Watch the Sunrise

At 5:36 AM the sun, a strong orange light blending seamlessly together with various shades of burnt red, grew visible in the east. Starting about one-half hour earlier the dark black/ blue sky had fled quickly westward. All the stars had blinked out. 

 

Day’s first light spread as a thin strip across this ocean, water unusually calm for the start of July.  This early summer sun first appeared at first fiery but quickly turned into a softer warm glow. Extending its reach so easily, the new day brushed away the last of the night’s chill. As old Sol’s light came on the quickly rising warmth made it clear the day would eventually be a hot one.

 

Sitting in a lifeguard stand at that ungodly pre 6 AM hour, both their gazes focused on the east horizon. Each young man had been determined to see the night through to its end.  Wearing cutoff jean shorts, nylon windbreakers and sand filled tennis shoes, their feet draped down over the open side of the stand. 

 

The dampness of the seaside was in each and every article of clothing they wore.  The asses of their cutoff’s had a crusting of white/grey beach sand. From outside the stand, this raised box painted in old fashioned blue and white colors, one could see their feet were rhythmically swinging with nervous energy

 

The stand, really nothing more than an elevated box with three enclosed sides, a slightly slanted roof and an opening toward the water, had been their shelter in the last hour of the night.  Sitting elevated a few feet above the clammy beach sand, the duo looked out over the gently breaking waves toward the vanishing point. As the summer sun’s strength rapidly grew, they would have to turn their heads away. 

 

From the time they had reached the beach at 3:30 AM they had walked and talked nonstop. Before they set out, they stashed a paper bag containing an OJ/vodka mixture along with some food up in the grass atop the dunes.  As they headed south along the shoreline the young men talked in rapid sentences that would have made a beat poet proud. 

 

They hit the topics of life, love (mostly sex truth be told), school, parents, weed, God or god, and everything in-between and beyond. Hell, they had probably walked five, maybe six miles barefoot darting to and then away from the waves at the water’s edge. They rapped all night as it was called at the time. When the walk was over it was if all the words had been emptied out of their souls disappearing like water poured upon beach sand. 

 

The two of them hadn't wanted any trouble for breaking the beach curfew of 10 PM to 6 AM. Despite being posted on reflective white signs at each point of beach entry, this “curfew” was rather porous given the number of surf fisherman out at all hours of the night.  Essentially all you had to do to avoid the curfew was to carry some fishing tackle to the water’s edge. In the alternative you could simply stay at the water’s edge and walk into the surf if the police approached. The cops would not follow you in or really wait for you. This was the path they opted for.

 

They knew to be careful with the alcohol, hence the orange juice container and no actual vodka bottle.  They were of age but “open intoxicants” would get you a ticket out on the sand. Greater care had to be taken with their pot.  The young men when they had finished torching the half joint that had brought with them for their walk threw the roach into the waves as opposed to saving it in a cigarette pack.

 

Done with their walk, tired and out of things to say they retrieved their bag from atop the dunes.  They opened the tin of oysters, the Triscuits and the tub of spreadable port wine cheddar cheese.  Quietly they ate, washing these salty delights down with the sort of screwdriver mixture, and waited to make it through the night into the next day.  

 

While they ate quietly, they also ate ravenously. By the time the sun rose an empty paper quart container of orange juice, smelling suspiciously of vodka, lay sideways on the floor.  Also found there were an empty tin, an empty plastic pint tub, and an empty Triscuit box save for some stray fibrous strands. A Bic lighter stood up next to a half empty pack of Marlboros. The hard pack leaned against the side of the stand. 

 

By the time the sun had gotten high enough to drive the damp chill out of their bodies the pair had been silent for a good forty-five minutes.  Seemed like the spreading daylight had worked a spell on them.  The only sounds to be heard in that period were the shuffling noises when a new cigarette was pulled from the pack, the clicking of the flint on the light and the whoosh of the gas escaping to provide a flame. There were also the sounds of their feet swinging probably in an unconscious attempt to stay warm.

 

With the food, booze and weed gone, they smoked Marlboros staring at the glow at the end of the cigarettes. The goal had been to cycle through a complete day and night and then to watch the sunrise. As the sun came completely across the horizon, they knew they had made it.  Now they would go and grab their beach towels returning to the beach to sleep the morning away.