The roads she knew like the back of her hand. The sign post, signalling a necessary turn, blessedly flashed in her consciousness just long enough to inspire action and, just as quickly, her mind returned to her escape.
She had kept her promise to herself. One duffel, three-quarters full of denim capris and cotton t-shirts, 2 pairs of flip-flops, bras, pajamas, and swimsuits sat, solitarily, in the back seat; her only nod towards health and beauty, the twin bottles of shampoo and conditioner, suntan oil, and sunblock. A madonna-like smile of satisfaction flitted across her full lips as she thought of what she had left behind; the jewelry, the make-up, the perfume, the lap top.
Reaching towards the dash, she grasped her cellphone as yellow-painted lines measured her progress.
“Dad? I’m here.”
“Good! Pick me up across from the “Painted Fish.” His words fought for room between ragged breaths that told Randy her father was out for a walk.

The small, red car inched along the beach road as she strained to pick her father’s form out amidst the scantily clad forms filling the sidewalks.
“Hey!” the voice came from the opposite side of the road accompanied by a raised bronzed arm.
Looking for a place to turn around, Randy prepared herself for words of recrimination. Her father had always been a demanding, exacting man, with no tolerance for mistakes, regardless of size.
As she pulled alongside, they shared a smile as a fellow walker congratulated her father for “catching a ride” with a “young chick”. As he folded his large brown frame into her small vehicle, Randy took in the white wisps dancing on top of his still leonine head. His plain white t-shirt, made shapeless by volumes of sweaty moisture, told her he had been walking for some time.
“I told you where I’d be. Didn’t you see me?”
It began.
Randy smiled, inside and out, as she realized she no longer felt the need to be drawn in, and answered “I’ve got you now.”, just before she changed the subject.
As they creeped along the mile between the restaurant and her father’s condominium, they discussed the weather, which threatened rain, and the crowds brought by Spring Break. He asked about her children, her sisters, and their co-workers. Randy was the only one of 4 children who had followed her father into the family business, a fact she knew delighted him.
As they mounted them, she gave thanks, once again for the concrete stairs leading to her father’s home, knowing they would help to keep him young. While he fumbled with his key, she took in the deck chair she had presented him as a birthday present 2 years before. He was a man who had everything, and most presents only made it as far as the top of his over-stuffed closet. Having chosen a gift he actually used, was an accomplishment.
A waft of synthetically cooled air greeted them as her father gained access to his home. Entering the kitchen, Randy, once again, admired the lustrous brown marble countertops, and complementing maple cabinets, chosen by her younger sister as she helped their father redecorate his antiquated kitchen. Stainless appliances completed the make-over, and as she surveyed them, her father reminded her of the travel magazine layout in which his kitchen had been featured. The remainder of the condominium remained as it had when her parents had moved in more than 10 years before.
Randy lugged the duffel towards the spare room as her father went to shower. Throwing the bag upon the cheaply, tropically draped bed she surveyed the room and found it unchanged. A wicker bookshelf tenuously held her mother’s favorite books. As she surveyed the titles, she found several of interest and made a mental note to ask if she could borrow them.
The fax machine in the corner and the open laptop beside it, were the only signs that her father still kept his hand in his business. Randy approached the computer and drug a single red-taloned finger across the mouse pad before deciding to keep her promise.
On the opposite wall a cacophony of photographs and children’s drawings competed with evidence of gambling earnings for her attention. On the far right, 4 quarters taped to a “sticky” note served as evidence that her father had won a golfing bet. Ten feet away, a photograph, tacked low enough to cause her to bend down to study it, portrayed her smiling sportscoat-clad father in a rare display of fashion, as he draped one arm around her nephew while someone captured his image as “Grandparent of the Year”. The wall was evidence of everything that was important to her father, and thus deserved a second glance.
Randy, determined to make the most of her 4 day sojourn, changed into her swimsuit, kissed her still steamy, freshly showered father goodbye, and headed towards the beach.
After an overcast morning, the sun had begun to blaze, making the temperatures more beach-like. Sliding her flip-flops off before reaching the sand, Randy stopped to fill her lungs with uniquely humid air and to listen to the waves that supplied it. Despite her father’s assertions to the contrary, the crowds were minimal and Randy was pleased.
Her feet slid with each step before taking hold in the powdery, white sand which she studied as she passed. Tire tracks told her that lifeguards had recently passed by and the whipping red flag warned of riptides, always plentiful in spring.
Stopping just yards from the surf, Randy peeled the aluminum chair from her back and placed her beach bag carefully on dry ground. As she pushed metal into sand, she quietly surveyed the changing colors of the water in front of her and welcomed the breeze that blew her hair away from her face. Several older couples paraded, in tandem, in front of her chair as she settled into it. Packs of scantily clad, brown-bodied girls walked quickly behind them, soon to overtake, and Randy remembered what is was like to be that young and unsure. She wondered if they had a destination, and remembered what it was like to walk like that. Unsure, yet brave. Feigning carelessness, yet so vulnerable. Careful to fit in, and desperate to stand out.
An hour passed as Randy vascilated between dozing and studying, too tired to think.

http://www.thewriterslife.net

>The roads she knew like the back of her hand. The sign post, signalling a necessary turn, blessedly flashed in her consciousness just long enough to inspire action and, just as quickly, her mind returned to her escape.
She had kept her promise to herself. One duffel, three-quarters full of denim capris and cotton t-shirts, 2 pairs of flip-flops, bras, pajamas, and swimsuits sat, solitarily, in the back seat; her only nod towards health and beauty, the twin bottles of shampoo and conditioner, suntan oil, and sunblock. A madonna-like smile of satisfaction flitted across her full lips as she thought of what she had left behind; the jewelry, the make-up, the perfume, the lap top.
Reaching towards the dash, she grasped her cellphone as yellow-painted lines measured her progress.
“Dad? I’m here.”
“Good! Pick me up across from the “Painted Fish.” His words fought for room between ragged breaths that told Randy her father was out for a walk.

The small, red car inched along the beach road as she strained to pick her father’s form out amidst the scantily clad forms filling the sidewalks.
“Hey!” the voice came from the opposite side of the road accompanied by a raised bronzed arm.
Looking for a place to turn around, Randy prepared herself for words of recrimination. Her father had always been a demanding, exacting man, with no tolerance for mistakes, regardless of size.
As she pulled alongside, they shared a smile as a fellow walker congratulated her father for “catching a ride” with a “young chick”. As he folded his large brown frame into her small vehicle, Randy took in the white wisps dancing on top of his still leonine head. His plain white t-shirt, made shapeless by volumes of sweaty moisture, told her he had been walking for some time.
“I told you where I’d be. Didn’t you see me?”
It began.
Randy smiled, inside and out, as she realized she no longer felt the need to be drawn in, and answered “I’ve got you now.”, just before she changed the subject.
As they creeped along the mile between the restaurant and her father’s condominium, they discussed the weather, which threatened rain, and the crowds brought by Spring Break. He asked about her children, her sisters, and their co-workers. Randy was the only one of 4 children who had followed her father into the family business, a fact she knew delighted him.
As they mounted them, she gave thanks, once again for the concrete stairs leading to her father’s home, knowing they would help to keep him young. While he fumbled with his key, she took in the deck chair she had presented him as a birthday present 2 years before. He was a man who had everything, and most presents only made it as far as the top of his over-stuffed closet. Having chosen a gift he actually used, was an accomplishment.
A waft of synthetically cooled air greeted them as her father gained access to his home. Entering the kitchen, Randy, once again, admired the lustrous brown marble countertops, and complementing maple cabinets, chosen by her younger sister as she helped their father redecorate his antiquated kitchen. Stainless appliances completed the make-over, and as she surveyed them, her father reminded her of the travel magazine layout in which his kitchen had been featured. The remainder of the condominium remained as it had when her parents had moved in more than 10 years before.
Randy lugged the duffel towards the spare room as her father went to shower. Throwing the bag upon the cheaply, tropically draped bed she surveyed the room and found it unchanged. A wicker bookshelf tenuously held her mother’s favorite books. As she surveyed the titles, she found several of interest and made a mental note to ask if she could borrow them.
The fax machine in the corner and the open laptop beside it, were the only signs that her father still kept his hand in his business. Randy approached the computer and drug a single red-taloned finger across the mouse pad before deciding to keep her promise.
On the opposite wall a cacophony of photographs and children’s drawings competed with evidence of gambling earnings for her attention. On the far right, 4 quarters taped to a “sticky” note served as evidence that her father had won a golfing bet. Ten feet away, a photograph, tacked low enough to cause her to bend down to study it, portrayed her smiling sportscoat-clad father in a rare display of fashion, as he draped one arm around her nephew while someone captured his image as “Grandparent of the Year”. The wall was evidence of everything that was important to her father, and thus deserved a second glance.
Randy, determined to make the most of her 4 day sojourn, changed into her swimsuit, kissed her still steamy, freshly showered father goodbye, and headed towards the beach.
After an overcast morning, the sun had begun to blaze, making the temperatures more beach-like. Sliding her flip-flops off before reaching the sand, Randy stopped to fill her lungs with uniquely humid air and to listen to the waves that supplied it. Despite her father’s assertions to the contrary, the crowds were minimal and Randy was pleased.
Her feet slid with each step before taking hold in the powdery, white sand which she studied as she passed. Tire tracks told her that lifeguards had recently passed by and the whipping red flag warned of riptides, always plentiful in spring.
Stopping just yards from the surf, Randy peeled the aluminum chair from her back and placed her beach bag carefully on dry ground. As she pushed metal into sand, she quietly surveyed the changing colors of the water in front of her and welcomed the breeze that blew her hair away from her face. Several older couples paraded, in tandem, in front of her chair as she settled into it. Packs of scantily clad, brown-bodied girls walked quickly behind them, soon to overtake, and Randy remembered what is was like to be that young and unsure. She wondered if they had a destination, and remembered what it was like to walk like that. Unsure, yet brave. Feigning carelessness, yet so vulnerable. Careful to fit in, and desperate to stand out.
An hour passed as Randy vascilated between dozing and studying, too tired to think.