Stranger in the Sand

We left her there. Sitting in the wet sand with strangers. Granted, we were barely more than strangers; we hadn’t come together even if we were there for the same event.

She was stubborn. Sitting on the ground being poked and prodded by the PA who happened to be passing by. The PA stayed there. She stayed and watched over our stranger, the PA waited for the paramedics to arrive. And once they arrived, she stayed and waited while they sent for transport with wheels. A new indignity. They would not carry her on the board they brought with them. She was too heavy.

I was torn. Part of me eager to explore the tide-pools on a stretch of beach I'd never seen… part of me wanting to linger, provide company if not comfort. But she kept shooing us. Sending us to the to the edge of the rocks where the tide was fighting its way back in.

We obeyed- maybe not reluctantly enough. We cast our eyes back in her direction periodically. Checking to see her progress. Was she still on the ground? Had the new transport arrived? Did she look like she needed us?

The tide slapped against the rocks. Funneled itself into the channels cut deep over months or years. Anemone crouched low- impatient ones already open- arms flung wide and basking gloriously in their otherworldly green petals- like negative-tinted sunflowers. The hesitant ones, unlike their kin, remained closed and guarded against the sinking sun, waning but bright.

The water splashed our ankles sporadically, then receded as if scolded. But the sporadic became more routine and so we headed back, our heads still turned to the sand, crouching occasionally to look into pools of water that still teemed with life. Starfish and crabs and fanning plants searched for a foothold to keep them safe in the oncoming currents.

We approached her again. Still seated on the sand, the PA talking to her patiently – if not a little condescendingly, almost as if she were speaking to a child. The same enunciated words and clipped phrases. The same false cheeriness. Still, she didn’t abandon her post- a post that wasn’t even her post- and so who am I to judge?

We lingered again. Trying to be respectful of the medical history being given, allowing a buffer of sand sand and idle chatter while she shared her information, we wandered back to her side when we thought they might be finished. We never crouched down next to her though- I don’t know why.

We asked about her camera. Big and expensive, we knew it was something she’d want safe. And it was safe. Another thing the PA had handled. And we asked about her car. Could we drive it to the hospital, make sure she didn't have to worry about that? She wouldn’t hear of it. Kept fussing in the same way that she fussed at us - insistent - that we continue the nature walk, shooing us as if we were a nuisance.

And I guess we were. Near strangers that were witness to her vulnerability, splayed out on the sand.

The paramedics looked up at us with disdain. I’m almost certain that is my own projection – my own feelings of helplessness with a stranger under duress. He asked which of us had driven with her. 

None of us had. We were veritable strangers. First names only. 40 minutes into a nature walk we’d all driven hours for.

“Would any of you drive her car?” an accusation in my mind. an indictment even though we would have been happy to drive her car. I would have been ecstatic to be less useless.

But she'd been adamant that would couldn't. So, all we could answer- the collective brown us- was that we’d asked and she’d declined. How could you blame her. We were strangers. And whether a lack of trust or the feeling of putting someone out, the result is the same. “I can handle it.” Even if the truth is that you can’t-or that it would be easier if you didn't have to.

I don’t know how she is doing now. No way to help, no duty to fulfill, the tide steady moving in, the paramedics and the PA flanking her on all sides, the collective us inched our way back the way we had come. Stopped periodically. Looked back. Stopped again.

Someone provided periodic updates for a little while. I’m not sure where she got them from. Was she walking slower than the rest of us- or maybe faster- walking back and forth between the distance we’d put between us? Maybe she had better hearing.

“They got her up on her leg and then had her sit back down.”

"It isn't broken but they were fearful of the damage too much weight on it would cause."

I wondered about the tide. Wondered how long they had before the waters claimed that spot she was sitting in. What was the protocol then?

We didn't find out. We found a starfish and crouched to get a better look. We talked about grabbing a bite to eat and began to plan the logistics of that. We were in cars, drying off, chatting idly about the day behind us, the traffic before us.

She was still sitting in the sand I imagine.

And we left her there.