A Walk on the Beach
Each week my little family and I gather for dinner. That week, in conversation, someone mentioned an area called the Far Rockaway.
‘’I’ve never been there,’’ I said wistfully. I was imagining this mysterious place, faraway and with lots of rocks scattered all over the place.
‘’Of course you have! I know for a fact that Dad took you there,’’ Matthew said.
‘’I cannot recall that at all,’’ I said.
Teal’s friend said, ‘’We used to live there. On weekends it was horrible to travel on the subway. People from everywhere crowded to the beach. If you had to travel then, the subways smelled of seaweed, the ocean, and hot, sweaty bodies. Ugh!’’
With that statement, my mind flashed back to the year 1979. That was the year we arrived in New York. We got here in January. It was a long, grey, dismal winter. When summer finally arrived, my Auntie Flora suggested taking my mother, myself, and my son and daughter, who were eleven and ten years old at that time. We happily accepted.
I always took pride in my children’s appearance. That day Jessica was dressed in a pastel smocked dress, with white strapped shoes and white socks. Kelly was in a pair of navy blue shorts and a striped top. His feet were clad very similarly to his sister’s. We women were in stylish dresses with gathered skirts, low-heeled, sling-back, open-toed shoes, and carried our ladylike leather handbags in the crook of our elbows.
Auntie drove while my mother sat next to her. I sat in the back between my children. ‘’It is such a nice day, I thought we would take a stroll on the boardwalk at Rockaway Beach, then we would go eat fish in one of the eateries there,’’ Auntie said, as she drove.
I can’t recall how long the drive was, but it took quite a while to get there. My children were getting a bit restless, so to amuse them, we played ‘I spy with my little eye.’ They always loved that game. It made the time fly and their delighted laughter filled the car.
Finally we arrived. It was either late spring or early summer. The weather was perfect. There was no hint of the cloying humidity that plagues the New York summers. Once on the boardwalk, the children began to run. I hurried after them. Forget the beautiful model children, those children flew out of the window! They were replaced by two little happy urchins at play. I smiled to myself. I loved watching them. We walked and walked. My mother and Auntie chatted and sauntered behind us at a leisurely pace, chatting away happily.
Suddenly my two children stopped. They looked at me with an amazed yet fearful look on their faces. I did not understand the reason for that. I looked at them in puzzlement until they pointed at a couple sunning a short distance away. For an instant, I did not register what I was seeing, then quickly I hid my children’s faces in my skirt and switched directions.
‘’Mama, Auntie, turn around. We’re going back,’’ I said anxiously.
They stopped and looked at me in puzzlement. They followed my glance, then their faces registered shock as well. Why, you may ask? I will tell you. There, on that beach, were a couple of nude people. She was lying on a beach towel, with her legs spread wide apart and huge breasts swung on each side of her chest. The man, however, was an even stranger sight to behold! He wore a huge, lascivious grin across his face. He was amused at the look of disbelief on our faces. By the looks on our faces, he knew he had shocked us. He looked as if he would burst out in mirth at any second. He was leaning against a pole with one ankle crossing the other in a jaunty attitude. Furthermore, he was displaying the most astounding male organ you could ever imagine. It was so long that he had swung it around his elbow like a lady would her handbag. I do not think any of us will ever forget that sight; it simply boggled the mind. We had somehow wandered onto the nudist beach without realizing it.
As I write this, I suddenly realize why Matthew said that I had been to the Far Rockaway. It popped into my head instantaneously. Many years had passed since that last incident. Once more I found myself on that same beach. It was a weekend. This time I was there with Peter and his boys, Evan and Matthew. They were about the same age as my two. At that point they were pre-teenagers. The boys were running about. Shazi, our dog, was there as well, chasing after them. Peter and I were strolling along, chatting quietly between ourselves. It was a quiet morning. The seagulls were hovering above the waves, hoping to catch their morning meal. The waves rushed to the shore where they became gentle as a lamb as they ebbed against the shore. Shazi’s happy barking and the boys’ laughter rang throughout the beach. It was too early for the crowds to arrive. It felt as if we had the beach to ourselves. It was so very peaceful. Suddenly we heard a series of terrified, hysterical shrieks. We stood stock-still. What could have happened? We quickly looked about to make sure the boys were alright. They were, but they stood giggling hysterically. Our eyes followed where the shrieks came from. As chance would have it, we had wandered into the nudist beach. Shazi had discovered a nude woman lying on a beach towel with her eyes closed. Fascinated, Shazi walked up to her and started to lick her as she dozed. It was the woman who was screaming hysterically!
God bless Peter; he hurried up to her, apologized profusely, and quickly led Shazi away. I don’t think I ever ventured there again. Two nudist beach experiences in one lifetime were more than enough for me.