hot sand in the wound

I’m lightly dusted in dried salt water and I don’t want to wash it off. My clammy hair sticks to my head and I want it to stay that way. At least for a little while longer. I want to bring back all that was today and all that was yesterday and to hold it for an instant. And when I feel the wound, I want to rub hot sand in it.

There is nothing better than this moment. We live in paradise, I murmur to myself. Lauren and Arun can hear me. We hold our feet up out of the water, laughing, and let the waves rush toward us. Over us. It’s easier to stay in the water than to get out of it. As I let myself edge back to shore I am dashed upon the rocks, sucked under, and then dashed upon the rocks again. It’s easier to stay in the water. Arun comes out to me and offers his hands. His feet are already cut by the rocks, so he walks out on the rocks again. Try rubbing hot sand in the wound – that will make it better, he says. It’s true. It’s rubbing the sand out of the wound that is the problem. It’s easier to stay in the water than to get out of it.