(practice notes)
I think of someone when my nose gets the sea. Across the dark blue we can scan a leg of saipan and lao lao and off to the end the little shape of forbidden island. They point out some of the buildings they see. I’m drawn to how the water’s all shallow up front and lapping against our zorries and shoes but in a not too far distance, it just drops, all the shallowness drops and opens to a dark ocean with many mean waves rising and crashing and swallowed down. It’s right there. The ocean.
“This is Dan Dan beach,” Cabrera says, and I’ve never been here before.
We took some turns around the little roads and houses and around Dan Dan and beside the street where the Browns used to live was a dirt road leading into this poorass junkyard. Joel asked if this was private property. Cabrera goes, “Ya, but I’ve been here since I was like…”
It doesn’t look to nice, dirt road, puddles and goats in fences and Joel goes, “OH, did you see that a deer!” I didn’t see it. It must’ve been behind a fence or in that mound of dirt we pass. We passed old blue garbage bins and all sorts of rust. We see a house, and beyond it I see blue. It’s concrete and gray. I wouldn’t like the junkyard scenery living here, I think, and then we stop at some boonies. And I don’t know why. When we get out, I see that there’s a trail. I’m thinking, Hmm, I’ve never been here before.
On we went and it goes down, not to steep. Me and Joel get a smile out of it. It’s new to us. Cabrera the trailblazer gets down ahead. I like the leaves. I ask Joel the trees names. He doesn’t know. The leaves are brown and long and curl inward to give this oval shape. A leaf hugging itself. They are the floor we walk on. Joel tells me to stay clear from any spots that are clear of leaves. He says that’s the spirit spot or something. He mentions taotaomona.
The hike down is made up of limestone rocks against the steeper drops. Ropes lay draped on them. We go down a couple of those steep spots, and one last final one before the jungle’s not overhead and were walking along high grass and there you go: beach.
It’s beautiful, like I said. And there’s trash everywhere. Like colorful assortments and layers washed up against the beach, zorries, rope, bottles, cans, they’re on every inch. It doesn’t bother too much since we’re just visiting. With it gone, the beach would be the place…cos I like how the crabs crawl all over, Joel jokes they’re making him dizzy with motion sickness, he’s crouching at different spots and angles working his camera. I’m so dumb and prettyboy that I’m wearing jeans and my vneck and nike dunks. But like I said, I breathe the sea in. It’s hot out.
Let me tell you more. The beach is pretty small and the sand disappears around some jutting rock. It shrinks out on both sides. One of the rocks looks like Old man by the sea. I don’t see it. But Joel ever observant sees that, and goes, “You can see the nose sort of and mouth…”
I like the beach and get in a little fantasy of coming back here with a troop of youth with plastic bags and working it till it’s just white sand and crabs. What’s special is how the rock cliff goes along atop the beach. Before it bends out and traps the sand, it sits and is sort of smoothed out at the bottom into white bumpy seats where you’d lean on or sit down under a good shadow, and watch our ocean.
I think Dang we need a beach clean up.
