The Myth of "Beach Hair, Don't Care" - SoGS #7

One good thing about working for Susan Delamore is that she’s super flexible. So when I call to ask if I can switch my Saturday shift to Friday, I’m thrilled (but not too surprised) to hear an enthusiastic, “yes!”

Because while Ryleigh sees herself as a secretive person, it’s really not that hard to get her to spill. Especially when she gets excited. Besides, what’s more fun than being excited with a friend?

It takes all my willpower to make it through Friday at the funeral home. It’s a slow day, which only enhances my agony. No funerals are scheduled while I’m working, so I spend the day scheduling appointments, re-organizing administrative files, and dreaming about plans for Saturday. Oh! And, of course, double-checking my order of flowers for the bouquets I’m set to make next week.

Naturally, Friday feels like it’s a year long. Susan shows up for a short while, but other than a brief debate with Eli, the janitor, about floor waxing, it’s just me and the filing cabinet.

Anna, the other receptionist who is supposed to relieve me of my shift, is seventeen minutes late. (Not that I’m counting or anything.) She claims her car broke down, but I have a feeling she somehow knew the urgency I feel to leave. All the same, I manage a smile and “don’t worry about it” as I grab my tote bag and fly out into the sunshine.

Usually I avoid taking my bike to work at all costs, because I know just what comments some of the girls from school would make if they saw me riding it. But Ryleigh insisted I take it from work to her house today so we can bike to the beach on Saturday.

And, after spending Friday night at Ryleigh’s house, I have to admit that it feels so wonderfully summerish to wake up and ride our bikes to the beach.

It’s usually a thirty-minute bike ride from Ryleigh’s house, but it takes us an extra five minutes because we’re not speed-biking. The beach isn’t as packed as I expect, and we soon find a good place to lay out our towels and watch the waves lapping up on the shore.

I breathe a sigh, leaning back as a warm breeze blows some sea spray into my face. “This is so perfect, Ryleigh.”

“Perfecter than the picnic?”

I laugh, more from the sheer enjoyment of being here, on a beach, in the summer, than anything else. “Much perfecter.”

“I can’t believe we haven’t done this more often,” she remarks, slathering sunscreen on her arms. “We need to make it a weekly thing.”

I reach into my bag, fishing out my own bottle of sunscreen. “That would be great, but I’ve had to work a lot to earn enough money for a car.” I fiddle with the lid of the sunscreen, but it doesn’t budge. I frown. “Can you open this?”

Ryleigh takes the bottle, pushing up on the lid, but with no results. She shrugs, passing it back, and offers me her own sunscreen. “Here, you can use mine.”

I bite my lip, trying one last time to open my own bottle. The lid won’t open, so I try twisting it off instead. In a moment, the lid is gone and sunscreen shoots from the bottle, flying into the air and onto Ryleigh’s head.

She freezes, eyes wide with shock. Her hand slowly reaches up to touch the glob of sunscreen on her perfectly windblown hair. Her eyes travel down to the bottle I’d been squeezing too tightly, then back up to meet my eyes.

I offer a weak laugh, gently setting the bottle next to me. “Maybe if we just…” I take my water bottle, sprinkling a little bit on her head. She gasps as the cold water runs down to her face, and cuts off my apologies by grabbing the water bottle and dumping it on my head.

I gasp, scrambling to my feet as she continues to dump the water on me, and we both run for the water, shrieking in laughter. Ryleigh throws my water bottle onto the sand before plunging into the sea to swim after me. She catches up to me and grabs my shoulder, and I send a wave splashing across her face.

After five full minutes of laughing and splashing each other in the cool water, we truce and then just float on our backs, exhausted. But even with how tired I am, this is the happiest I’ve been in weeks.

I glance at Ryleigh. “Hey, the sunscreen’s gone.”

She rolls her eyes, finger-combing her hair. “I can’t believe you did that, Ella.”

We share a laugh and I close my eyes, face turned toward the burning sun. “I didn’t mean to, but it was so worth it.”

When we finally make our way back to the shore, I realize just how many people are staring at us – two crazy girls acting like toddlers. But the thing is, I don’t even care what they think. They can judge us all they like, but we’re the ones having the most fun.

We dry off and buy ice cream from a nearby vendor, then settle back on the shore to bask in the sun and our friendship. We don’t talk about work, or school, or guys, we just enjoy the moment. And take lots of pictures so we can enjoy this moment again and again and again.

“This might be my favorite bucket list task we’ve ever done.” Ryleigh smiles out at the horizon, sweeping her right foot through the water.

I dig my toes into the sand, listening past the voices of the few remaining people, and instead focusing on the way the water laps at the shore, mixing with the sound of seagulls and the brush of sand blowing in the slight breeze. “Me too.” The sun just barely kisses the horizon, and it seems like it moves faster every second, dipping low beneath the line of the sea. “I almost wish I could stay in high school forever.” At least, during the summer I do.

“I know.” Ryleigh sighs, but it’s not out of sadness. “If we were any older, it just wouldn’t be the same if we made a spectacle crashing into the water like that.”

I laugh my agreement, not bothering to respond with words. We stand at the edge of the water until the street lamps on the path behind the beach reflect on the ocean water.

As we ride back to Ryleigh’s house, a feeling of pure joy encompasses me. There are definitely things about life – and things about this not-so-best-summer-ever – that are really hard. But all those amazing little moments of light and joy and happiness really make the bad times worth it. I would go through a hundred more Fridays at work if I could relieve this perfect day just once.

--

Monday morning, I arrive at work still feeling refreshed from my day at the beach. Sunshine streams through the windows of Delamore Funerals, filling the usually dim reception room with light. I settle down to my checklist of things that need to get done, and finish printing booklets for four memorial services when the door opens. I look up as a group of several adults enters the building. One worried-looking woman approaches my desk.

“Can I help you?” I ask, keeping my voice soft.

The woman glances at the others behind her. Her tone is subdued, and her hands wring around a travel pack of tissues. “We’re here to meet with the funeral director to discuss details for a funeral.”

I nod, glancing down at my computer. “May I have your name?”

She dabs at her eyes with a tissue. “Anika Clemmons.”

My gaze flies up, locking with her brown eyes. Anika Clemmons? As in…

“You’re Will’s mom?”