|
Море волнуется раз
When we go to the beach, Momma usually reads, daydreams, or listens to music. I also read, daydream, and listen to music. Except I do it much faster than Momma. When there’s an ocean in front of you, no one has enough time to stuff his nose into a book.
Momma's adjusting her umbrella above her lounger, while I'm busy getting my feet wet, going in until the water reaches my knees and staring into the clear void of the ocean water. I see some pebbles, tiny jellyfish, bubbles that come out of nowhere, and my very own toes. I wiggle my toes around and greet them, as if they weren't mine. "Hello there, toes! How are you guys doing?" A few feet away from me, someone's probably blowing up a mattress, or eating cheese puffs, or just bathing in the rays of the sun as he stands facing the sea, hands propped behind his back.
Momma always tells me that she loves our beach - it's nice and quiet, and no one's forced to sit on top of anybody's head. Sitting on your head is uncomfortable, alright. My head wouldn't stand it if some guy, like that plump man down there on the beach, for example, decided to sit on it. The nice and quiet part, however, is not my cup of tea. That's where Momma went wrong, because our beach isn't so peaceful after all. Especially after the girls arrived at the nearby resort. How do you even get so many girls in one place at the same time? Momma got interested herself, so she asked the lady with a whistle on her neck who brought the girls down to the beach every day. Turns out that she wasn’t an ordinary lady - she was a trainer for the girls. The girls weren’t just girls either - they were gymnasts. While I wiggled my toes, the girls were doing a full body warm-up; they bent in different directions as though they were made out of wire. Afterwards, the girls were allowed to go in the water. Girls could never go in the water quietly. They shriek. The trainer, with her whistling, only helped the girls demolish the peace and quiet of the beach.
When the girls splash around in the water, the sea starts to brew, even if it was completely still before. It becomes worrisome, so to speak. How can one not become worried about the ocean, when it is so deep, bustling with beasts like sharks and stinging jellyfish. It pushes the girls out to let them gasp for an extra breath, and yet they jump back in, squealing from joy.
When the trainer blows the whistles three times, the water time is finished. The girls jump on one leg for a long time once they leave the water - the water leaves their ears better that way - then dry themselves with colorful towels and proceed to play a game.
One girl calls out to the others: “One, splash! Two, splash!, Three, splash! Freeze!”
The other girls freeze, and I can make out which ones tried turning into a fish, into a seashell, or into a sea star.
Then, the girls are lead away, for their life is but a routine. They might as well be practicing to reach their heels with their noses. This is what they call ‘competitive sports’. The sea grows worrisome, waiting for them to return on the following day. It misses the girls. The sea has a worrisome life of its own. And, if I’ll be honest, I’m a bit worried, too.
Momma's adjusting her umbrella above her lounger, while I'm busy getting my feet wet, going in until the water reaches my knees and staring into the clear void of the ocean water. I see some pebbles, tiny jellyfish, bubbles that come out of nowhere, and my very own toes. I wiggle my toes around and greet them, as if they weren't mine. "Hello there, toes! How are you guys doing?" A few feet away from me, someone's probably blowing up a mattress, or eating cheese puffs, or just bathing in the rays of the sun as he stands facing the sea, hands propped behind his back.
Momma always tells me that she loves our beach - it's nice and quiet, and no one's forced to sit on top of anybody's head. Sitting on your head is uncomfortable, alright. My head wouldn't stand it if some guy, like that plump man down there on the beach, for example, decided to sit on it. The nice and quiet part, however, is not my cup of tea. That's where Momma went wrong, because our beach isn't so peaceful after all. Especially after the girls arrived at the nearby resort. How do you even get so many girls in one place at the same time? Momma got interested herself, so she asked the lady with a whistle on her neck who brought the girls down to the beach every day. Turns out that she wasn’t an ordinary lady - she was a trainer for the girls. The girls weren’t just girls either - they were gymnasts. While I wiggled my toes, the girls were doing a full body warm-up; they bent in different directions as though they were made out of wire. Afterwards, the girls were allowed to go in the water. Girls could never go in the water quietly. They shriek. The trainer, with her whistling, only helped the girls demolish the peace and quiet of the beach.
When the girls splash around in the water, the sea starts to brew, even if it was completely still before. It becomes worrisome, so to speak. How can one not become worried about the ocean, when it is so deep, bustling with beasts like sharks and stinging jellyfish. It pushes the girls out to let them gasp for an extra breath, and yet they jump back in, squealing from joy.
When the trainer blows the whistles three times, the water time is finished. The girls jump on one leg for a long time once they leave the water - the water leaves their ears better that way - then dry themselves with colorful towels and proceed to play a game.
One girl calls out to the others: “One, splash! Two, splash!, Three, splash! Freeze!”
The other girls freeze, and I can make out which ones tried turning into a fish, into a seashell, or into a sea star.
Then, the girls are lead away, for their life is but a routine. They might as well be practicing to reach their heels with their noses. This is what they call ‘competitive sports’. The sea grows worrisome, waiting for them to return on the following day. It misses the girls. The sea has a worrisome life of its own. And, if I’ll be honest, I’m a bit worried, too.
