Santa Monica

 I plant myself firmly in the hot sand and it accepts me lovingly, my feet sinking easily into the shapeless abundance. I eventually hit the damp, cool layer of sand, which is the perfect consistency for sandcastles. If it’s warm today I don’t notice, yards away from us someone’s umbrella takes flight. We are only steps away from a busy arcade and the cascade of merchants selling magic crystals, personalized bracelets, shell jewelry boxes, and free prayer books. Sea waves and foam gather at the base of the pier, where the crashing isn’t as violent. Further out on the wooden mass there is a yellow roller coaster and the ferris wheel, just underneath are several massive beams that jut into the ocean floor. I imagine swimming under there for a split second, dodging those enormous blackened toothpicks covered in algae. 

You had made the critical mistake of forgetting a bathing suit, opting instead to navigate the summer boardwalk in Santa Monica. It was bustling with workers, tourists with pristine sunglasses and large cameras, locals on fixed gear bikes, a performer beating down on a plastic drum, and a visiting high school choir. Their collective ruckus was almost enough to drown out the sea. You walk past the merchants and the fishermen, reaching the end of the dock. It is noisy here, too, but in powerful gusts of wind and the waves tossing back and forth. Directly ahead is the horizon, a perfect line splitting the sky and the ocean. You wonder how far could it go, when does it become land again? 

Santa Monica pier sits atop the Pacific Ocean, an explosion of activity above the endless sea. Walking down the dock I remember when I was small enough to still fit on the rides, customizable license plates, and my high school circle of friends. Entering the arcade, it is a lucky draw if you find an operable machine. Many children are turned away, the last of their allowance eaten. Seagulls fly above and march around the food court in the middle of the pier, awaiting their share of french fries, chips, and dropped hot dogs. A street performer with no discernible skill carries a radio on his shoulder, pop music from the 2000’s blaring. From the pier you can see swimmers fighting back the current, and far off boats in the distance.