PEOPLE WATCHING AT THE BEACH

On my way to work this morning, the voice on my radio announced that this could be the hottest day of the summer. By lunchtime, I had fulfilled my obligations and covered my bases, so I plotted my exit from the office. I grabbed my towel, trunks, and the comfortable beach fold-out chair my daughter and son-in-law had given me as a gift for the many times I would take their daughters to the beach and lunch. During the summer, I would often take the girls (my granddaughters) to the beach for a couple of hours in the afternoon. The parents were working, the girls were home bored, and I had a flexible schedule. They knew I would occasionally leave my office on warm summer afternoons with a book and head down to the beach for a couple of hours alone. But if they called me, I would stop and pick them up on the way (truth be told, I called them more than they called me). But as I said, there were times I would go alone.

There is no better place to be in the summer than on the west coast of Michigan, enjoying Lake Michigan. My office, being only three miles away, served to make a trip to the lake on summer afternoons a convenient temptation or perhaps a guilty pleasure. Winters in Michigan can be long, cold, and dark with continual overcast skies. Summers are beautiful, warm, and inviting but short. So, I take advantage of those bright, sun-drenched summer days as often as possible.

On this particular afternoon, my granddaughters were unavailable, so I headed for the beach alone. I parked my car on the pavement right where the beach sand starts. I like sitting in my chair on the sand with a relaxing view of Lake Michigan and people coming and going. Periodically, I would jump in the lake for a short swim, cool off, and then head back to my reading chair. I was reading an old Jack Higgins novel I found at the office, and the more I read, the more I realized I had read it a couple of years earlier. I had my journal ledger with me, so I decided to indulge in one of my hobbies, watching the people around me and fabricating stories about them. I also enjoyed trolling for bits of conversation from unsuspecting participants (some might call it eves dropping) and creating a fictional story around the snippets I could glean. Does that make me a voyeur or a little creepy? I hope there's no law against it.

As I sat there psychoanalyzing my motives and analyzing my qualifications as a normal human being, a young couple with two small children in tow walked by me. It was late afternoon now, and they looked bedraggled. The wife was leading with a clear purpose to vacate the area. Her arms were loaded with beach towels, her face was red from the sun, and she was trying hard to keep her daughter, who was about four years old and distracted by everything they passed, on course to their destination. The husband and little boy, who was 5 or 6, were bringing up the rear carrying blankets and pulling a wagon loaded with assorted beach toys. They all had that ‘long-day-at-the-beach’ look, especially the mom.

I heard the husband ask, “Honey, ya wanna go to the Deck?”

Without turning around, the wife said irritably, “No! I do not want to go to the Deck.”

“Yeah, uh, you're right honey, I guess I don’t either,” said the husband.

Their verbal communication was short and to the point, but their thoughts, displayed in their demeanor and voice inflections, revealed so much more. Or it could be my overactive imagination. When the husband (let's call him Larry) asked his wife (let's call her June) if she wanted to go to the Deck, he thought he had a great idea.

He thought to himself, the Deck is just a short walk from here. It’s a new, cool addition to the beach this summer. It’s an outdoor restaurant/concert venue with many decks and terraces at different levels connected by wooden stairs, catwalks, and ramps. It also has swings and a sandbox area that could keep the kids busy while June, and I sip cold drinks and relax.

This thought took Larry 5 seconds.

When June told Larry, "No, I don't want to go to the Deck," she thought, I've been out in the sun and sand all day. I am sunburned, I have sand crawling up the back of my bathing suit, and my hair is so frazzled it may never recover. I’ve constantly had to corral the kids from going too far, keep them from drowning, ensure they are hydrated, and referee their disputes. Now, he wants to go to the Deck, where the kids will run and climb all those stairs, catwalks, and ramps like a jungle gym. They will probably get splinters, have tired, crabby attitudes, and cause me to pull out the last remaining strands of my frazzled hair. Of course, I don’t want to go to the Deck!

This thought took June 1 second.

When Larry told June he really did not want to go to the Deck either, he was thinking; I thought going there could be fun and relaxing for us all. Sometimes, I do not understand this woman, but I have to live with her, so I’m opting for the path of least resistance and going along to get along.

All this took Larry another 5 seconds. Then, they were past me and gone.

I could have pursued their imaginary story to various conclusions. I began to imagine that later that night, Larry gets murdered in his sleep, and June has no viable alibi. Or June disappears, and Larry is looking very suspicious. But, just then, a car pulled up next to mine and parked. There were two women in it who, once they got out, looked to be in their late ‘50s. When they opened their car doors and got out on either side, the woman on the passenger side looked over the roof at the other woman, apparently continuing a conversation, and said,

“It’s that ‘f …..ing’ Weight Watchers that screws you up.”

They continued their conversation as they ducked their heads into the car, pulling out their beach stuff, but I couldn’t hear anything more.

I thought there were a thousand directions their story could go from the little I heard, but I think I’ve had enough sun for today.