The Sea Shell. 

The air the wind throws around this morning is cool and crisp, the kind of wind that sneaks its way through cracked windows to fall on your face. With it this morning, the wind carries the dew the night had let down, making its temperature feel even cooler. For Mary, these types of mornings are her favorite. They’re so much Mary’s favorite that she tosses herself out of bed at the first feel of it, throwing on her jacket and forgetting her shoes as she heads down to the shoreline.

The sun hovers above the horizon like a bee hovers over a flower right before it takes off through the air.  As Mary walks up to the ocean she kneels down, floating her fingers over the oncoming waves, wondering what the day will bring.

Ocean, you always know what to do. How come I have so much trouble figuring it out? She says to herself. Lately things have gotten quiet, making Mary’s question seem louder. For weeks classes have ended and summer has come. Mary spends most her days helping her father attend to their grove of orange trees, but now the season’s almost over and there’s little work to be done. Too much free time Mary has, and she spends it pondering such things a little girl of nine shouldn’t be so worried about. 

Lost in her thought, Mary does not notice the oncoming wave. This wave is four times the size of all the other waves, and crashes over her like a baseball cracks into a bat, knocking her flat on her back. Spitting salty water from her mouth, Mary sits soaking wet on the sandy shore, her nose wrinkled with frustration as she looks straight up into the blue morning sky.

Mary rolls over onto her side, and that’s when she sees it. The biggest and most beautiful seashell she had ever seen laying yards away on the edge of the shore. The sun bounces off the shell, showing Mary spikes of red and flashes of gold.  I must have it. She thinks to herself, and quickly gets up to grab it. But, alas! Another wave comes crashing in, and when it leaves the shell is nowhere to be seen.

Confused, Mary runs out into the ocean, skimming the floor in search of it. It mustn’t have gone too far. She says as she dips her hands into the water. Mary dances her fingers along the bed of the ocean, but she is unable to find the giant red and gold shell; instead her fingertips only feel sharp rocks and strings of seaweed.

As the sun rises above her, Mary stays in the ocean searching up and down for the shell. Breakfast and lunch soon have gone and passed, but Mary has not eaten. She’s too focused on finding that shell. With soggy fingers, Mary wipes stuck strands of hair from her forehead and goes to sit down on the grassy knoll beyond the sand, a defeated look pinched between her eyes.

I’ll never find it. She says to herself. It’s gone! Mary has searched and searched, but found no trace of where the shell could now be. Mary crosses her arms tightly across her chest, her eyebrows furrowing from frustration at her foiled attempt to find that beautiful shell. Her chin falls slightly to her chest, letting out a forceful breath and a harsh hmmmph.

A light breeze blows across Mary’s face, as if coaxing her to move away with it. But she is too determined to find the shell. Mary waits and watches the sun drift across the sky as it dries her in the grass. The shell found its way to shore once, and it will find its way back. I must be patient. Mary thinks. And so she sits, staying still as she waits for the shell to find her.

Seconds turn into minutes and minutes turn into dusk. Soon the sun drops, falling behind a layer of clouds before ducking behind the horizon. And when the stars come out Mary is still sitting shell-less in the grass. Dizzy from hunger, Mary finally gets up and makes her way down to the shore to look once more before retiring back home.

Her toes dip into the water, sending a cold chill up through her legs and into her shoulders. A gentle wave crashes below her ankles, with it lands what looks and feels like a small, smooth rock. Mary picks up the rock and flips it over in her hand. But once Mary sees the other side she realizes it is no rock at all. The other side is red, just like the shell she had seen this morning. This must be a piece of that shell. She thinks to herself, and just before she finishes her thought another wave washes pass her ankles; with it comes another piece of the shell, this one a soft gold.

A piece of the shell rests in each of Mary’s hands. Another wave crosses over her feet, but this one brings only itself. Mary looks up to the moon before turning her sights on the wave, watching with hopeful eyes as it drifts back into the sea. Before the wave can crash again she turns to leave, ready to go back home.

Mary has found what it is she was looking for.