The Beach

All the fun of the fair
Coney Island, Brooklyn, photographed by Miss K

We're in this parking lot just like the one at Disneyland; it's unbelievably hot and I'm with my parents and my aunt and uncle. We're walking through this car park, rows of cars, bumper to bumper, shining in the midday sun just like beetle backs. The park is glinting far in the distance. My aunt doesn't complain; my uncle's there supporting her. I think "how will she ever make it?" It's such a distance and she has cancer. She's pale and drawn. We head on.

Well, its never as far as you think when you start out, and soon, we're at the front gate of the park, and there's this huge grinning Mickey Mouse type head on the posts, and the whole place is terribly quiet, like it's closed or something. I'm really scared but my parents are already going on ahead, dad swinging his new camera on its strap. I walk through the gate, and it's like somebody suddenly threw a switch or something. There's people everywhere, and the rides are going round so fast, and there's deafening, upbeat brass band oompah music blasting through tannoys everywhere, intrusive, disorienting. People milling round, all unhappy, supporting their sick. God it's hot. And I think this is the place where people who have family dying from cancer come to say goodbye. Are there theme parks for other diseases? Coronary disease picnic areas? Motor Neurone casinos? AIDS zoos? I can smell the sea.

Mum and Dad are heading off towards a big hotel with an underground mall. My aunt and uncle are already lost in the crowd. I'd really like to swim. I also want to go to the mall to buy some new clothes as the dress I'm wearing is too tight and hot and impractical. I walk toward some huge futuristic ride, like Space Mountain or something, but as I come up to it, I realise its only some kind of huge old Ferris Wheel, enormous and rusted, like it's about to fall apart. I start to shout to the people on it, to get off or they'll get killed. Then someone grabs my arm. I whirl round, then breathe out with relief when I recognise these three old White Russians who lived on our street when I was very young. Two of them are husband and wife, and the old one, the ancient one, is their father, an old Tzarist general. He's very sick and I realise I've got to support him. The Russian couple say goodbye to the Old General; their cheeks are glistening with sweat and tears. The Old General grunts, and I walk with him, one arm in his. His clothes are wet with seawater and he's all twisted up with pain, but he's loud and jolly and he's got real dignity. He winks, whispering something in my ear, (in Russian) "thank you my dear. You know, if I was a little bit younger...". I smile too. We walk on through the crowd.

The Old General says he's got to go now, and I tell him OK, I'll see him around, and kiss him on the cheek. He chuckles and walks away. I stand and watch him for a while, then I head for the hotel. In a clothes shop in the underground mall, mum's choosing a dress. Without wanting to, but knowing I have to at least appear to be making an effort, I pick up a pair of cheap, tacky earrings and go to the checkout. The girl at the till looks like me and she has the same earrings on. They don't suit her. She smiles at me and I feel embarrassed. I leave the shop putting the earrings on - they're too heavy, but I keep them in for appearance's sake. My uncle and aunt leave with me and we're back in the park. Dusk's falling and a fresh sea breeze is picking up my skirt from around my legs. The breeze smells fine.

Now people are moving out, like a crowd of refugees, the healthy ones supporting the sick. We're moving out, and the parking lot and the heat of the rides fades away like a dream, and the sea's ahead of us, the wash sounding stronger and stronger. I'm walking all alone, and I can see the Old General ahead of me, still cursing and dreaming hard, looking worse, and my aunt, silent and pale, leaning heavier on my uncle, lips so tightly pressed together they're white. I hear waves.

Suddenly, my uncle turns, tells me my aunt's dead. I can't believe it and start crying, and I ask him how it happened. He says, "she has cancer." Then I see it all unfold in front of my eyes. Of course she's not dead yet, she's still walking. We're all walking, walking past a long narrow beach beyond which is a still, warm sea, rippling, calm, a dead calm. On the horizon, the sun is just a massive orange-red globe without anything warm about it. Perhaps it's the last sunset. It seems that way. I push my hair off my forehead andspread my bare arms out, try to let the breeze lift me up.

Suddenly the Old General shouts something like "THAT'S IT!!" and runs free, jumping over the low stone wall onto the beach, running to the water kicking up little flicks of sand, running and diving in, swimming away till he vanishes. Some of the other patients do the same, and a rush starts.

The next part is horrible. I see my aunt. She's standing on the stone wall, smiling for the first time. She's going to dive into the water. I try to shout to her no, she'll never reach the water, but she jumps. She lands head first on the sand, hard. I feel the kick of the impact in my chest, and put my hand there, breathing deep. Then her body kind of disintegrates from the impact like a wet bag of sand. The sight makes me feel nauseous and I have to lean on my uncle for a moment. He's just standing there, looking blank. He takes my weight, nodding, his hand on my back.

The waves wash my aunt's remains away before the seabirds get to her. Soon all the cancer cases are gone, and we're all standing at the low wall, watching the sea ripple, all the healthy ones. Then I step over the wall. And I don't feel sick any more.

Then the beach party starts. Food is eaten and drink drunk. People are splashing round, sitting talking, kissing and laughing. I recognise faces: friends from art school, buried to their necks in sand, an old boyfriend, teachers from school, lots of people I know or knew, all having fun.

I take my beer and walk to the leftmost edge of the beach, and sit down, pulling my knees to my chest. From there, I can see the whole angle of the beach, the people dancing away to my right, the sand warm and damp under me.

I'm about to go back to the party when I think I see a yacht on the horizon.

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