The Beach

In 1983, a Belgian friend of mine whom I had known since childhood, invited me on a trip through Brittany and Normandy. It was a lovely trip. We also visited Versailles, since neither one of us had ever visited the famous castle. We also visited of course Omaha Beach, the place of the Normandy Invasion that brought an end to the Nazi terror and WW II. One night in Normandy, after a delicious dinner of local cuisine, my friend and I went for a walk on the beach. It was a beautiful evening, with a gorgeous red sunset, against the rhythm of the crashing waves of the sea. The beach was virtually deserted. A few people besides my friend and I were strolling along the water, and it was then I noticed two women in their late fifties swimming in the ocean. They got out of the water, laughing, topless, their tanned bodies muscular and strong, their long dark hair dripping wet. They seemed completely oblivious to any one around them, uncaring that their aging no longer beautiful upper bodies might offend a squeamish observer on the beach. I was intrigued by their ease with themselves and each other, their joy at being together on this beautiful beach. At 26, it seemed I was older than them in my more modest apparel and apparent reluctance to be equally free of inhibition and need for approval. The two women have stayed in my mind all these years, and I remember them with a certain melancholy. In 1983 my parents marriage became officially toxic, after years of more or less polite discord. My mother was terrorizing my father emotionally and drinking like crazy. My friend had invited me on this trip to get me away from it all for a while, as my parents " Dance of Death" spiraled out of control. Seeing the two women ,free, relaxed, obvious soul mates take life by the proverbial balls, was a powerful anti-dote to the hopeless stress my father and mother's marriage had devolved into. At 26 I was still trying to define myself, and the lethal disintegration of my parents' marriage certainly added fuel to the doubts and insecurities I was struggling with. The struggle for freedom and respect became a theme, and is ongoing, all these years later. So did the determination to continue the path to recovery and identity. On days that the battle for that identity and dignity is particularly challenged, and especially if I am near a beach, the two women come to mind. Free, strong, living life on their own terms. I never spoke to anyone about how strong an emotional impact these two women made on me at that moment in time, until a few days ago when I shared it with a friend of mine from my graduate days in Austin, with whom I have a connection of both honesty and emotional ease. I hope by the time I am old and grey, I will have become a free and strong woman, living life on my own terms, unencumbered by preconceived notions and fears.