Values

BAND OF GOLD

 

The broad, endless Atlantic City beach calls to me at 7 a.m. every morning of our yearly visit. The cold waves almost ripple in. I sit where they can't yet reach me, enjoy the salty mist, the lack of popsicle sellers, sunbrellas blocking my view. Our two children and Marc (my husband of eighteen years) sleep tightly, don't hear me close and lock our door. They stay and guard our suite against any possible marauder. If someone should get in, he will be terribly disappointed. Our jewelry is fake, bought at the Flea Market in town. Marc sleeps on a few dollars to get us thru the day. He goes each morning to the hotel safe deposit box to refill our coffers.

 

Half of the orange sun rises over the horizon. It is so beautiful I stare at it too long. My eyes stop focusing. I see black dots everywhere. The sensation clears in less than three minutes. At seven-0-5, mechanical claws rumble like thunder, ride up and down the beach raking up what the slobs have left, haven't  bothered to put in the convenient large trash cans. Something slaps my damp back and sticks to me. I pull it off and can make out the front page of the Philly Forward. I roll it into a tight ball and stuff it into the plastic bag I keep with me for just such occasions. 

 

Little sand crabs wash up and dig into the wet sand. Some I never see again. Many are washed out and in, out and in. It seems to be an unfair contest between them and the giant ocean.

 

The sunbrella hawkers carry several at a time from where they are stored nightly, next to the boardwalk, where they are chained to the posts. An elderly man brings his own multi-colored 'brella in one arm as he holds his wife's hand.  He squirms the post into the dry sand, that within an hour will be underwater. Doesn't he know that? I start to get up to tell him but think better of it and turn my back. I will have to move too, maybe before they do.

 

The sun is rising. It is yellow as buttery sponge cake. Just thinking about it, I need a coffee fix but it is too far to walk. It will be fine if I just relax and wait for Marc to bring sandwiches, some fruit, and the thermos that I have filled with lemonade, put a note on the cap, 'Just add ice cubes.' Alex and Marian can take turns carrying the sunbrella that will go in the sand that will be too hot to sit on, unless they bring our beach towels. Oh, Crud. Why didn't I leave a note about that, too?

 

The tide is coming in, the waves are getting stronger and I am going into it, at least up to my knees. After five minutes, I've had enough, dry my legs and watch for my gang. Timing is perfect. When I see them together my heart, my spirits brighten. I stand in a visible spot and wave madly for them to spot me. Everything pleases me. Marc plants the sunbrella, Marian spreads the towels around. 'Marian, how thoughtful. You brought the tablecloth.' She fluff it in the shade and we all help ourselves. 'Marc, Marc, isn't this fun? Isn't it great here together in the shade?' The leisurely day wanes too fast. The children go swimming past the breakers. I don't take my eyes off them. They come back water-logged, pooped.

 

While Marc and I sat and watched them as best we could, we talked and enjoyed our semi-solitude. I dabbled in the sand, dug holes with the cheap spoon I use instead of a child's shovel. There are a few pretty shells I want to wash and keep. My spoon hits something that clinks. I go a bit deeper and pull up a ring. It is in excellent condition, is certainly gold and has two initials inside that I can just about make out.  I try it on and feel like it was meant for me to find it. Marc and I make up a story about whose ring it is, was, and I begin to feel blue. Somebody lost her wedding ring. No telling how long it has been buried.

 

At four o'clock we clean up and return to our rooms. I rinse out all of our swim suits and put them in the dryer. Marc takes another nap. The children play a video game. I call the Philly Forward and place an ad, 'Jewelry found in sand near 24th & Bronx. Call 704-3218-8215 only between 9 and 10 p.m. Monday and Tues. Identify it and come get it.'

 

The ad goes in the morning paper and calls come in all day. I ignore them and answer only those that followed my instructions. 'Do you have my diamond bracelet, a gold chain, a man's onyx ring, but no gold band. The time is up for us to go home. I take the ring to the jewelry shop and learn it is 18 carat gold. What should I do with it?

 

Marian puts in a claim.'May I have it Mother? It does have an 'M' inside, doesn't it? I can save it for my wedding some day.' 'Well, it might be a 'W' upside down. The 'O' can make it OW or WO or MO or OM. 'Here, Honey, it's yours.'

 

Marian takes it to her room and stashes it amongst her junk jewelry.