It’s also about the only place on Dune Island where you can’t find any fudge or commemorative T-shirts. Angelo’s looks so salt-torn and shacky, you’d never know they make these incredible gourmet po’ boys at a counter in the back. Probably because the sole retail establishment there is Angelo’s BeachMart. I’d spend my mornings on the North Peninsula, where tourists rarely venture. It was going to be just like the summer before it, and the summer before that. I knew exactly what to expect of the season. It’s hard to fall for a guy once you’ve seen him with a nostril full of snack food, even if he was only three at the time.Īnd here’s one other thing I knew as I pedaled my bike to the beach on that first night of my sixteenth summer.
Which is to say, I’d seen most of them cry, throw up blue modeling clay, or stick Cheetos up their noses. Most of us had known one another since we were all at the Little Sea Turtle Play School on the north end of the island. While the “shoobees” who invaded the island every summer tiptoed around our famously delicate dunes (in their spotless, still-sporting-the-price-tag rubber shoes), I knew how to pick my way through the long, fuzzy grass without crushing a single blade.Īnd I definitely knew every boy in my high school. You went to The Scoop, which just happened to be owned by my parents. Finding the most life-changing ice cream cone was an easy one. I knew, for instance, where to get the spiciest low-country boil (The Swamp) and the sweetest oysters (Fiddlehead). That’s the little sliver of sand, sea oats, and sno-cones off the coast of Georgia where I’ve lived for my entire sixteen-year existence.
Geometry is my sworn enemy.)Īnd I knew just about everything there was to know about Dune Island. I’d just gotten a report card full of A’s.
It’s not like I was a complete numbskull. I know how it feels to have a someone.īut the day after my sophomore year ended, I didn’t know anything. There are always fireworks.īut it doesn’t really happen that way. The first time you lay eyes on someone who is going to become someone to you- your someone-you’re supposed to feel the earth shift beneath your feet, right? Sparks will course through your fingertips and there’ll definitely be fireworks.
0 kommentar(er)
