conservative navy blue suit jacket, Elyse Keaton's blonde hair, or Rudy's orange barrettes, Vanessa's pink dress, or Theo's green sweat pants. Always in color no matter how black-and-white and gray it seemed: the world full of color.

Sitting on the couch watching television I'd wonder when would be our next trip to Pascagoula to enjoy the weather, the peacefulness in nature, the heron rising up in gray-blue splendor, droplets of water scattering like fireworks as he rose higher and higher, further away through pine trees to fade and disappear.