Page 18 of Seashells and Other Souvenirs

“Rome wasn’t built in a day,” they say.

And I know what they mean

But a lot can happen in the span of a few hours

And hasn’t my whole life been built

And transformed

And rebuilt

Like a sandcastle

In handfuls of days at a time?

“Isn’t it interesting,” Grandmama said, her hair blowing around her face in the ocean breeze, “how we can come to this same beach every summer, but even from day to day or hour to hour, it’s never exactly the same beach?”

I picked up a shell and inspected it while we walked. “What do you mean?” With so many cousins, getting time alone with her was rare, and I wanted it to last as long as possible.

“Well, think about it. The ocean keeps turning over and over, bringing things in, taking them away. The makeup of this shore is constantly changing. This isn’t the same sand we walked on last year. Or yesterday for that matter. These aren’t the same shells we saw, are they?”

My nine-year-old brain soaked in the words, tried to make sense of them. “I guess I’ve never thought of it like that before.”

“That’s not even mentioning all the ways we ourselves change. How we grow. The things we learn and unlearn and don’t even realize we bring along with us.” She stopped and closed her eyes. “And don’t you think that changes how we see it all too?”

I finally set my notebook aside and climb out of the woven hammock.

It’s gotten colder since the sun started setting, but I’m not ready to go back into the empty beach house.

I open the laundry room door, careful not to let it close all the way behind me, and flip on the light.

Sure enough, there’s a small load still in the dryer.

I rummage around until I find Jude’s band hoodie and pull it over my head.

It smells faintly of laundry detergent but also of salt air and sunscreen and safety.

I turn off the light and check the color of the sky; he should be home any minute now. Sliding the notebook into the sweatshirt’s front pocket, I curl back up in the hammock and wait.

It isn’t long before his car pulls in and he steps out, still clad in his black work pants, undershirt, and shoes. “Alex?” He stops shy of the stairs leading up to the house. “Where’s Gavin? What are you doing out here?”

“He went out to see some friends.” I stand. “I was waiting for you. You have a few minutes?”

“Oh.” He looks confused. “Sure. What’s up?”

“The beach,” is the only answer I give. He slides his keys into his pocket and starts walking beside me.

When we get there, I kick off my flip-flops, and he sits to untie his shoes. “It’s worrying me a little how quiet you’re being, Al. What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” I offer him a hand up. “I just thought we’d better start getting some training in is all. We only have a few more weeks.”

“What are you talking about?” But he’s smiling now.

“I think this is the summer you avenge your stolen gold medal. It’s time.”

He shakes his head slowly from side to side, still grinning.

“To the pier and back?”

“Let’s go.”

I keep up with him most of the way, holding my notebook still with one arm while I run, but I guess I’ve forgotten how long it’s been since I’ve sprinted like this. My side starts to cramp.

“Slow down,” I pant.

“That’s not how a race works,” he calls over his shoulder. He’s back to the starting line when I decide to give up and start walking. A few steps later, I stop altogether and let myself collapse in the sand.

Jude jogs back to me and sits. “I’m not sure about the rest of your family, but if I’m pitted against you, I’m feeling pretty good about my chances.”

I don’t have the energy to come up with a proper retort. “I think maybe you deserve a gold medal just for putting up with me this summer.”

He leans back on his elbows. “Nah.”

“I’m sorry, Jude.” I tuck my hands into the hoodie and wrap them around my notebook. “I didn’t know Gavin was planning on taking me there, and I wouldn’t have agreed to it if I had.”

“I know you didn’t. And I know you wouldn’t.

” I can tell from his tone he isn’t upset with me at all.

“And Gavin means well. I’m just sorry you didn’t get to see anything exciting happen.

No grand proposals or birthday parties tonight.

The dragon’s head even stayed on all the way until it was supposed to come off. ”

“It doesn’t always?”

“Every now and then, it malfunctions and falls into the water a couple scenes before the big fight. It doesn’t happen that regularly but often enough that they had to write an alternate script just in case. I wasn’t there the first time it happened, but apparently it was quite the disaster.”

I laugh out loud. “Well, now I have to go back every night until I’m lucky enough to see it.”

We listen to the ocean for a while, and Jude lets his smile slip away. “Are you all right, Alex?” I know what he’s asking, and it means the world that he cares.

“I am.” I sigh. “Really. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking tonight.”

“Yeah?” He sits up and angles toward me. “About what?”

“I think maybe it’s time for me to enter my Jo March post-New York era.”

I expect him to ask what I mean, but instead he asks, “Book or movie?”

“Hmm,” I ponder. “Movie, I guess?”

He waits.

“I just mean that I’ve been doing all this writing and kind of obsessing over what it should be.

And maybe I’ve lost sight of what I meant for it to be.

And who I meant it to be for . Don’t get me wrong, I’d still love to be published one day.

But maybe this isn’t the book I’m supposed to write for the world.

Maybe this one is just for me and the people I love. Maybe that could be enough?”

“More than enough,” he agrees.

“I want to stop worrying about the writing itself and just tell our stories. It doesn’t have to be all poetry. It’s my book. And I don’t care if my poetry is perfect or cutting edge or even that good, you know? I just want to let my soul spill onto the page. Anyway, I’m rambling.”

My friend provides just the encouragement I need, as usual.

“This sounds like a perfect plan to me. And you’re right; it’s your book.

Make it what you need it to be. It will be every bit as legitimate whether you publish or not.

I’m just sorry I won’t get to buy it. But I can wait for the next one. ”

“Actually.” I pull the notebook from the pocket of his borrowed shirt.

“I thought maybe I’d see if your offer to read for me was still good?

I’d love to hear your thoughts along the way, especially since your family is part of so many of these stories too.

” I hesitate, then extend the book. “No pressure,” I add.

He reaches for it, and I’m hit with a wave of self-doubt. “Just, be honest. But don’t hate it, okay? These are actual pieces of my heart in here.”

“In that case, I’m sure it will be beautiful, Alex.”

It’s too dark to read anything now, but he still takes a minute to gently turn a few pages. The way he handles it, so carefully as if it really were my heart, assures me that I’m making the absolute right decision.