A Dying Breed

My patience was wearing thin. I had quite possibly a million things more useful and reliving than taking a long walk to the shore, but they insisted.

When I got to my computer after a quick lunch, I found nothing to do, and there was barely an hour before my mom hollered for me and Maya. It was time to get a move on to the beach, the palace of my mom; her favorite place in the world. And once she decided she'd have enough attention to satisfy herself, we'd get takeout.

At least, I wasn't the one paying for once this year. You'd think she'd prepare a decent meal, but getting a few pounds of beer in before putting on her elegant mask was more important I suppose.

Maya told me she has Histrionic Personality Disorder, possibly relating to an undisciplined upbringing or unaccomplished hopes. I didn't doubt her, (Maya researches everything), but she was more than just a norm. She did everything behind Maya and my back, with a clear method that was so obvious yet reclusive. She lived in her own little world, and that's how it'd been since Dad and I left. Yet I still felt inclined to visit every summer the woman who practically invented lax parenting.

Anyway, I couldn't recall long boring day at the shore, except for the bird which oddly stuck with me as I etched inside my toenails to quarry the sand from my first walk. Then I was off to the seafood store.

The taste of those creamy mollusks brought back memories that I wish were places. For the life of me I can't tell why I liked them in the first place. But I missed them, the days when we only bought from that restaurant on special occasions, to give mom a break.

After that, I sat at the counter until one, scribbling a full page together. The beaming light from my wheezing laptop deprived me of more sleep than I intended.

What the fuck were you thinking Dad? I wanted to say out loud. But out of respect, I shut up.

That was my first walk.

____

Walk 2:

I saw the bird, nestled between two clumps of dirt. It's head shifted back and forth, side to side, unable to sit still. I took long heavy steps toward it, hoping that its flight would provide me with some stimulation in this otherwise highly underwhelming day.

Rather, the bird stood and walked off. I could have sworn that I was surprised. No nimble creature would ever allow a human within 5 feet without flying, yet I was a footstep away from this bird. Perhaps it was damaged, or....whatever. Nothing unusual, just a dumb animal.

The other birds were no less aloof, but more energized. A collective of about 10 or 12 spiraled around an open bag like a tornado. Curious, how they feasted on the negligence of the owners. Not unlike my own family, I muttered softly.

As I continued my walk long the barren landscape that became more apparent as visitors regressed to their homes, I wanted to follow suite. The headaches were begging me to return to the house, flip open my laptop and write a few emails, look at my bills, write a full page at best.

And so I did, but as I left, I turned and the bird was sitting again, in a different spot, undisturbed by any living presence.

__

Walk 3:

My steps seemed far heavier as I plowed through the mounds of sand. The sun was making my knees tremble. The scar that stretched from my left knuckle to my wrist began to sting from the sweat. I hated when too much sweat causes rashes on the most tender parts. The reverberating rays of light induced fatigue rather than strength, the opposite of a plant. Makes ya think of how the earth is trying to tell us we're not wanted.

My cranial eruptions nearly caused me to collapse on the dunes before I came upon the bird once more, several feet off the path. A shell scratched me knee as I fell to a kneel and I observed the gull in vexation. It undoubtedly saw me out of its peripheral eye, but beyond the occasional twitch, it never made and motion to fight, or fly.

When something happens more than once, you typically pay more attention to it. The bird was a solemn grey, speckled with black dots and a smooth beak. Any tourist could swear it was a seagull, but the others were all commonplace white and orange beaked. I had seen certain similar birds fly around the sands, but something was different.

I bent down, inching closer to the gull, who continued to glance around at the other visitors beyond us, to the ocean, and back to me. Some impulse stirred inside, let's just call it curiosity, and raised my hand toward it. The gull ruffled its feathers, overtly agitated by my gesture. 

Then I remembered it was just a dumb animal, and my perception, although practical, couldn't be sure of everything. But one thing was for sure, not just any bird allows a muzzled post-adolescent get close.

Before I provoked it to stand, I did so first, and walked back the way I came. As I dismissed the bird again and dragged in the musings of my frustration, I placed each foot inside my foregoing mundane footsteps. A tiny task in the physical world helped balance my scattered stressed mental one.

Dr. Bradley said that, but I bet she paraphrased it.

__

Walk 4:

I know I blame my mother for guilting me into visiting her this summer, but it still doesn't change the fact that I had to do these exercises one way or another. Dr. Bradley decided. She was this therapist I hoped would help me, but two months later, I felt the sudden urge to buy a shotgun and visit Bradley one last time. My mom said she'd fund it if I continued to visit her.

So 200 dollars a week. Beyond being incongruous, her sessions became laughable. Despite assurance that these sessions would get my life on track before my second year of college, I wasn't going to fall for it. Her speech and disposition though were tipping her hand: I was just another patient to be drugged with the same transient therapy.

The fact that I was working harder than my mom's ass ever did for the past year never held water to Bradley's brain. Contrary to the her belief, calm places incite more anger than serenity. Did I not make it clear of my living situation, my rent due, my homework? I mean, what the fuck was I doing here!

Alas, here I was, kicking clouds of sand with my sandals, wincing every time I hit a shell. At least the wind wasn't strong today, so I could lift my eyes to greet the depleted pungent stink hole I was trudging in.

I would multi task and do her fucking exercises as hastily as possible. But so long as I paid her every week, who gave a shit.

Irregardless, I noticed something. My fourth time in this exercise and two things always recurred in my mandated travel. One: the concerns with my life, my estrangement, all took flight with the wind. Two, my eyes would come to the realization that they were in fact a tool for a larger mind and not some entity of their own. The bystanders, my body, and all of nature became more present.

*And Three: if you want to count flukes and happenstance as recurring, the bird.*

Speaking of which, there it was again. This time it stood, on one leg. I came to a powdered halt, submerging my flip flop in the dune.

Forgetting the point of the soothing exercise, I crouched just 5 feet away from the bird. The bird's nose pointed at me, as if asking me to help with something, or asserting a truth.

I stayed for nearly six minutes, beholding the gull, but I couldn't tell how long it would take until something inciting arose. As I reached for my phone in the zipper pocketed trunks, I recalled that electronics should not accompany my walk. Bradley said that the feeling of accomplishment would come to me under the sun and that time was relative. I rolled my eyes when she spoke as if she coined the phrase.

A wheezing caw awoke my agitation. If a partially deflated basketball was crushed, it would have sounded like the caw. The gull's neck was craned up to the sky, directing me to a seagull overhead, battling the wind in mid-flight. The gull flapped it wings and stood, shaking its tail feather and trotted away in the blink of an eye.

I stood and watched it migrate towards a crowd of its land based brethren. The screech sounded fatal, not just to the bird but to myself. The feeling was new to me, but it was as though a sense of remor- no pity had been planted in me by the sky rat.

Bradley will be told of my undisturbed walk, with absence of worry from my daily life. But if I was planning on telling Bradley that my walk was a success today, well, that was a reach farther than the borderline of the ocean.

___

Walk 5:

I scowled at the frolicking children and grandiose adults, flaunting their bodies and the satisfaction, which ironically drew contempt from me. Where everyone saw simple pleasure, I saw a contest designed for social yet venereal pigs who had everything in life duck soup. All I had were college fees, a job that could barley make ends meet, and a therapist to help me 'cope'.

This time, I succumbed to the desire to jog. I knew it would be faster, I wouldn't be distracting the boys who looked at my appearance, my demeanor, and kept away like I was a disease. If nothing else, I could say I honestly did my job in record time for once.

My sister, Maya begged me to join her friends in the ocean, but I refused. Used to say I'd get rashes from the waves, but the truth was, that stopped when I was 14. I never got a rash since. I know Bradley said I should reach out if possible during my walk, but who of consequence would be at the beach, unless they've been dragged here.

So instead, next to the dune laid shrubberies, I came upon the gull, still flawlessly balanced upon one leg. Despite the recession of wind, the bird ruffled it wings more typically.

I regarded the bird with careful contemplation. The nautical oddity had not only appeared on my trail for the 4th time during my 5th walk, but endowed me with the knowledge that this bird did not desire to be stranded in the dunes any more than I did. It's wings, although healthy with feathers, never outstretched.

The crunch in my pocket reminded me of the bag of crackers I brought. I couldn't imagine how often this bird ate, if ever. Blowing the orange dust off my fingers, I tossed a piece directly at the birds front. It took me a second to realize that the gull devoured it in my squinted blink.

Three more crackers, and the bird ate like it was starving. But it couldn't be.

I was already two minutes behind on my walk, so I set another one beside it and proceeded. I never bothered to look back, given that it was probably gone before I could redact my arm.

____

Walk 6:

I thought if I got down to the shore earlier, I could see the gull near the ocean, and my mom would be more satisfied. To her, the offer was as if I had just bought her a birthday present, which was both cringe and disturbing given the fact her last present was a backless floral dress. The only time she used it was when she got mud on her shoe, and all her towels were being laundered.

You're welcome, Irma Grease.

For a change of pace, I decided to walk faster and farther as well. Further down the slope, my feet touched the soapy foam of the wet sand, and got a much needed cleansing.

It was dismal to find only shells, run of the mill seagulls, and jellyfish heads. The translucent items aided the sun in warming me. I was filled with memories of pre-boozer mom and my sister, who tried to collect as many jelly-heads as we could. Jump the Jellyfish we used to call it.

I touched one with my foot and it felt as slippery as I remember. The meticulous design of its interior was always baffling to me; how could nature create something so complex beyond human comprehension. What other kinds of discarded relics and creatures would we see someday here. Those were the kinds of questions Maya asked to which I struggled to find good answers.

As much fun as bringing her along on my walk would've been, she was now meeting with the cronies, the ones so sleazy, I would've made them all feel pitiful. I met them before, and that's what happened. Their flawlessly smooth skin and cream hairstyles told me probably never even scraped in their lives. But one look at the scar on my left hand and they suddenly acted as if I were the president.

That scar resigned people, but it also brought what I yearend for: respect.

Before regressing from the place where life began, I glanced far back to where my sister's clan would be, another wonder of the shore she loved to fantasize about. Her clan was underneath the dead foreboding pier, the structure that's encrusted wood stood on the beach since before mom was born. It always scared the shit out of me, and for some reason, the sight of them under it made it more surreal.

The rest of the walk, I strutted along the water. With the Coquina clans and water bathing my bare feet in reminiscence, my priority faded. The gull wasn't going anywhere. I was finally getting some 'noteworthy' thoughts from this experience. Foraging though shells and sand was still a drag, but for what it was worth, I learned not all my memories were bad. I'm not entirely treated like a lesser person.

____

Walk 7:

I am hesitant to speak of this given the fact that this may be straddling the line between animal cruelty and retardation.

*No Allegations, Bradley. Remember our Contract*

As I sunk my feet into the dunes, trying to feel each distinct mineral as best I could, I felt my speed increase again. I no longer kicked the ground, but I was going faster. Perhaps it was my heed to meet the gull, or just because the forecast called for rain in twenty minutes, but call it what you will. I was wet already from perspiration anyhow.

The gull was much more distant than before, and was about 10 feet off from the path. I jumped at its sight and shuffled towards it, forgetting the consequences.

The gull jumped immediately and waddled away. I took a deep breath and knew it was just startled. I had longed desired to touch it, its tranquility and space tolerance proved to be my only chance to touch a non domesticated creature. It might act differently, but it still acted like any other seagull, and so I had to bait it.

Shit, I forgot the crackers. No matter, just do it slowly.

My advancements coaxed the gull into a scuttle, but some part of me wanted more from the gull. I made sure to stay upon the path, only straying once to get 3 feet closer than last time. Finally, the bird spread its wings fully but did not fly. Instead it assumed the preliminary action of an airplane on a runway.

I nearly glided across the sand and then sped the rest of the way to a more deserted part of the shore. Only white seagulls were seen overhead, and no child came near it. Even they had more sensibility than to push a troubled animal sadistically.

I went too far. I caught myself. I caught myself for the rest of the evening.

____

Walk 8:

I'll be brutally honest: the only walk I did yesterday was to the car for seafood pickup and back.

Matter of fact, I never went to the beach. Against all odds, I denied my mother's requests with a sneer, and gained two extra hours to work. But within that first hour, all I could write was two pages, and not a single thing more.

I should be relieved I was here. Relieved that I had muted that egomaniac who just wanted to krap on me and my sister after her fun. Relieved that I had the chance to write again, a chance to email my friends already preparing, a chance to reset my sun-sizzled mind for school. I guess cruel irony is something that cannot be taught. I had no story then, and I have none now.

And it was all because of the gull.

This led me to an unenthusiastic spree of reading, but after that nail got short real fast, I decided it was futile to fight curiosity, however depressing it may be.

But what's more disturbing is how easily the internet can predict the fates of almost anything or anyone. I heard how the Herring Gull is prone to contaminated foods far more easily than humans, and how it lacks the aptness to discern nutrition from garbage. I guess it wasn't the first gull to suffer like this, but it was the first I heard of it. After I suffered a mental blackout, all my eyes could do was look out the window for the next 10 minutes.

You could say I did the exercise, thinking that is, but without taking a single step.

___

Walk 9:

Have you ever asked yourself little questions. Stuff like, if you're sad or upset, but you're under a sun, what is the different between the sweat you're given, and the sweat you make yourself. Well, that's the question I was asking myself as I was on the stretch of my walk.

The sun was more lenient today, but it shouldn't have been. All of the sudden, levels of guilt, yes I say it now, arose for this animal. After considering myself to be above the bleached zombies strutting about here, just like them, I was blinded by the temporary pleasure to see an animal do what humans long to do: to see themselves soar from the ground.

Likewise, the bird was farther away from the path than ever before, my cynical eyes affirmed that this was indeed a sign I should just continue with the exercise. As I wrung my scarred hand, a part of me scolded myself for trying; mostly because it was stupid to fantasize a connection with the downed animal, but also because of the sheer fact I admitted to being a failure, an oddball who had been poisoned by neglect and couldn't do anything.

An even more spine-chilling caw came at my 4, which I now knew was a congested cough. The result of some sneeze graced cookie or a germ clouted nacho no doubt; something that no healthy orange cracker could combat. I kept my head forward, refusing to look back. In that moment I didn't even think about the food I brought, burning of my scarred hand, or the other tourists watching me. Dread and regret abroad dominated the bleak day

A 20 year old man looking like a hooded hacker that just shot someone and thought the shore was a good place to hide.

There ya go Bradley, I'm finally let out my insecurity.

Back to mulling over reality in the recesses of my imagination.

___

Walk 10:

If there was any metaphysical thought that sat on my shoulders as I left the final walk, it was the notion that I was very out of touch. Although my judgments of people alleviated in these exercises, as did the stress, the shore seemed to have taken a piece of me rather than endow me with a more befitting one. I suppose the gull had taken that piece with it, wherever it was. Like him, I was stranded, but oddly, the void left from the missing section of my esteem showed me a compass.

A purposeful compass, to be sure. But a cryptic one for now.

But all that was before I spent time with Maya. Surprise, quote end quote. Turns out her friends are not as narcotic as I thought. After greetings to her kids who all had freckles and acne for some reason, we talked with their mothers. It was only thirty minutes at this big tent; the mothers, who looked even more wrinkled and self centered than my own, were nice. I made sure not to glare this time, wink, wink.

We played ping pong with her friends, turns out I'm very good. I won against Maya's team 9:3. Underneath the sun, I didn't sweat as much as I had. And this was the first day I forgot sunscreen. We then went to the pier and for the first time I touched the trepidatious wood, much lighter up close. Its wood was so strong, I could barely pry a single shard from the logs, which were thicker than pine trees. But once I got a knife long piece, I put it in the zipper pockets of my trunks.

What'cha have bro? Maya asked, getting excessively close to me. Looking at her friends who flanked her watching, I clenched my fist, detecting the collective stares at my scarred hand which clutched the wood. But instead of concealing it and embarrassing Maya and myself, I simply shrugged, Consider it a reminder of good times.

As much as I hated to say it, that day was the most fun I had, there. Not even mollusks could ruin it, but fortunately, we bought cheesesteaks. After that, I figured I take the night off from writing and join Maya at the boardwalk.

In case you were wondering, Mrs. Bradley, yes, I did meet the dying gull one last time. Upon our stroll past the parking lane, me and my sister looked above the blue and white restroom, which reeked of piss and sea. On the garret, it stood, its grey speckles and white underbelly made visible by the aglow white lamps.

Maya nearly lept away in exuberance as I stopped to admire my ruffled friend. As she came back and took notice of the object in my gaze, she inquired, Do you think it's lost?

To that I answered, I don't think so. It's just keeping a sharp eye.

*

Greetings Doctor Sharon Bradley,

If you recall, my major in Yale was literature, and despite enrollment in Comparative Literature, the #1 program at the University for apsiri uninspired scribes like myself, I never found any story. I read as fast as I could, trained very briskly, but it has led me to dead ends. All I could produce over the summer in connection with my friends was a bunch of shit that no one's going to read. Except maybe you for neurological reasons or whatever.

You tasked me over my break to keep a record notes of my thoughts and major events each week. In addition the the 14 week logs before this one, you claimed, in your own words, 'as though Isaac Newton tried to write a character study based on the Laws of Motion and Gravity'. I agree that nothing equivocal has come out of this, and the shore should've been no exception. Yet, stumbling upon this animal provided me with more than just inspiration: it gave me an opportunity.

To say that the encounter with the gull changed my life, is a very romanticized statement. I will neither deny nor confirm its effects until further notice. Undeniably however, the walks you have mandated for me have deftly prescribed a reevaluation of myself. In doing so, I paid attention more acutely to the behavior of tourists and myself, while finding appreciation for Maya's friends and the present mindset with which she lives her life. She is more complex than I imagined.

Irregardless, I feel more complete, as those a piece of myself was tossed in the desert and upon slower ambles, I was able to find that piece in unexpected places, among unexpected creatures. I looked at that gull every day, and every time, i saw myself clearer. I was disheartened to learn of its possible sickness,

Call me grotesquely dramatic, but this log encapsulates my voice more than anything I have written. And if you refuse to believe this, (knowing you, you likely will), than consider this my layoff. By the time you open your email to send me your condescending disappointment to me, remember that we have one more session. Then it is up to me to continue.

Look in the mirror, Salutations

-Max