The Ocean and Mandy

I was dozing off in a rocking chair on the ocen-side proch of a small hotel in Maine. I still had about fifteen minutes before my shift in the kitchen, so I was trying to catch some z’s. The season was coming to an end.

A family came walking from the beach with all the towels and toys. Parents and two daughters, the little girl crying intensely.

“Come on, Mandy. Nothing bad happened,” the father was being reassuring and kind. A hippie dad with modern views on ubringing. Feminine type.

“We’ll get you new flip-flops,” said the mother, matter-of-factly.

The girl started wailing. I could only make out a few words.

“… giant wave… so big… my flip-flop…”

The family disappeared into the cozy interior and I was left alone with my thoughts. I opened my eyes, just a tiny slit, to see the ocean. It was calm, but overwhelming. I knew somewhere across was Europe and my misty motherland, but that did not matter. Might have been a different planet.

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