Messages in the Sand

During her morning walk on the beach, Erin came across a message inscribed in the sand. Positioned on an angle a few feet from the ocean’s ruffled hem, it read simply, “GOOD MORNING!”

“How nice,” thought Erin and she tried to imagine the sort of person who created this friendly greeting for random strangers to see.

“A woman no doubt,” she figured, for starters. “An architect, maybe.”

The carefully constructed, perfectly proportioned letters reminded her of her ex’s handwriting. An architect, her former partner Rory never used cursive, but always printed in capital letters. Her

signature was the only exception. It consisted of a series of scrolls and cross-hatchings that bore absolutely no resemblance to her name or even any of the letters in it. She called it her trademark.

In terms of personality, Erin conjured the image of someone like her massage therapist. Jana was the most consistently positive, upbeat person Erin had ever met. She had a smile as warm as a

thousand candles and she lit it generously. Making people feel good seemed to be her M.O. – her life practice – and not just her profession.

The next day, Erin discovered another message in roughly the same area. The precision of the lettering left no doubt that the same person had written it. It said, “HAPPY SUNDAY!”

Erin decided to reply with a “Thanks!” which she etched into the sand with her index finger. Hopefully, the mystery writer would see Erin’s response and know that at least one person had

appreciated her gesture.

The following day, Erin walked deliberately to the spot where she had seen the previous two messages and sure enough, she found a third installment which said, “HAVE A GREAT DAY!” Beneath it,

Erin wrote “You too!” and continued on her stroll.

In the days that ensued, subsequent messages said, “ENJOY!”, “PEACE”, CHOOSE JOY!” and “LOVE.” Erin responded with, “Will do!”, a lopsided peace sign, “OK!” and the outline of a heart.

Erin took a couple of days off from walking, and when she returned to the beach, she was glad to see that the messaging continued. She read the words, “WISH YOU WERE HERE” and realized with a

twinge of regret that the author intended them for a specific person. She felt momentarily foolish and slightly embarrassed for the delight the previous writings had inspired in her.

The messages grew increasingly personal: “MISS YOU,” “BE MINE” followed by a question mark and a smiley face, the letters “I” and “U” framing the sketch of a heart, “LOVE YOU”, and “CRAZY ABOUT

YOU” with an exclamation mark. Erin came to understand that she was witnessing a courtship. This challenged her preconceived ideas about the messenger. Could it be a man, after all? A man in love, a

romantic man?

She envied the intended recipient. It hurt her to imagine the joy, the excitement these notes in the sand must have incited when received. The breakup of her relationship with Rory had occurred

only three months prior and the wound from being dumped remained raw. Tears of grief or anger lingered at all times behind her eyes, ready to spill at the slightest provocation.

She had trouble sleeping. She would wake in the middle of the night and torture herself with questions. Why? What had she, Erin, done wrong? What could she have done differently to save the

relationship? Was she so awful? Some nights she would cry herself back to sleep. When anger dominated her emotions, she tossed and turned. Some such nights she felt compelled to get out of bed

and pace the floor. Once, she had stomped into the kitchen, grabbed a plate and smashed it on the tile floor. It felt so good, she did it again, but while cleaning up her mess, she began to sob.

One morning, she awoke in the wee hours and made herself miserable until 5:00 a.m. She decided to head to the beach early and catch the sunrise over the Atlantic.

When she arrived at the beach, she noticed several people milling about. A couple of surfers and a paddle-boarder entered the water. A photographer was positioning his tripod in the tide in

readiness for the sun’s rising. Others had their smart phones in hand and some were already snapping pictures of the florid, pre-dawn sky. “Good idea,” she thought, reaching into her pocket for her iPhone.

Further up the shore a couple walked hand in hand. Beyond them, a lone figure crouched in the sand. Could this be the mystery writer, she wondered, noting the person was indeed in the right

location and appeared to be moving his or her arm.

She couldn’t tell if the person was male or female. Against the backlighting of the sky, the figure appeared absolutely black and featureless. Erin began to walk quickly towards the person, wanting to get a glimpse of him or her. The figure rose from its squatting position, took a few paces backwards and held up a smart phone to take a picture. At that moment, the sun began to peek up over the

horizon – a curved band of flaming orange. Erin stopped in her tracks to witness the spectacle and take photos. Every time she blinked it seemed the sun edged its way up higher until at last, it sat

momentarily just above the ocean, a complete circle of molten color.

Meanwhile Erin’s suspect had taken off and was jogging up the beach. “Shucks,” Erin said aloud.

At least now, she had a good hunch how the messages had been conveyed. The writer photographed them with the sun rising in the background and most likely sent them in a text. She proceeded to the location where she had observed this hypothetical scene and was not in the least surprised to find a fresh message in the sand. She smiled as she approached. “I was right.”

Standing over the message and reading it, she felt like she might vomit up her heart. Beautifully, tidily printed in the sand was the name, MARIE, a plus sign and Rory’s unmistakable

trademark.