It was a nice day. And I was at the beach. This is what I had been saving up sick days for, I told myself. A clear sky ahead of me and attractive people bronzing in the abundant sunshine behind me. I was cold and wet, but I told myself it was okay, I was on vacation. The waves were gently passing my chest. The hairs were folded over the skin, crisping with salt. I was the farthest person out. There were children and old people nearby, but they were closer to the shore. The young ones had to stay within reach of their tanning mothers and the elderly had to make sure not to strain themselves. I could feel the passing of the ocean within me, the strange sensation traveling under my trunks and crashing on the beach. My pale legs were an arch for the salt water to pass through.

The sand beneath me was shifting around my firmly planted feet. I could sense grains moving in and out between my toes, forming a file that moved back and forth with the waves, slowly shaving my nails down and smoothing the calluses on my feet. I looked at the sun, and judged it to be about one o'clock, based on its position above the horizon, which was now easy to see. I wondered what I would normally be doing at this time.

(I would be coming back from lunch, trying to hide a stain on my shirt, adjusting my tie to cover it up to no avail and worrying if the whole office would notice it, the ugly yellow or brown spot on my shirt that I could claim was some sort of birthmark or logo on the cloth. I would be sitting at my desk and making sure all my pencils were sharpened and making sure my secretary had scheduled my appointments properly, remembering to notify me fifteen minutes before the fifteen minutes before the meeting was to take place. I could be drinking a cup of stale coffee, eating half a sandwich left in the fridge, or drinking the milk for the coffee straight, maybe with a packet of sugar. I would then start working: typing, making graphs, typing, calling, yelling at my secretary, typing, spell checking, re-typing, recalling, re-yelling, and then typing some more. The time to leave would come and I would then forget about its passing. I would leave when I was satisfied, around seven o'clock.)

I should not be thinking about work right now, I thought. That is why they sent me here, to relax, to take a vacation, not to just simply have one. They bought me the ticket, reserved the hotel, chose the beach, and even picked out the trunks for me to wear. "Go to the beach, everything will be fine," they said. When I called this morning to check my messages, they told me once again to enjoy myself. They even sent me a postcard, they wished I was back at the office, they missed me, but they wanted me to still stay away and enjoy myself. They say they need more time, time I can take off while they try to clean everything up.

I will honor their orders, I will try and think about being here, on the beach, on vacation.
The water around me was growing colder as gray clouds gathered overhead. I walked out of the water and felt the hairs on my stomach spring to life in the cold breezes sweeping over the beach. The waves were gentle behind me, but they were picking up speed, crashing on top of one another in greater fashion. Ahead, I could see my hotel, its neon sign growing brighter as the sky grew darker. Its white walls stretched up to the sky and across the beach. I looked for my oversized umbrella, underneath which was my towel. My body had to wipe away the seawater or else I would freeze to death.

(For some reason I felt stuck. A muddy mass of sand had set around my feet. I tried to break my feet free from it, but to no avail. I called for a shovel to break me free, but no help was forthcoming. A wave suddenly came up the shore and swept between my legs. I watched it recede back into the sea, and hoping its force would carry some of the sand back away from me, but this did not happen. Instead, it weakened the sand beneath me and I started to fall underneath the water. I screamed as the ground gave way beneath me, taking one last breath as the sun disappeared from me under a water ceiling. My feet were rubbed raw by the friction with the sand and soon my whole body was buried. I kept my mouth shut and tried to hold on to every bit of breath I could. Gradually the pain in my lungs faded away.)

I walked out of the water and felt the wet sand turn into dry, hot sand. The white grains caked my feet, which were red from slight sunburn. I had forgotten to put suntan lotion there. Tomorrow, I thought to myself, twice as much as was needed would be applied. I found my umbrella, which I was renting from a woman in the hotel, with its blue and yellow stripes. It was funny, since those were the colors of my old school, colors I had been surrounded by for four years, colors that lay on the skirts of the cheerleaders that I had fantasized about for those four years and then some. The cold air coming off the sea overcame my nostalgia. I regained my sense of the present and packed up my belongings. My lower body was wrapped with my towel. The red and green lines were fading and the ends were frayed, but it was still as absorbent as usual. My ankles and feet were drying up, thanks to the sand I was treading through. I made my way across the expanse of white between me and the hotel, walking quickly as to avoid being burned by the sand. Around me, people were flying kites. The wind was good for them; their puppets were rising high, making circles and figure eights.

(One of the kites particularly struck me. It was flying higher than the rest; its owner was farther from me than the others, I could barely make him or her out. It was a bright kiwi green that set it apart so much. It had a red mouth and fierce yellow eyes that moved so fast that they became a swirl. The kite was making turns in the front of me. The string connecting it was taut, it ran from the tail of the kite out behind me. I resumed my walking after gazing at it and feeling somewhat reassured that the art of kiting was not yet dead. Suddenly, the kite moved towards the sea, taking the wire with it. The gleaming line swept along, cutting through air. It found its way to my throat. My pink skin first felt a mild irritation from the rubbing of the string. Then the kite bent direction and headed back towards me, my neck had caused a disturbance in its motion and the kite was now was flying around me like a tetherball. The wire wrapped around my neck, causing more than just irritation. The line tightened and my esophagus closed, preventing my breathing and causing my face to lose its color. I fell to my knees, the larger grains of sand poking into my flesh. I tried to force myself free, but the lack of oxygen to my brain was preventing my normal motor functioning. My arms fell limp and the kite was starting to circle around me, pulling my weakened body with it, my upper body becoming a cocoon-like pendulum. The kite began circling faster and faster. To my fading vision, it was coming closer and was turning into nothing more than a smear with a fierce set of teeth and yellow eyes. It came closer and closer to me until it hit me in the face with great force and I fell down silently.)

The kites were behind me now as I made my way up to the boardwalk. I walked up a set of wooden stairs and made sure no skateboarders or bicycles were coming towards me. I took quick, brisk steps, lest I get splinter from the aging planks. The boardwalk was dark now, the clouds had blocked out most of the sun. The wood was cooling down, a relief to my feet. They were still dirty. I saw my hotel’s washing station. It had two showers at the top of some stone stairs. I proceeded to walk up to those stairs, so that I could wash my feet. The beach was emptying of people as they came to realize that the clouds were here to stay, possibly bringing a storm with them. I hurried my pace so that I could beat them to the showers and avoid waiting in a line.

Around me, the people were standing up, stretching, and popping their back in place after lying out on the sand. Umbrellas were being folded up while towels that had come to the beach neatly folded were rolled into wads, and stuffed in bags.

(I looked at the washing station ahead. The showers were covered in fading lavender. They had two spouts each, one for the feet and one for the body. I was only going to use the bottom one for my sand encrusted feet. I held my bag of beach things closer to me, careful not to get it wet from my bathing suit. The stairs were wet too. The drains underneath the showers were clogged with sand forming golden piles around the holes. The gray steps glistened from the water. I picked up my pace to beat another bather to the washing station. My feet were barely gripping the stairs and I was making my way up. With my bag, I was a lot slower. Suddenly, my right foot slipped in front of me. I dropped my bag, but it had done its work. Imbalanced, I fell on my side, my skull crashing down on the wet cement. I felt my head open from the force, its contents warming the wet, cold sand that lay on the steps.)

I washed my feet off, holding each foot up to the high-powered waters. The sand came off, settling on top of the piles surrounding the drains. I picked up my bag and went down to the doors to get into the hotel. The wind blew a few of my moustache hairs into my mouth. They were salty and dried out. I looked out across the beach and to my left at the hotel’s rooms stretched out facing the sea. I could see my room - my other blue and red triangle towel was hanging from my balcony like a flag, blowing in the wind. The clouds were getting darker and darker. I walked over to the doors to get into my hotel. The plan was that I would go in, take a shower, read a magazine and maybe take a nap, the all-you-can eat seafood lunch buffet now rested in my belly like a solid mass of lead that weighed me down. I walked over to the hotel and smiled at the bellhop. In the glass doors I could see my reflection. I went through the lobby where a crimson carpet ran parallel to blond colored walls.

(I pressed the button for the doors to open. I had to go up. The elevator opened up and I arranged my hair out of habit, expecting a boss to come out and greet me on his or her way to a meeting. However, the elevator was stuck on another floor and as I entered the shaft, I started falling. I fell three stories and landed square on my head. My hair was a mess. The fall occurred down a dark corridor, so I could not see the ground I eventually hit. I considered this a blessing in the midst of much bad luck, it would give me less anguish while traveling towards the ground than if I could not see my ultimate destination. The blow to the head did not kill me immediately, so I was able to try to mumble for help, but my mouth was too full of blood to make any audible sounds. I had a moment before everything blacked out, when I prayed for salvation of some sort. Like the help, none was forthcoming.)

I went into the elevator and it brought me up to my floor. The ride up was embarrassing. My body reeked of salt, suntan lotion, and dead fish. A proper lady next to me held her nose high in contempt while her husband wrinkled his to protect the nostrils. I walked down the hall, counting each door. I was staying thirteen doors down from the elevator. The cleaning ladies were still making their rounds. Their pale blue and gray uniforms hung like garbage bags on their shoulders while they went in and out of the rooms to replace toilet paper and provide mints for the pillows. I continued going along, counting each room I passed. The doors were a bright white, each one with a green oval that had gold numbers on it. The whole hall smelled of ammonia. At least it hid the stench emanating from my faded red swim trunks. I could not wait to get in the shower; the sea salt was forming a thin crystal veneer around my legs, freezing the dark hairs in contorted poses. I felt sticky all over.

(I realized I was going the wrong way. Door number 16 passed me on my way from the elevator. I should have been in my room by now. I had made the wrong turn, a left instead of a right. I had made the same mistake this morning when I was in a rush to get to the beach. Now I was in a rush from the beach and in the same predicament. I had to change course and head back the other way. It made me feel slightly upset. I felt I had lost some progress, and that I was regressing, not making the best use of my time while on vacation. I kept thinking of turning back before I actually did, the hall became a maze in front of me, I was walking, but my mind was somewhere else. I worried I would walk right into a wall or trashcan. I made an abrupt turn. There was a pang in my foot: my ankle was twisted. I reached out to prevent myself falling over and crashing into one of the carts the cleaning ladies were wheeling about. I knocked it over on top of me. One of the wheels ran over my shin, causing pain. The cart’s steel handle punched me right in the stomach. Its contents spilled all over my face. I could make out a cleaning lady coming towards me from down the hall, cleaning my room to be exact. She was running the best she could in her slippers, screaming “Dios Mio! Dios Mio!” I suddenly tasted something very bitter and soapy. A bottle of ammonia had been knocked over and its contents had bled into my mouth. I tried to spit the liquid out, but it was useless. Suddenly, I felt very cold and like I was burning.)

So I changed directions and walked back to my room. Although no one of importance was around, I still tried to turn my mistake into a concentrated effort. I pretended that I had reached some sort of destination on the wrong side of the floor, and had to suddenly change direction and walk the other way. I could not look like an idiot. Walking with determination, my arms moving in unison with my legs, I passed a maid, and smiled at her. She smiled back. I slowed down my pace when I noticed there was no one else to potentially watch my progress. I relaxed and went to my door. My trunks were still wet, they kept making a “swoosh-swoosh” sound with every step. Finally, I found my room. I produced the electronic key and swiped it in the slot above the doorknob. A little green light went off. I opened the door and went in. The room had been cleaned, which was nice.

The bed was made, the pillowcases had been changed, and my dirty bath towels were gone. In their place was a stack of ivory white ones. I felt so dirty looking at their immaculateness. I had to take a shower. My hair felt disgusting, the salt and grease had shaped it into a mass of messy vines that tangled in front of my face. I had to look clean for tomorrow despite the fact I would go swimming again, because otherwise it would appear to everyone as if the sea was taking me back in, that I was devolving and turning into one of my far-off ancestors. I ran some water for a bath. It was cold, just like the ocean. I wanted something to relax in, so I turned the knob as far to the right as I could. I did not care if the bath cooked me like a noodle.

(I would have some time before the bath filled up. I decided to watch some TV. I had one of those older models, essentially a black plastic box with little plastic knobs. Storm clouds were gathering outside, I could see the massive gray mountains from my balcony. I had not noticed them before when I was on the beach. It had been quite windy; perhaps they had been blown in quite suddenly. I walked over to the TV and looked at the list of channels taped up on top of the set. There were twenty-three of them. What did I want to see, what was I interested in? Volcanoes? Animals mating? Surgery? The news? No, I was trying to relax. If there had only been one channel, then I could have just turned it on, surrendered to the whims of its head of broadcasting. But, no, I had to make a choice; I had to choose a channel. Some say you become what you choose, would I have become something different by choosing to watch sports, would that have made me a jock or a soccer hooligan? Suddenly there was a flash. I turned to the weather channel to find out about it. A screen showing cloud movements came up. They said there was a chance of heavy thunderstorms. Another bolt flashed and a roar followed it. I did not pay attention. I wanted nicely dressed outsiders to tell me about the storm, its form, its nature, and its essence. Then there was another flash. Suddenly I felt it. The TV heated up and exploded, sending a wave of electricity out to me. My heart was struck by its force. It stopped. I collapsed on the floor, on my way hitting my head on a coffee table. My body was glistening with shards from the TV screen.)

The bath was done filling up. I stripped down and slowly entered the water, careful not to burn anything valuable. I was soon lying in it up to my shoulders. The back of my neck was ice cold from the porcelain tub, while my toes were slowing boiling. I was relaxed. There was no “relaxing,” because there was no process by which I arrived at the state, I was there immediately. I let myself go. Everything was clear to me, despite the steam that was forming clouds in the bathroom. The salt was coming off my body while my oils were collecting on the surface of the water, forming the outlines of imaginary paisley shaped atolls. I brought my head below the surface of the water. I felt at ease, wrapped in a pre-natal cocoon. The day at the beach had been stressful. I did ballet with the waves. I burned my back while trying to tan. I sucked in my gut every twenty seconds when an attractive lady passed me, trying to get something from her, which I could not admit wanting to myself. I talked to small children, trying to not talk over them, but to them. I had a hot dog and an ice cream cone. It was a stressful day, but a good day. Sitting here in the tub, stewing in my own juices, this was the perfect end to it.

(Above me there was a vent, it had a metal covering with little slits in it. The edges looked quite sharp. I was not looking at it now. I had fallen asleep in the tub, a wet washcloth hung over my eyes. I heard something faintly drop in the tub. A small splash made tiny ripples against my skin. At the time, I did not know what it was, but it was a screw. Another fell. Then another. I was too far off in my own little world to worry about what was happening on top of me. The vent was starting to vibrate. It was not screwed as tight so it was moving loosely. Remarkably, I did not care. I was at peace, why worry about some stupid vent covering? I heard one last plop. The vent came down on me. I felt something touch my neck and pass right on through. The water was suddenly warm again.)

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