Off We Go Like a Herd of Turtles

Abstract

Whenever we went to ocean, we had assigned tasks. Four children, two boys and two girls, all under age of five-my sister grabbed towels, strong brother grabbed cooler, younger brother would collect toys, and I, even then a bit too occupied with appearance, usually got sunscreen and hats. We repeated these acts so often they were second nature.My mother, a large woman who was uncomfortable in a bathing suit, rarely joined in. She hid her body, herself, away from us most of time. So when Dad called, off we'd run, four little children, bleached blonde by sun, nearly impossible to tell apart. We'd gather supplies and pile into brown-and-cream-colored van that we'd named Beach Wagon and say in unison, Off we go like a herd of turtles! while Mom watched from window.For especially long trips to Connecticut shoreline, we'd add a plastic shell on top of Beach Wagon to stow chairs and coolers in. We, of course, called this the turtle. So we'd go, in our herd, and unpack our belongings and begin our play.One day as I grabbed suit to head to beach, I noticed it was still wet from day before. It was draped across shower curtain rod in bathroom. The bathing suit looked tired.Daddy! I yelled, uncertainty in high-pitched voice, my swimsuit's still wet!That's not a problem, ApriIJo, he replied, walking in a few minutes later. His blue eyes beamed against his tan skin as he pulled out a pair of brother's bright-orange swim trunks and handed them to me. Just wear these instead.So I did.At beach, I marveled at way water felt against bare chest, imagining that somehow I was swimming in a different ocean. This new ocean was colder, more bubbly with water that was more slidey. One moment, I was a fish! Dolphin! Otter! I leapt face first into waves, relishing impact-an explosion of cold and salty goodness that left me tingly. I'd never noticed that in ruffled one-piece I'd separated myself from so much feeling. My mother had always been pretty strict about idea that a young girl shouldn't wear a two-piece, but father's offering of trunks was a beautiful glimpse into a world I didn't know was so different. The water, which had always felt like home to me, offered me new secrets with each dunk. I followed wispy trails of clams and shellfish underwater with eyes open and watched crossing light of waves above me dance across skin. I was more connected with water than I'd ever been.But a fish, I was not. After swimming for a while, I noticed prunes on fingertips and headed to beach to warm up and dry off.A group of children around kindergarten age, like me, had gathered to make sandcastles on shore. My brother and sister were among them, Lorene in her fluorescent-pink suit, twin, James, in a pair of brightgreen shorts, similar to mine. Walking up, I recognized a boy and girl from school.Hi, guys, I said, waving a wrinkled hand. Can I join?The boy looked at me and grimaced, his face scrunching into a tiny rippled ball before it opened back up again.'Are you a boy or a girl? he asked.Everybody working on sandcastle put down their shovels.At first, I wasn't sure that he was talking to me. I looked over at James. Being twins, we have similar faces. The same big eyebrows, high cheekbones, and a mouth that seems too wide for thin lips that surround it. And, in current outfit, James and I had same bare chest-ribs sticking out and deep holes where our collarbones jutted from our necks. James turned his face to sand, where his yellow plastic shovel had been digging a moat.I'm April.The other kids resumed digging, sandcastle a higher priority than ambiguous appearance. The moat was getting deeper by second. I reached for bucket, but a hand moved it away. …