Her.

I remember.

It was summer.

The heat wore boots.

Crackling air burnt my lungs.

Driving to the beach took hours.

The sand flies suckled my bare skin.

Beyond the waves, a wreck lay half submerged.

The lives of those onboard had long been forgotten.

Nine year old me wondered what happened to the ship.

When I asked my father, he said he did not know.

Perhaps there was a storm and in the dark they were lost.

As we stared past the breakers, a woman walked out of the surf.

She said to my father, "Be careful of the rip" and then she turned away.