Because six weeks almost continuously with the four of us was not enough, we went to a beach house for the last days of the holiday. It was only for one night, to cover the summer. When we arrived it was still above 30 degrees, but it would cool off quickly, already that evening. The next day three couples were to get married, at three different beach bars in the area, and the strong north wind would destroy the words of the speeches about the blow the beach. At one wedding something was said about happiness, and the difference with being happy. I just didn’t catch it enough to say anything witty about it here. At the other wedding, a woman said the groom loved to tinker with his Honda and drive around with a lot of noise. Ah, I thought, so that’s you.
That same north wind forced me to climb on the roof of our beach house late at night in the dark because the rubber cover had come off. The flapping rubber made a sound as if someone had hosted a Honda club dinner with musical chairs on our roof. A bucket filled with sand helped. The satisfaction I experienced after completing the job is something I can only describe as exaggerated.
A few hours earlier the wind hadn’t come yet. The sun was shining warm, but was losing its strength, like a boxer in the final rounds of a fight. These were going to be the last hours of summer. On the horizon, behind the windmills, whole days loomed behind a desk and the school doors opened. Once more I rolled my feet in the soft sand, once more I reclined in a beach chair, once more I was annoyed by my swimming trunks that have no side pockets and once more I dropped chips in the sand. As always, it was over before I knew it. It cooled down and I put on a sweater.
Our daughters played in the water as the current kept pushing them a little south. The sea was warmer than the air outside, maybe that’s why they didn’t want to get out. We stood watching them, at the water’s edge, at the foot of the fall. They splashed and jumped and screamed and laughed. “If they don’t sleep in a minute now,” my friend said, “I don’t know what will.”
And now she doesn’t know anymore.