Beach
I don't often go to the beach. Sometimes it's just too much work to get there and back when all I want to do is avoid the world. But my cousin was visiting and a beach day seemed appropriate. I stretched out in the sun, reading a book with not a care in the world. A shadow fell across my face. I looked up at a young teenage boy who evidently wanted to speak with me. But he only wanted to speak French, no matter how many times I asked him to switch to the island language. He had only one speed-- fast-- and only one grammar style-- bad. Why did we have to talk, anyway? I had a book and was trying to get some sun. He had a soccer ball and was wanting to play soccer. Oh. Duh. He wants to play soccer. And I'm in the middle of the beach. Sigh. So I moved. They set up their goalposts and started their game. I resigned myself to sitting in the shade again. And such is life here. The beach isn't mine, it's ours. And the sooner I realize that, the faster I move f...