You allow the waves to reach your knees this time. With glistening light as your guide below the milky waves, you strike. After an afternoon being lured into the ocean, you finally have it. A conch shell.

Up to your ear, you hear waves that engulfed you a minute ago. Between past and present waves crashing, a voice as thin as the horizon grabs your attention. White-knuckling the conch, you close your eyes. The voice remains as elusive as the horizon that mocks you upon opening your eyes.

On the way back, you hear that inquisitive voice again. You're sans the conch. It no longer retains its mythical property. As raw as the salty air, unable to mar your mind toward dreams, it's promising. It's real.

You face the ocean again, halted by an odd creature amid the waves. A human, possibly a friend.

You're getting ahead of yourself.

You shove your beach findings into tattered pockets and grab the half-drowned person. With each tug, the sand reminds you that you're losing to the ocean.

 

Somehow, you both make it back to shore. The person appears to be as fine as ocean-spat people may be.

Silence thickens alongside the froth waves. They turn to face you, deliberation dancing in their face.

"Are you okay?" they ask.

Shouldn't you be asking? "Yes—yes, I am. Are you?" Some sand enters your mouth. You notice you're still lying half-face down. You sit up.

"Okay, good," they reply, quietly smiling.

You pause. "Do you mind if I ask you how old you are?"

They pause. "Ten."

"Me too!"

They look at the setting sun. You notice that, unlike you, they aren't shaking.

 

Night falls. Land and sea become one, under moonlight. The horizon has slowly crept from the ocean to the edges of your house.

"You should sleep soon. I'll show you around tomorrow," you say.

"Sounds good," they hesitantly reply. You wait. "Could we also go to that—a bakery?"

Interesting. At least they didn't ask why they were in the ocean. Maybe you should ask? Maybe.

"Of course! I'll take you to my favorite restaurant too!"

Their smile brightens. You show them to the spare room, and bid them good night.

In your room, you focus on the shoreline view from the ocean. You can't convince yourself there's a bakery within view.

 

Salt streaks the air as waves crash against your boat. Your mind as scattered as the clouds, you absentmindedly drive forward. Your hands are on the steering wheel, you can't feel them. You try to look around. Your neck, as stiff as the wood beneath you. You resign to your fate and look ahead, the horizon blurring. In your periphery, you notice something person-like on the docks. You can't look. Time most likely passes. Your legs join your hands. The horizon never closing in wouldn't be troubling if not for the fact that the shore hasn't moved. You try calling for help. Your voice dies in your throat. What manages to scrape past, is a hoarse call reminiscent of a wounded animal. You try moving again.

"Ow!"

 

You awaken. Your heart beats in your ear and your guest clutches their nose in pain alongside your half-stretched arm.

You've punched your guest.

After supplying ice, you stare at them. Your mind isn't here. More so, tossed as the shells. Your guest takes notice of your stare, you panic.

"Sorry again! I've had these... for a while. I figured it'd be fine a whole room away!" Something dawns on you, "... why were you in my room?"

They don't seem fazed. "I heard noises. You seemed distressed." Their voice drops with each word.

"No it's fine!" Your voice drops too. "Come on! Let's go to the bakery!"

 

After the elusive bakery hunt, you both sit for a bit. In the middle of an idyllic summer, hours of talking make no difference to the sky.

"Where are you from again?" you ask.

"Brazil!" They respond warmly.

"That's — how exactly did you end up here again?!"

They laugh, their answers more mumbles than words. "I told you I don't know! I already told you everything I remember."

 

At the beach now, with the sun right on cue as it dips into the ocean. You intensely search the sand. Beneath microscopic dunes, you see something move.

"Hey, I found some seashells— Oh hey, what are you doing?" they ask.

"I'm tossing sea stars back in. They must be scared. The waves can be harsh, but never when you need them to be," you reply.

They join you. "Don't you find it odd, the sun only ever seems to set at the beach."

You ponder this. You try remembering today's sunset. You can't.

 

The horizon creeps towards you as the light dies atop wave crests. You both head home. Dinner's aroma encompasses you, conversations start up.

"I'm so glad you agree," they respond laughing while wrapping up a story. You catch your breath, your tummy hurts from laughing. "So, what was it like back in Brazil?" you ask.

"Brazil? I'm from the Philippines. I already told you this!" they laughingly exclaim.

What?

It's silent. You haven't responded yet. "Of course! I've been so scattered lately," you respond with fake laughter. Your eyes don't meet theirs.

 

Night falls. Horizons hug edges again. You both head to sleep.

As your eyelids fall, light begins to fill the room. Enough that, shadow silhouettes take on gray shades. It's cloudy outside. You could have sworn you just got into bed... and that it's 12 am.

 

The house sways. You look outside. You can't make out the ocean, but you can feel it. You make your way down the hall when you're defenestrated out onto the sand.

 

You can't see anything. Your house, as visible as the ocean, as pitch black night returns.

You, hopefully, walk along the shoreline looking for your friend. You think you see her shadow's silhouette back on shore. As you walk to them, water rises to your waist. The shore, with their silhouette, disappears.

Waves push you as loose sand allows you to further slip. You can't make out the waves, only that you're unable to stand for more than a minute.

As you fall again, they stand before you.

Now, as shadow. You think you see the outline of their features glisten. The new moon would disagree.

"I knew you'd come back," you say, grabbing them. Waves crash, they sound hollow. "Come on!" Your voice, drowned by harsh winds.

Your hand is moved. "I'm not going with you," you hear. The face doesn't move.

"Wh—"

"You left me here. You didn't try once."

"Was it the punch? I had sleep paralysis, I didn't mean to!"

"It still happened, didn't it?"

Your words and breath hitch.

"How many more days will you let me slip? How many times will you toss me and say I drifted?"

"I don't understand — don't be like that. I missed you."

"Not enough."

The ocean recedes with your friend. The sky, replaced with the towering ocean. Boundless sand ahead of you. You walk forward.

You stumble. It's a conch-star. Fits perfectly in your hand. You kneel down, and listen. Their voice returns, as it was, summers ago.

The waves greets you from above.

 

You awaken. The shore has moved. More fish are caught. You stare at the dock. A hand touches your shoulder.

"They're back, you know? You should dock one day. Can't hurt," you co-worker says.

"It already does, you whisper. It's calm. A storm is near. "Do you think the tide could take me back?"

They laugh. "But it never does, does it?"

"I keep having that dream again. We're both kids, a perfect summer, and I don't make the same mistakes. We start again."

"You could, right now. Just dock."

"It's too soft. My dream. I never get it right. It just slips like sand into the recesses of my mind."

You close your eyes and try again. You're thrown forward a bit. You've docked.

Sigh. You walk toward the dock.

You slip.

You lay in the water and close your eyes. A shadow is cast. You open one eye.

"Hey," a familiar yet grown voice says, "are you okay?"