BEACH 64
By: Robin Tainsh
I am Robin and I am twelve. I have been in Hawaii for more then two weeks with my mom, my dad, my brother, and my gramma. It is our last day. We have been all over, from beaches to volcanoes to farmer’s markets. But now we are going back to Beach 64, also known as hurty beach. It’s known as hurty beach because when ever we come here I get hurt. The first time we came I saw a really big trumpet fish and wanted to show my mom. But my brother didn’t let her go see. I was emotionally hurt. The next time we went I stepped on a thorn and got a little hole in my arch. Last time we went I got rope burn and a bruised heel. Not as bad but it still hurt. I wonder what will happen this time.
Why am I coming back to this beach filled with bad memories you might ask? The more sentimental reason is that it’s not all bad memories. The good ones just aren’t as interesting. The other reason is that eight people want to go, one person doesn’t, where do you think we’re going to go. I’m here for more then just relaxing and splashing in the waves though. You see I brought my purple orchid lei (a lei is a necklace of flowers) that I got at the luau I went to, and I’m gonna throw it in to the ocean. Because there’s this thing my gramma told me about, a saying, a tradition, something, where you throw your lei in to the ocean and if it returns then you shall return also.
It’s a bit of a walk from the car (where I was when I was telling you all that stuff) to the beach. You go down a hill, past the trees with the really big thorns, and then you’re at the beach. We lay out our towels and then we put on sunscreen. We come when the sun isn’t at its highest but we still have to smother our selves in sunscreen. My dad and me are redheads and we don’t tan we burn (although we do get triple ts: teeny tiny tans, also known as freckles) so we put on sunscreen happily. Now I can go swimming.
There’s a certain finality to throwing my lei; its like saying goodbye, and as much as I miss my house and my friends I never want to leave. I put it off for as long as I can but I am excited too. I swim out with my lei. As soon as I feel I am far enough out I throw my lei. I tread water for a moment as I watch my lei bob up and down, and then I swim back. As I swim I think, “I wonder if my lei will come back, if I will come back”.
When I get close to shore what do I see but a turtle. I swim with the turtle, but it is going in a straight line and I want to dry off. Have you ever noticed how cold it is when you get out of the water? You have to run and wrap your self in a towel. Now I’m sitting on my towel warm and soon I’ll be dry. Soon I’ll be sitting on an airplane warm and dry. The difference is that I can get off my towel whenever I want; the plane ride last twelve hours. I am warm and dry. The sun is high in the sky. Who wants a sunburn, not I. So I must say bye bye.
As we walk to the car my dad tells me he saw a little boy bring my lei back to shore. As I climb into the car I am glad that the last time I come to beach 64 nothing bad happens, this way I can look back on it with fondness. Although perhaps I shouldn’t assume this is the last time I will come here.
Why am I coming back to this beach filled with bad memories you might ask? The more sentimental reason is that it’s not all bad memories. The good ones just aren’t as interesting. The other reason is that eight people want to go, one person doesn’t, where do you think we’re going to go. I’m here for more then just relaxing and splashing in the waves though. You see I brought my purple orchid lei (a lei is a necklace of flowers) that I got at the luau I went to, and I’m gonna throw it in to the ocean. Because there’s this thing my gramma told me about, a saying, a tradition, something, where you throw your lei in to the ocean and if it returns then you shall return also.
It’s a bit of a walk from the car (where I was when I was telling you all that stuff) to the beach. You go down a hill, past the trees with the really big thorns, and then you’re at the beach. We lay out our towels and then we put on sunscreen. We come when the sun isn’t at its highest but we still have to smother our selves in sunscreen. My dad and me are redheads and we don’t tan we burn (although we do get triple ts: teeny tiny tans, also known as freckles) so we put on sunscreen happily. Now I can go swimming.
There’s a certain finality to throwing my lei; its like saying goodbye, and as much as I miss my house and my friends I never want to leave. I put it off for as long as I can but I am excited too. I swim out with my lei. As soon as I feel I am far enough out I throw my lei. I tread water for a moment as I watch my lei bob up and down, and then I swim back. As I swim I think, “I wonder if my lei will come back, if I will come back”.
When I get close to shore what do I see but a turtle. I swim with the turtle, but it is going in a straight line and I want to dry off. Have you ever noticed how cold it is when you get out of the water? You have to run and wrap your self in a towel. Now I’m sitting on my towel warm and soon I’ll be dry. Soon I’ll be sitting on an airplane warm and dry. The difference is that I can get off my towel whenever I want; the plane ride last twelve hours. I am warm and dry. The sun is high in the sky. Who wants a sunburn, not I. So I must say bye bye.
As we walk to the car my dad tells me he saw a little boy bring my lei back to shore. As I climb into the car I am glad that the last time I come to beach 64 nothing bad happens, this way I can look back on it with fondness. Although perhaps I shouldn’t assume this is the last time I will come here.