Circle In The Sand

Bewildered, Dalton walked the sand dunes overlooking Lake Michigan. The essence of fish, melody of waves, and flickering spectacle of color from nearby trees celebrated Autumn.

Trudging through sand and swaying beach grass, he arrived at a point where vegetation no longer took root. Around his bare feet sharp bits of sand swirled wildly on the wind stinging his ankles. Though painful, it was trivial compared to the ache in his heart.

The last twenty-four hours were a reflection of the days since he’d returned from Afghanistan. Unable to sleep the evening prior, he took up residence on a stool at the local tavern. Alcohol, procured by supporters of his service, gained entry into his being, and a party ensued until last call. It was sometime after this he and his vehicle wound up at Stony Lake Outlet.

Vaguely he recalled vomiting, but couldn’t imagine how he passed out on the hood. Unlike the night’s drunken blurriness, everything prior to his inebriation remained clear.

Dalton found solace at the outlet. The lake and a nearby stream always made him feel better. Likely the reason his liquored subconscious delivered him back to this spot.

Taking a seat his head swirled, and stomach churned. At the bar he’d lost count of beers consumed, though confident the number of shots was at least half the number of beers judging by the after-taste ruminating in his mouth.

Since returning from combat, very little made sense. He felt loved and welcomed by most, but also despised and rejected by others.

“Had the world changed that much since I left?” he pondered from time to time.

Staring into the water the question returned, yet the answer was no more obvious now than it had been prior to this round of intoxication. Choking up phlegm he maneuvered it around in his mouth, positioned it, then forcefully expelled the wad. Dalton contemplated drinking from the lake to vacate the rancid taste left by the loogie, but a gull passing overhead left droppings in the area, altering his thought.

The sun began generating steam off the lake’s surface as soon as it crested the horizon. Though the sun assisted the lake, it did nothing for Dalton’s headache. Looking around, the beach hadn’t changed much over the years. Despite the shifting of sand, it looked much the way it had in his youth. Dalton couldn’t believe it had been that long since he had been there. Though his head hurt he was still able to visualize his last visit. Entertained by the memory, he chuckled aloud.

***

Throughout high school he and his best friend Alex frequented the outlet in search of adventure. During winter they visited from the warm interior of Dalton’s pick-up truck captivated by the incredible ice formations delivered to the beach. In summer they practically took up residence. Living out of Alex’s van for days on end they would frolic with Fudgies, or tourists, by day, and troupe with Townies by night.

 The boys first encountered Julianna and a friend on the beach, standing with a group of girls just inside the line of beachgrass. Intensely looking at the sand, some discussed what they had witnessed, while others alternated their gaze between the group and the water. Below where the girls stood, etched in the sand, was a perfect 360-degree circle.

The boys had rolled out of the van just minutes before noticing the ladies. Curious as to what the girls found so interesting, they approached. Upon arrival some yammered about a woman in pioneer clothing as others looked at two young adults assisting a man from the water. Suddenly aware of what may have just occurred, the boys looked at one another.

Julianna couldn’t release her eyes from the sand, curious how such a perfect circle could have been created with nothing overly obvious around to make the imprint. Aloud, she mused about whether it was created by animal or alien.

Knowledgeable, yet unsubscribed, the boys discussed a myth about the circle. Julianna, now poised within earshot of the boy’s debate asked,

“What is it?”

“Oh, probably nothing, nothing at all,” Dalton commented.

“Well, it’s obviously something as you both are very chatty,” she shot back.

“You girls aren’t from around here, are you?” Alex chimed in.

“No, Minnesota, why?”

“Well, neither animal nor alien made it” Dalton answered conclusively.

“Yeah? How do you know?”

“Alex and I live here, and we have seen how it’s made.”

“Really, how?” Julianna’s friend Kim asked sarcastically.

“It’s called a Scratch Circle. This occurs when strong winds blow off the lake. The wind knocks over the long stalks of dried grass on the dunes, which in this case you can no longer see.” He pointed to the center of the circle. However, before the grass breaks off, the wind whips it around its axis and that movement etches a circle in the sand.”

Not buying it, Kim shook her head and walked away.

Captivated by Dalton’s anecdote, Julianna engaged him further as Alex joined Kim.

“That’s quite the hypothesis Mr.?”

“Dalton, Dalton Airy,” he offered his hand.

“And it’s not an educated guess, I can prove it,” he went on.

Kneeling in the sand and digging carefully into the center of the circle, his hand emerged with the lower stem and root of the plant.

“See!”

“Ok, ok, I believe you,” She said.

“And?” Dalton added.

“And what?”

“And, you are sorry, Ms.?”

“Julianna, VanDemeer. I apologize for not taking you seriously,”

“Thanks,” Dalton replied.

“However, there’s a tale regarding the circles,” he added.

“Yeah, what’s that?” she flirted.

“Legend states after the Civil War a veteran and his bride moved to the area upon receiving a grant of land from the government. On the other side of the dunes they constructed a small log home and would frequent the beach.

The husband enjoyed fishing, so he built a boat to fish on the lake thus alleviating anxiety and depression the war caused. When anxious or depressed, and when the lake allowed, he would take his fishing pole, hop into his boat, and venture out onto the water.

Upon return one afternoon, his panicked wife led him over to look at several perfect circles she’d found etched in the sand while walking the beach. Apparently, she was fearful a lake creature created them. To calm her, until he could determine what really made the circles, he concocted a story.

Folklore asserts, the husband told his wife he’d made the circles for her. He explained the stem of grass left in the middle represented her, and the perfect circle surrounding it his infinite love forever encircling her. To further calm her, he promised to leave a rock in the center of one of the circles to prove he had been there and signify their love was the one constant a turbulent world.

Satisfied with the explanation the wife returned to the beach each day surveying the landscape for a stone set within a perfect circle. Often, she would encounter perfect circles without stones adorning the center. Undaunted, she was certain her husband had made some of the circles for her without stones as there were not always stones accessible on the beach.

One day the husband became so despondent, he rowed out onto the lake undeterred by a strong storm approaching. An intense wind drove large waves ashore as thunder rolled from lightning bolts splitting the atmosphere and shaking the cottage. Fearing for her husband’s life she ran to the beach where a desperate search of the shoreline turned up nothing.

Numerous stones littered the beach, but none were enclosed in a full circle as the storm had wiped the beach clean of any markings. After the storm, others arrived to assist in the search. One man reported, as they neared the end of the search, the wife found a stone near an odd semi-circular etching. Immediately the woman retrieved the stone, broke down, and moaned, ‘Help him, he’s in the lake!’ pointing to the water, though no sign of him, or his boat was ever found.

Each day after, the wife walked the beach searching for a circle in the sand, hoping his spirit would communicate with her via a stone from the afterlife. Years later she died, never really knowing what happened. Some say the husband’s death was an accident, others say suicide. Regardless, it’s believed the woman’s spirit returns to this beach each day looking for a stone within a circle.

Numerous accounts document a woman in pioneer clothing walking the beach, staring intently at the ground. There are even accounts of a woman in pioneer clothing alerting people nearby of individuals drowning in the lake. Most believe it to be the soldier’s wife and to this day local lore claims she still awaits her husband’s return.”

“That’s quite the love story,” Julianna whispered.

“It’s nothing compared to the love story we are going to write,” Dalton replied.

***

“And so, it began!” Dalton chuckled returning to the present. Seizing a nearby stone, he peered into the western sky and wondered what Julianna was doing. Standing, he struggled to free himself of her image, but it was far too entrenched to ever be erased while he still drew breath. Attempting to change his thoughts he pictured his friend. Alex died September 11, 2001. He’d dreamt of working on Wall Street, but instead found himself high above it in the World Trade Center’s North Tower.

Walking by the water he mulled his enlistment in the Army and the endless deployments that lead to the estrangement with Julianna. Each trip into combat provided infinite quantities of adrenaline more powerful than any drug on the street could. The once unfamiliar country and culture became a hamlet for him and others painfully addicted to the physical and physiological changes imposed upon the body by years of death and destruction.

In Afghanistan he had a family, mission, and purpose. Back home he was just a number the politically distracted populace paid little attention to. Picking up another stone Dalton rattled them together.

“Damn!” he screamed.

“I sent her pictures of perfect circles I created in the Afghan sand.”

“Just like the legend, I placed a rock in the center and wrote, ‘you are the rock around which my love is forever etched’!”

“Sadly, it wasn’t that easy” he whispered, stopping his hand from shaking he opened it to admire the stones.

“It was my last deployment, why did she have to leave?”

“Unceasing storms have a way of eroding the most formidable foundations. Even the toughest rock can crack under pressure.” 

Thrashing beach grass caught his attention and lured him to its fringe as if to tell him something. There, it hummed the song of fallen friends and lost loves.

“No longer would a circle represent the enduring love of one to another, but rather a sign of life’s alpha and omega.” He thought

In the distance the beach came to life via the faint laughter of young adults.

Stooping he centered one stone in the circle, a fragment from the storm that had consumed him. The other, still in his grip, a burden the lake would wash away, absolving his sins, and christening him into the afterlife.

“No more,” he turned and met the water freely. Like a baptism, it washed over him and he surrendered.

“It’s over,” his mind reassured as water pervaded his lungs.

On the shore a woman, adorned in pioneer clothing, stood over the circle and stone weeping. Concerned, the young adults approached to assist.

“May we help you?”

“Help him, he’s in the lake!” She exclaimed pointing toward the water.

The pair turned in time to catch a glimpse of Dalton going under, then gasped.

Ashen, the pair looked back, yet nothing remained except a circle in the sand.