When the tires of our car hit the gravel, rumbling and jouncing the car back and forth, I know we’re here.
I look up from my phone and take in my surroundings. It seems to be late afternoon, and the sound of seagulls cawing erratically makes my heart leap in anticipation. I yank my earbuds out while simultaneously pausing my favorite Spotify playlist. I stuff them messily into the bag at my feet and glance at my twin sister, Catherine, knowing her brown hair will soon be streaked with blond highlights from the sun.  I try to move my legs from the sticky, hot car seat, preparing myself to jump out of the car as soon as it slows. The beach cottages pass one after the other as my mom drives down the bumpy lane. In between each beach house, the waves of the ocean are somewhat visible with the sun’s reflection making them glitter. The rattling eases after we reach cottage number nine. Our cottage.
“It’s cottage number nine, right?” my mom inquiries casually, looking back at Catherine and me.
Catherine starts throwing items at random into her bag as we both answer in unison, “Yeah.” I watch eagerly as my mom pushes the gear shift into park.
Looping my hand around the handles of my bag and grabbing my flip flops, which I had kicked off during the long ride, I throw the car door open and my feet touch the gravel rock. The intense heat, as well as the sharpness, of the rocks sear my feet, as they have been beaten down on all day by the sun.  The pain doesn’t faze me, however, as the thrill of just being here is the only thing that matters. I can’t believe we’re here in Cape Cod. I never, even for a second, thought that it would be odd to be back here. Cape Cod changed my life. It’s my happy place. The sense of privacy mixed with the calmness of the waves and all the activities that can be done here just sets Cape Cod apart.
The familiar feel of the sun on my face makes me feel whole, as I close my eyes to memorize this moment as much as I can. At the same time, I hear two more car doors slam in the background. “Ouch!” Catherine yelps in pain. I grin and turn to face her while she’s throwing her flip flops on the ground and quickly shoving her feet in. My mom, who seems like the only intelligent one who actually wore shoes, strides to the back of the car to throw open the trunk. Knowing us, the trunk is filled almost all the way up to the top. Beach bags, suitcases, computer holders, and, of course, containers of food, are crammed into the trunk. Here comes the fun part, I think to myself sarcastically.
“Girls, come help,” my mom calls out, starting to attempt the unpacking of the car. As much as I just want to burst into our cottage and see what it looks like, I make my way back to help. Thoughts of what we’re going to do tonight overtake the idea of labor on this hot, August day. Maybe we’ll venture to our favorite dinner place, followed by Sundae School ice cream. Or perhaps miniature golfing in town is in our near future. I feel giddy with all the possibilities. Nevertheless, being in Cape Cod has swept all worries away.
Glimpsing at Catherine, blowing a piece of hair out of her face while lugging her suitcase up the steps into the cottage, and then scanning my eyes to my mom, placing her keys into her purse, I feel lucky to be where I am right now. As much as Cape Cod is my happy place, wherever my family is, I’m fulfilled. Keen to start my vacation with my best friends, I reach into the car for the first object I lay my eyes on. I catch sight of the worn aqua beach bag that has been battered by years and years of use. Pulling the straps of the bag over my arm, I realize that so many memories are associated with this bag, and I’m ready to make some more.