Photograph by John D. Stanton 3AMBlue
At the Seaside, by the Sea
by Florence Stanton © 2007
Danny was impatient to get to the caves. “C'mon, Paul!” he yelled.
Danny insisted they drive to the beach that day, and Paul complied. His brother was a comical figure at five foot nine, two hundred-thirty pounds and thirty two years old, running along the shoreline in a worn UltraMan jacket and baggy khaki shorts, his squirt bottle, magic pouch, and Gamepod flopping from the loops of his waistband and his pockets loaded down with favorite rocks.
“C'mon, Paul!” he yelled again.
“I'm coming, I'm coming,” Paul laughed.
This was a special day. It was meant just for the two of them, and when Paul spotted a familiar figure far up the sand he slowed down so they wouldn't catch up to him. They had already passed their old picnic spot on the dunes, where their mother spread out a tablecloth and gave them sandwiches and lemonade and their dad tickled her and teased her and played with her silken hair. Their sons never stayed with them long, though. They always headed for the caves.
Danny had stopped anyway. He spent a few minutes poking at a mess of dead fish left by some fisherman, then dropped his stick and moved on to the serious business of collecting rocks, ordinary stones that were somehow special to him. He stuffed the big ones in his pockets and kept the smaller ones in his magic pouch with his jacks and colored beads and lucky playing card, the eight-of-diamonds.
Danny was abnormally quiet that day. He felt at ease with Paul. Sometimes, Paul thought, comfortable with only him, and Danny usually kept up a steady stream of chatter about the heroes and villains and leprechauns and fairies that inhabited his magical world.
They passed the stretch of beach where they played Frisbee and chased waves with their old Airedale Rufus, and Paul felt a pang of grief for days gone by. Both parents were now gone, their father the week before, and they should be getting back soon. Paul was driving his little brother to his new home upstate the next day. The Hoffman Center was a fine facility for the treatment of the developmentally challenged and came highly recommended.
When they got to the rocks by the caves Danny climbed up on them and called for Paul to watch as their parents had. “Paul!” He flung his arms out to the wind. A spray of salt water splashed the front of his shorts and it looked like he peed his khakis. Paul laughed as he was supposed to and Danny turned and smiled his “Danny” grin.
“I don't feel safe with him here,” Paul's wife Maribeth said in bed the night before. “I'm glad you're taking him away. Today he almost broke Teddy's arm playing keep-away.” It was an exaggeration. Their four-year-old was sturdy and fearless, and when Teddy told Paul about his playtime with Danny he didn't mention any near injuries.
“He's not the gentle giant you remember, Paul,” she said before turning over. Bullshit. Maribeth felt safe in accusing her brother-in-law because with his departure the issue of the children's safety was moot. Six-year-old Serena stayed in her room when her uncle visited.
To the rocks and back to the dunes they strolled.
They flung themselves down on the sea grass and looked up at the sky. Sand slipped
under their shirts and crept down their pants and slid into their socks and hair and ears. Fuck it, thought Paul. That's what washing machines and showers are for. They buried their feet in the still warm sand and watched the clouds scuttle away, hurrying home before sunset. Dune-shadows crossed their faces and the blue expanse turned vibrant shades of pink and orange.
Paul closed his eyes and drifted asleep, the easy susurrus of the waves lulling him along.
Danny elbowed him awake. His other arm was raised upward, a chubby finger pointing at the first stars.
“Painted on,” Paul said, and could feel Danny grinning. Their dad must have said it a thousand times, and he liked hearing Paul say it, too.
“That must be the neatest job in Heaven, Star Painter,” said Danny.
Paul risked an argument. “Uh-uh. Rainbow maker.”
“Santa Claus!” said Danny, bolting up.
Danny knew their parents were high above the clouds in Heaven, waiting (with Rufus) for them, and Danny thought Santa Claus must live there, too.
“Santa it is,” said Paul, and Danny smiled his “I've got a secret” smile, the one he wore after Sunday School.
Suddenly Danny sprang up. “Let's go to the caves,” he remembered and before Paul could say anything ran toward the cliffs that lined the beach. There were openings in the rock face, dozens of them, and they'd found a special one just for them that was hidden by scrub trees and visible only at low tide. It led to a honeycomb of tunnels through the surrounding hills.
Danny reached the entrance before Paul and bent his large frame through the narrow doorway. Paul followed into the cool darkness of the cave, and a huge cavern opened up before them.
They were East of the Sun and West of the Moon, and here a nightingale sang for the emperor. Deep within the cliffs down secret passageways frolicked leprechauns and fairies and trolls. Magic fish granted wishes and mermaids transformed into beautiful princesses. In this Grand Hall a colony of trolls held court and the King of the Trolls condemned the suitor of his daughter to a soggy doom. Far inside the mountain lived giants and ogres of old.
Paul found a candle stuck in a niche near the entrance and felt an unexpected jealousy. Had someone invaded their sanctuary? Of course other explorers had come, had marveled at the fantastic rock formations and luminous mineral pools and labyrinth of tunnels. He placed it back in the recess for their fellow adventurer's next visit.
“Hello!” Paul yelled suddenly, and the walls echoed him back.
“Hello!” Danny shouted, too, and they “Hello!”-ed back and forth as bats shrieked and swooped above them and the walls rang with their voices.
As the last echo died out Paul said, “C'mon, Danny, we have to go.” But he wasn't ready just yet. They had to take their tour, with Danny as guide. He shot down the first tunnel, listening for minotaurs that ate unsuspecting tourists. At this spot the wicked witch devised her nasty plot against Sleeping Beauty. Along this passageway the seven dwarves whistled as they mined for gold. Here Rumpelstiltskin spun his wheel and evil plans.
They came at last to the wishing pool, a deep green collection of mineral-rich water dripped from the ceiling flanked by marvelous double-trunked stalagmites. Years passed before another drop fell. It was a place for secrets shared. Here Danny told Paul he could fly, and had seen the castle of the Ice Queen on the other side of the moon. This was where Paul confessed his crush on Alice Ann, their next-door neighbor, and Danny promised he'd never tell a living, breathing soul.
Danny held out a penny he fished from his pockets, shut his eyes tight and threw it into the pool. One wish per customer per visit, Paul thought, and he wondered what Danny was using his wish for. It had to be for something special. An extra pair of leggings for the snowy days upstate? he wondered. The latest issue of UltraMan? A new DVD? The Deluxe edition of Slopes and Slides, his favorite board game?
“I wish Maribeth liked me,” Danny said.
How impossible that was! His wife was a dear, vain, sweet, selfish, lovely woman who ignored his warnings of how thin were the walls in their luxurious house. And Danny had heard them the night before, had listened while the Snow Queen lied, had heard Paul say nothing.
And Danny wished she liked him! Maribeth, who on waking ran to her mirror and checked who was indeed the fairest of them all. Maribeth, who sent her children away daily and spent her days cackling with friends and brewing noxious pots of kelp and tofu. If Danny came into her life he'd have to squeeze in between her pilates classes and hair appointments, nannies and car pools, lunching and shopping.
It would mean frequent-flyer Paul had to start coming home early, settling for a desk job at half-pay. It meant Teddy and Serena needed to make room for their uncle in their busy world of school, playdates, and soccer practices.
It meant luring his precious children away from the Disney Channel and game machines and DVD players. It meant weaving a spell around Maribeth as he had in college, when he won the love of the prettiest girl on campus over all her other suitors.
And it meant canceling the new arrangements- difficult, expensive arrangements- he'd just made with the Hoffman Center. Papers were signed, promises tendered.
The ache in his jaw told Paul he'd set his mind to it.
Because it meant trips to the zoo and the planetarium and long evening hours reading Grimm and Asbjornsen, Perrault and Andersen. Because it meant listening to Danny's own stories of knights and ogres and princesses and magic rocks and helping him draw the pictures that went with them. Because it meant playing endless games of Slopes and Slides and Ultraman scenarios and getting a smelly dog that played Frisbee in the back yard. Because it meant lazy days on the beach and long summer nights flopped on scratchy grass gazing at painted-on stars.
The second penny sat on the pudgy palm of Paul's sweet, beautiful, damaged little brother.
“Aren't you gonna make a wish, Paul?” he said.
Paul shook his head. “I don't need to, Danny,” he said, and they headed for home.
***
Flo Stanton lives in Indianapolis with her writer/photographer husband John and two cats. Her stories, articles, photography and poetry have appeared in a range of publications, from subterranean presses to true crime and literary magazines to The Indianapolis Star. You can reach her at www.flostanton.com