Inspired in part by today’s Daily Prompt: What’s your dream tourist destination — either a place you’ve been and loved, or a place you’d love to visit? What about it speaks to you?
“Seriously, Dad, what are you going to do, swim the entire time?”
Vincent smiled as he watched Dorinda continue talking, imagining the ‘argument’ he had seen from her several times before, the average length being a minute for every year of her age. Yes, she protested the beach, but it always ended the same way, with him coaxing her to come into the hotel room long after the sun had set.
The beauty of the waves required no words, even as they played their ‘listen to the seashell’ games. He loved how her eyes twinkled, tiny fingers telling him what he was supposed to hear. From airplanes and boa constrictors to violins and xylophones, Dora’s imagination was endless. She could create as many stories as there were shells or sands on the shore, skipping barefoot along the way, dashing waves yet daring to wade.
He had his fears of Dora being swept away by the waves – a more concrete fear that replaced ones of a certain thief in the night trying to claim a child that was never theirs. However, Vincent knew she’d keep far from the water, even now.
Those were the times he remembered as he saw her back reflected in the window. Every vacation began with a protest, accompanied by a waiting game that he always won, and ending with an itinerary she planned; the proposed ‘sand bucket list’ getting longer and more daring each time.
“I know, I know,” Dorinda muttered, grabbing the tattered travel bible from the bookcase, “the awesomeness of God’s creation, limitless as the horizon where water and sky meet, where the Son never sets.”
Vincent bit the inside of his cheek, lest he were caught laughing at her. The voice may have changed along with the height of the child, but the imagined tone remained the same. It was one of the small blessings he enjoyed, these long weekend escapes to the beach with her, just the two of them. He could never, would never grow tired of them.
(Today’s SoCNoC count: 733)