It was the summer of 2004, a steamy June Nantucket day bustling with beach bags and ice cream dripping down little hands. I vividly remember every detail of her, a moment first etched into my eyes but then sliding into some part of my soul.
Tucked under a tilted umbrella and sunk comfortably into my slingback chair, I glanced up from my beach-weathered paperback (from Seagull's Used Books around the corner) as she walked by in her tan bare feet. Despite her age, perhaps 75 I pondered, she carried herself with ease, grace, and confidence. A smirk sat on her lips like someone with a juicy bit of gossip she was about to spill over afternoon cocktails.
With thick grey hair knotted up in a bun under a wide-brim hat and a white one-piece with a simple black sarong, I watched discreetly under my sunglasses, tilting my chin back down, pretending I was immersed in my book, but keeping my eyes on her. She lifted her arm and waved her hand down the beach. My eyes followed the direction of her wave toward a group of women tucked against a bank of sea grass covered in shade by mismatched umbrellas.
The gingham blanket they shared held an open bottle of prosecco, which sat open on its side, long ago emptied. Grapes, crackers, and a few watermelon wedges sat in a flat wicker tray. Folded cloth napkins were tucked safely under the corner so they'd stay put in the summer breeze.
The gaggle of chic women waved back to her with beaconing smiles, and my summer read about a lighthouse mystery now felt insignificant to the real-life scene near me. I felt desperately like I wanted to be part of their lives, but how? I attempted to take myself back to the pages of a cold and weathered story taking place in Maine but could not keep focus. Instead, I stole peeks and secretly watched them.
Minutes later, feeling unsettled, like an important piece of me was missing, I hoisted myself out of my chair. With no real plan in mind, I started walking toward them. In a hurry, I concocted a couple of poorly thought-out cliche questions: "Pardon me, do you have a bottle opener?" But I thought this through and realized when they handed me one to borrow, I'd have no bottle to open. Or, "Do you know of a good lunch place you can recommend?" but that question also seemed impossibly lame.
So, with my shoulders back and my sunglasses tucked on top of my head, I bravely walked straight up to them and said, "Hello, my name is Susan. I've been sitting over there by myself (gesturing with my hand) and could not help but notice how fabulous and fun you all look. Do you have room for one more?"
I could barely believe the bold words that spilled out of my mouth! They were not part of any earlier plan. I could almost hear my mother gasping 6 states away at my rudeness, inviting myself over. But then I could also hear my grandmother on the other shoulder quip back with confidence, "Ask for what you want deary! Worst case is they say no and you're back to your book!"
There was a 1 second pause, which could have been 10 minutes, but then they all smiled and said "Yes, yes Susan, the more the merrier!"
Photo by me. Story is fictional, but inspired by a friend’s Nantucket beach day.
Another fabulous story,if only we all could step out of our comfort zone,think of how interesting life can be when we take a chance.
I'm waiting for your first novel but, until then, I'll love each one of these lovely stories and the way you draw us in and make us a part of the story!