I used to love the beach. Calming waves lapping against the shore with the thick sea spray dancing through the air. There’s something tranquil about it, calling me to its reaches. It’s worth every scratch from the coral; every sunburn between my shoulders where the sunscreen just won’t reach. Me and my sister used to spend all day wandering on the shores of the Atlantic. Laughing at seagulls and finding the shells lost in the sand. That was until my sister died. 

                                                               🐚 🐚 🐚

     Sorry—I hate that word. Sorry can’t erase grief. Sorry can’t bring back the dead. Every sorry is just another empty apology that can’t do anything. I glance up into another face, who will soon be a blur in the past. Quickly thanking them for their condolences, I peer into the sky. Rain drenching my face, hair, clothes—the sky mourning with me. Standing in a gray graveyard, with gray covered people, and gray rain streaking everything. All I want is to go home and curl up in my bed; wishing that this was all a dream.  

     My sister, Sara, died. Sara was snorkeling at the coral reef, just off the coast of Virginia. Some person, who was afraid of sharks, decided she was one and hit her—dead on with a speedboat. The driver realized she was a human, but didn’t stop to see if Sara was alive. They just left her bleeding to death in the water. The Coast Guard found her almost dead floating in the shark and blood filled water. Sara’s last wish was to see me. Now standing at her funeral, I hope she’s at peace. When your last moments are filled with pain, dying must be like a sanctuary, somewhere to escape. 

     My mom’s voice echoes in my ear, “Jenna, it’s time to go,” I look numbly at her. She doesn’t really understand my pain—me and my sister are adopted. Being left alone on the beach at a young age helped me and my sister bond. This makes it so much harder on me. My “family” doesn’t understand, they are just there to feed us, keep us healthy. Neither of my adoptive parents even cried at the funeral. 

     She shakes me, “If you have anything you want to add to her grave, do it now.”

     I cringe at the word ‘grave’ and slowly take my hand out of my dress pocket. Pulling out the small Scotch Bonnet shell that Sara and I found on an expedition to the southern end of the large beach. We had spent all day digging through the sand to find the perfect shell for Sara’s collection. I brush the tears forming in my eyes. Turning towards Sara’s grave, I gently place it on top and walk away. 

                                                          🐚 🐚 🐚

     The Coast Guard found Sara’s body, but they never found her bracelet. When we were given to the orphanage, both of us had a bracelet. The last connection to our old life. It was a very simple piece of jewelry, our name engraved on a plain white strip of stone. This was connected to two shells, the rest of it was just string. Neither of us ever took that bracelet off, it was like a law. Lying here on the couch, a hollow feeling fills me, realizing that I will never have something of Sara’s to hold close—to remember her. Mom already gave away all Sara’s clothes. According to Mom, we didn’t need them because they didn’t fit me, but I would have kept them if I had a choice. 

     “Jenna, bedtime,” Mom calls from upstairs. 

     “Could I sleep down here?” Perhaps I won’t have to sleep in Sara’s and my room. I haven’t had the courage to go into my shared room—too afraid of the sad memories it holds.

     “No, you can’t,” Filled with finality, I know I don’t stand a chance against my adoptive mother’s stubbornness.

     At the top of the stairs, I pause, dreading the first step into the sadness of the recollection of the fun we’ve had. Stopping with my hand on the door handle, I take a deep breath. Opening the door is like getting hit with a tsunami of feelings. Joy, fear, sadness, love, and home. The dark blue ceiling is covered in glow-in-the-dark stars. Hanging from the light lilac walls are beautifully crafted glass bulbs filled with water. Along with pictures of younger Sara and me standing on the beach, digging in sand, and covered in ice cream. Sara had added those to make it feel like we were always outside—on the beach, our second home. Each corner of the room had a bed, sandy brown wood with a quilt that looked like water. On a small desk stood Sara’s shell collection—the Scottish Bonnet is now missing from the messy rows of shells. White curtains hung from a large window overlooking the beach. The last thing in the room is a bookshelf and a beanbag. The shelf is filled with books including, The Land of Stories, my favorite read aloud, informational books about the ocean, and environmental conservation.

     I take a deep breath and head for the bed to the left. My bed is always perfectly made up; Unlike Sara’s, whose bed is still a mess after death. I just lay there staring up at the twinkling stars above—trying to imagine what this would be like if Sara was there. She’d laugh, find something to make a joke about from earlier that day. When mom came in to tell us lights out, we’d whisper into the darkness long after she left. We’d play the what if game.

What if we lived on the beach?

                                                                        I’d giggle at her silliness. We live on the beach.

What if we didn’t sleep in a house, but under the stars?

                                                                          What if we lived on an island all to ourselves?

What if there was no one to tell us when to go to bed?

                                                                      What if we made friends with the animals there?

What if we knew who our actual parents are?

                                                        What if they lived with us? Told us stories under the stars.

What if I love you?

                                                                                                        What if I love you more?

     Now she’s gone and I have to whisper my own fantasies into the shadows until sleep takes me.

                                                          🐚 🐚 🐚

     The next morning, I watch the sun slowly raise itself over the horizon. Rays of light hit the ocean, sending the hallucination of ripples through the sand. Walking along the beach, I look for the perfect spot to enter the water for a dawn swim. The beach’s lifeguards get there at 10 o’clock, but I’ve been swimming since before I could walk. I don’t need them watching over me, yelling at me once I’ve gone too far. Finally, I spot the calm pool that has no current and leads out to the coral reef. I realize I didn’t bother to check the flag. It tells the swimmers whether it’s safe to enter the water. I shrug off my worries, nothing matters anymore. Nothing probably ever will. 

     I slip into my flippers and snorkel. Looking around to see if there’s anyone who might see me. The beach is empty. Wading out into the water is always a slight shock, the salty water hitting my swimsuit for the first time. The chill running down my spine as I get further and further away from the shore. At last I hit the drop off, then the start of the coral reef. I feel my body propelling itself towards the sight of Sara’s death. 

     The coral reef below me is teeming with the usual morning life. Fish dart between anemones, and turtles swim in lazy circles around sea sponges. Every once in a while, a nurse shark moves from its spot on the reef bottom—stirring up a flurry of sand. Reaching the surface, I take a deep breath before turning  back to the world below me. The reef dips down, making the bottom about twenty-five feet under the water. A dolphin shoots past me in a flurry of bubbles—there’s something in its mouth, something familiar.

     I kick as hard as I can. I can not lose this dolphin because in its mouth is Sara’s bracelet. The small shells glittering as the dolphin streaks through the water. My brain tells me it’s hopeless, dolphins can swim much faster than humans, but I can’t lose the bracelet. I’ve been swimming as hard as I can for about half-an-hour when a miracle happens. The dolphin drops the bracelet. The bracelet floats gently to the bottom and lands in a poof of sand. 

     Breathing hard, I stop. I take a moment to take in my surroundings, my heart drops. I have no idea where I am; the shore isn’t in sight and the coral reef isn’t within my line of vision. The ocean floor is still about twenty-five feet below me, but that doesn’t really matter—I could be just about anywhere you can get in thirty minutes. But that doesn’t matter, as long as I get what I swam out here for. For the first time since Sara’s death, I feel something besides the numb cold pain that consumes me. A tiny sliver of something warm fights back. Hope.

     Glancing down, I see the tiny flicker of light emanating from the small object. With a deep breath, I dive. I lose sight of the sky as water closes in around me. The water flows and shifts with my movements as I swim slowly down towards the sandy bottom. Pressure builds in my ears halfway there. I swallow and the pressure releases. Finishing my descent to the bottom, I take in the sight of my sister’s most prized possession. I grab at, sending up a storm of sand, but missing the bracelet. I feel a tightening pain in my chest. How long have I been under the water?

      I glance down and begin frantically searching for the bracelet that was lost when I tried to grab it the first time. The pain in my chest grows and I fight the urge to take a breath. I begin feeling through the sandy bottom. At last I feel the solid object; gripping it between my fingers, I slide it up onto my wrist. Fighting the urge to breathe is harder now, black spots build up at the corner of my vision. I won’t be able to make it to the surface. It looks so far away, the sun’s rays barely making it to the bottom, but now it’s so close I could reach out to touch it. The black spots have knocked out my vision, but I give in to the darkness, the pain subsides too. With Sara’s face clear in my mind, I let go.