Sand Castle Sandy

Two stories from the sand. One is longer than the other, the other is shorter than the one. Why two? One allowed what the other wouldn't, the other did what the one couldn't. Similar, but not really. Read them in any order, it matters not, only I recommend not to read them back-to-back. Just too much sand.

This is the longer one, but not by much. Not sandsational, or even sandtastic, it's just slightly sandyllic.

First encouraged and then edited ages ago by Emotional. Then critiqued by someone I only know as Lambchop. Quite amazing what can happen when feedback is constructive and kind. My sincere thanks to both individuals. Only I fidgeted with it as I am endlessly wont to do so all mistakes are solely my own.

Oh, and I like to make up my own words, it's what makes all this fun for me. You've been warned.

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My face was so close to the castle, my nose was almost into the sand. I was in 'detailing' mode and needed my 2.5x reading glasses in order to see what I was carving away with by using the playing card. Not just any playing card, mind you, I only use the blue deck of plastic poker cards from the Bicycle company. I liked the stiffness and the pretty design of the spoked bicycle wheel on the back which always made me feel good, and it felt great in my hand. Today I was detailing using the Queen of Spades card, sometimes known as Calamity Jane. Don't know why it got that nickname, but I think she had something to do with the way this strange day's events unfolded.

I was totally in the zone. Sergei Rachmaninoff's Piano Concerto #2 loudly playing through my cordless earbuds as I used the corner of the playing card to cut the grooves into the sand, making the columns and walls of defense look like they were made of stone blocks. The stone would not be enough to save the king inside as I imagined the dragon that wrapped around the castle would surely prevail, it had already killed the king's knights who had tried to kill the dragon while he slept peacefully in his cave. Evil king. He needed to die, and my dragon was going to make that happen.

I was so in the zone that when I felt a hand on my shoulder, I uttered a cry of surprise and was lucky I didn't cut the primary castle tower in half with my Calamity Jane. The ear buds fell out of my ears and into the sand. My assistant said, "Sorry. I knew I was going to startle you and knew there was no good way to get your attention when you get like that, but you really have to see this." She pointed at the roped off station next to us with the pile of sand that had been transformed into the shape of a woman.

A man that I recognized as the competition official who checked me in the day before to my assigned and roped off station was standing outside of the ropes, he was wearing a polo shirt with a name badge pinned on it and holding a clipboard. He was having an argument with an emotional man who I recognized as a fellow competitor at the station next to mine, he was shirtless and only wearing some board shorts style bathing suit. Behind the official were two young men dressed in official logoed T-shirts, holding shovels in a way that resembled a firing squad holding their rifles at attention, preparing for an execution.

"I'm serious, Mr. Ranger," the official was stating, "this is not a request, it is an order. If you don't fix your sculpture, these guys behind me are going to take it down."

"There's nothing to fix," my sand castle neighbor barked back, clearly agitated. "There is nothing obscene about my sculpture!"

I looked over at his sculpture to get a good look at it as I had been so engrossed in mine all day that I hadn't kept track of his progress. It was actually very good. If a sculpture carved from sand could ever look realistic, this was the platinum standard. It was of a very curvy woman, a very beautiful one at that, with long flowing hair and wearing a bikini. She was laying on a towel on her side, resting with her head propped up by her arm, her hand in her hair behind her ear. She was looking right at the competition official, which is where the public would be viewing her over the weekend. What was striking was that she wasn't sculpted life size, but 2x or more, from her toes to her eyebrows it had to be 12 feet and from the pier to the peak of the sculpture being at least 6 feet.

"What's going on?" I softly asked my assistant, a college art student that I always used when I was in San Diego.

She responded softly in reply, "You wouldn't believe it. They have a problem with nipples, apparently."

"Just fix it," the official barked, making it clear he wasn't going to back down. "This is a family exhibition."

My neighbor was exasperated. "Oh my god. So, the human body, as they are born, will effectively destroy a child's mind. That's ridiculous." He walked to the rope until standing right in front of the official and put a piece of paper in his face, clear from even where I was standing that it was a printed photograph of the real-life woman depicted in his sculpture. "Look. My wife has nipple bumps showing from under her bathing suit, and I took this photo last year, right over there!" He pointed to the beach connected to the pier we were on. "Just look at all those other women out on that beach and aaaall those nipples poking you in the eyes from behind their bathing suit." He took a deep breath before continuing, "What about me? I have nipples and they aren't even covered with anything."

Then he said something that made me laugh inside. He pointed at me and continued his rant, "What about her?! I can see her nipples, should she be kicked off this pier because she's not 'family friendly'?"

I looked down at my chest, and yeah, he was right. I was wearing a modest bikini top above my cutoff jeans, and my nipples were pushing out from behind a little, forming visible bumps to anyone that looked, but so what?

The guy just stood there, almost panting, finally out of words. The official just shook his head and motioned to the two guys with shovels. "Take it down, boys."

Only I had crossed the rope ahead of the official's order, slipping behind my neighbor, and in three steps was face to face with the sand sculpture's boobs. "Sorry I have to do this to you, honey." With my Calamity Jane card in hand, in one swift motion I surgically shaved off one nipple, and then the other. Clean enough that no one would know that they had ever been there.

I noted that the printed Queen of Spades had a sad look of disapproval on her face while I did it. Maybe that was why the imaginary king who inhabited my castle had to die, the dragon was bringing justice to assholes like the competition official. I would invite the Queen of Spades to live in my castle after the king was dispatched.

I turned to the stunned group behind me and addressed no one in particular, "I couldn't bear to see this beautiful woman taken down."

With the would-be executioners and their officer satisfied, they turned and left. My neighbor just plopped down on the sand on his butt and with his knees to his chest stared longingly at his sculpture.

I knelt down to his level, "Sorry I had to do that, really, I am. You were right all along, they were being seriously stupid. I hope you aren't too angry with me. I just couldn't let her get knocked down. It is really very good." He just nodded his head, kind of expressionless. I couldn't read what he was thinking.

He didn't respond, so I introduced myself, "My name is Sandy."

That got his attention as he thought about it and a smile grew on his face, "Sandy?" I affirmed with a nod and he chuckled. "It fits you."

I'm glad he got it. "And you are...?"

"Oh," he said, his wits about him again, "I'm Rick."

"Nice to meet you, Rick. Now. What's your sand sculpture's story?"

"Story?"

"Sure," I responded with enthusiasm, "every sand castle, sculpture, piece of art has a story. What's yours?"

"Oh, um. I sculpted my wife."

I took the printout of the picture from his hand that he was still holding it in and looked at it closely, glad I had kept my reading glasses on. There was more to it than just a woman laying out at the beach. She was looking at the camera with a radiant smile that lit up her whole face, and she was in love. It was unmistakable.

It was perfectly rendered in sand before us. Remarkable, really. Utterly captured and communicated to anyone who would see it.

"OK, I get it," I told him, "but, you left out the story. What is the story here? With that smile and her look, I bet it's a good one."

He gulped and then looked at the giant woman and said, "It was a perfect day. We were just hanging out at this very beach and talking about our future. I was almost drunk with love for her. We were going to start a family. It was kind of the last good moment we had before she got sick."

Oh, shit. Me and my big mouth. "I'm sorry." That was all I could think of to say.

I thought maybe I could distract him, get us out of the funk we were now both in, "Want to see mine?" He looked at me curiously. "My castle. Want to see my sand castle?"

A look of understanding crossed his face and he got up and walked over with me to my pile where my assistant was moving sand around in buckets to where I needed it. She looked at me with raised eyebrows before going to the cooler to get some water.

He looked at my work and walked around the pile to see all of it. The castle parts of my sand castle were a series of cylindrical columns connected by walls, but dominated with a central tower that was a larger diameter and taller than all the rest. A massive, winged dragon, larger than the castle itself, wrapped around the structure in its entirety but the central focus was where the dragon had risen above the main tower and was reaching deep into it with angry determination.

I explained, "The king inside is evil and made the good dragon mad. This is the moment just before he pulls the king up with his claws and then roasts him with his flamey breath. After that, the good queen is going to move in and the dragon will protect the castle for the duration of her reign." I smiled up at him and he smiled back.

Ignoring my crazy, he said, sounding honest about it, "You are very good. It's fantastic."

"Thanks. I got my only first place win of the season here last year. I have to be honest though, mine is just classic sand castle with a lot of fine detail, and everyone loves a dragon. But seriously, I can't do what you can do. Your sculpture conveys emotion, real feeling. Mine is just pure fantasy."

"Baloney," he responded, "You can feel the anger in your dragon. That's going to scare some children."

"More than a pair of nipple bumps?" I asked with a smile.

He laughed out loud. It was a nice laugh. He had looked a little grizzled, a little scary even, when he was arguing with the official. Then he looked like a sad little boy when he talked about his wife. Now, with the smile on his face, he was quite handsome, and he looked friendly and kind. Funny how first impressions could tell the wrong story, only the overarching truth was that I could tell he was damaged goods. I knew the feeling well.

I let a deep breath out, "Well, I have a lot of detailing left to do, it's going to be a long day for me."

"I'll let you get to it."

"So, are you mad at me for changing your sculpture?" I asked again, before he could leave.

"No, it's OK. Actually, thank you for that. I just couldn't do it myself."

I felt better about the whole thing now. "Well, good luck tomorrow. I think you can win this thing. Don't forget, you need to carve a badge at the base of it with 'San Diego' written in the sand for the photographers or you'll be disqualified."

He gave me a wan smile, "Oh, I didn't come here for a trophy. It was nice to meet you, Sandy." Then he went over to his sculpture, looking her in the eyes for a minute before picking up his tools and I watched him as he walked off the pier and then totally off the beach."

*

It took me the rest of the day to do the detailing. I had sent my assistant home and she was nice enough to remind me to put a shirt on as I was starting to get a little red. I tend to do that when I get into the zone.

It was hard not to think about Rick. There was something about him that just resonated in my mind, but I couldn't put my finger on what it was.

I had to work very hard to bring my dragon narrative to the front of my conscience so I could get all my detailing done, and done right. The dragon felt around the bottom floor of the castle with his claws and came across the king who was cowering in the corner of the turret. He started warming up the flame in his belly for the fierce revenge he was about to execute and sent a mental image to the good queen. Her new home was about to be ready for her.

Finally, when I thought I would do more damage than good if I kept at it, I gathered my tools and walked off the beach to the parking lot where my old piece-of-shit RV was waiting. I tossed my tools inside and opened all the windows so the interior would cool down, then shimmied off my cutoff jeans, leaving me in only my bikini top and bottoms. I was thankful it was a short walk to the public bathrooms which had a number of outdoor shower heads I could use to wash the sand off of me.

I wished they had private showers inside the bathrooms but beggars can't be choosy, the plumbing in the RV having been broken since I was a child. I was just covered in sand, from head to toe, but that wasn't the worst of it. Throughout the day, sand had migrated to every nook and cranny underneath my suit, including into my privates. I had to pull and pluck my suit away from my body with one hand while using my other hand and the spray of the water to get it all out. I've drawn an annoying crowd of teenage boys that eagerly watched me do it many times, but thankfully not this evening.

I made a sandwich within my RV and then took a stroll along the coast. It was dark now, and I could picture my mother scolding me. A young lady shouldn't walk along a dark beach unaccompanied. "Oh, Mother," I said out loud.

Before returning, I found my favorite boulder at the base of the bluff and was just able to climb on top and look out at the blackness of the Pacific. The tide was coming in and I listened to the wave therapy until a feeling of peace came over me. I needed this.

Like little needles trying to pop a balloon, my peace was challenged by the shadowy figures strolling along the beach hand in hand, partially illuminated by the moonlight. Their ages ranged from very young to very old. The love these couples shared didn't seem to have prejudice. I envied them a little but knew that it just wasn't in the cards for me. I wasn't ever going to get to experience that.

I was much safer alone, up on my rock in the dark. What a perfect metaphor for my future.

*

When I approached the pier on my way back up the beach, I could see that it was all lit up from flickering replicas of gas lamps lined along the pier. They created weird shadows from the many sand castles that would be judged in the morning and then displayed to the public the rest of the weekend. I pulled my distance glasses out from my shirt pocket and then stopped and looked for my dragon which I spotted right where I left it. Next to that of course was Rick's sculpture and I could see her face looking right at me.

I had the weirdest feeling she wanted me to get closer. I had planned on it anyway, I wanted to check on my dragon to see if any bits or pieces fell off due to the sand drying out and then the temperature change with the sun now down. It happens sometimes.

At the entrance to the pier, I flashed my pass card at the security rope to the guard keeping the sand sculptures safe overnight, and made my way to my castle. The flickering light made the shadows even weirder up close. Creepy even but also a little playful with some of the more dramatic competition entries.

As I got nearer to mine, I was drawn to Rick's wife's face until I noticed that there was a lone figure, sitting on the sand in front of it. It was Rick. He was talking to his sculpture. He paused and tried to take a deep pull from a bottle in a paper bag, tilting it slowly until pointing it straight up in the air from his lips, but it must have been empty now, so he tossed it at his feet. I got closer, trying not to startle him.

In a slurred and sometimes incoherent monologue, I overheard him tell her how much he loved her. Flawed in cadence from the alcohol, but it was still so genuine and sweet that I felt a warm tear slip down my cheek. Then he went on to tell her how much he missed her. It was so heartfelt that I felt a tear slide down my other cheek. I had to wipe both my eyes.

Then his tone changed, sounding, well, just kind of off. "I'm doing fine though. I'm juuuust fine. Everyone tells me so too. I'm actually doing great. Just like you made me promise. I'm doing great. Oh! Did I tell you I ate some vegetables? It was broccoli. You didn't think I would without you there to tell me to, but I did. See? I'm going to be OK."

Then he started sobbing with his head in his hands. My heart broke into a million little pieces for this relative stranger and I started to lightly cry. I was glad there was nobody else on the pier to see any of this.

I had to pull myself together. I didn't even know this guy, what could I even do? I somehow managed to turn off my own waterworks, wiped my eyes dry with my shirt sleeve and was going to back away and leave him alone but my feet wouldn't take me.

Something made me glance at the sculpture as I stood there feeling helpless. Her eyes, it was something about the eyes. They were pleading with me. They were asking me, begging really, she didn't want me to leave him alone like this.

*

I was a little angry with myself. My imagination runs away with me sometimes and I do stupid things. This was a doozy. A sand sculpture is just what it is, and it can't ask me to do anything or make me feel guilty or make me want to do something for this helpless soul, but my stupid imagination can. Only this one I took too far.

I covered Rick up in a blanket as he lay on the bed converted from the RV dining table and benches. I had somehow managed to convince him to stay the night and we walked (stumbled) here together. There was no other way. I couldn't trust him to make his way home on his own, wherever that even is.

What would my mother think? I would never hear the end of it. Shit, forget my mother, what do I say to myself about my own actions? This is crazy. A strange man, drunk off his ass, sleeping in my RV only 6 feet away from the double bed at the back wall of the RV where I intended to sleep. I was lucky to even get the table to convert, it hadn't been set up that way since before Dad died when I would share it with my sister on one of our road trips to some national park every summer. If I hadn't been able to convert it, what would I have done then? Oh, god.

I looked down on him and asked him not to puke in the bed. He promised he wouldn't and then he closed his eyes. I turned out the light and crawled into my own bed.

I was ruminating over the events of the day, too hyped up to sleep, when I heard Rick moan about 15 minutes after lights-out. "I lied to her tonight. I've only lied to her one other time. The first time, I promised her I'd look for someone new after she was gone. Then tonight. I told her I was doing fine."

I didn't know what to say. It was all so sad. Then I thought of something. "Rick. Did you actually eat broccoli like you told her tonight?"

"What? Oh. Yes, I did."

"Good," I assured him while lying through my teeth. "That's the important one. If you had lied about eating broccoli, she would have been really hurt. The other things don't mean anything."