Sand Castle Sandy

"Really?"

"Yes. Really."

*

I woke later than I usually would. Classes start early at the school where I teach kindergarten, so I'm usually automatic. I'm also a light sleeper, and in this piece-of-crap old RV, anyone moving around in it makes the thing rock back and forth, creak, and groan, so I should have woken when he left but I didn't.

There was a note that he scribbled into a page of my sketchbook that I had on the sink counter. In the crease at the spine there was cash, later I'd count it and find that it was nine $100 bills and then $77 in assorted denominations. Who walks around with almost a thousand bucks on them?

The note read:

Thank you for last night. You are a really good person. I am very worried about you though. Please take this note, and the money, and drive to the tire center at 1525 Dolphin Way, a couple of blocks from here. DON'T DRIVE ANYWHERE ELSE! Show this to the manager, Jim Geltz, he'll give you a discount. Good luck in the competition. I'm rooting for you.

Rick

*

I got to the pier before the sand castle contest became open to the public and took a million pictures of my castle, glad it overnighted without anything falling apart. Then I reviewed all the other entries, chatting a bit with the other artists. There were some really cool sculptures, and I threw out compliments whenever it felt right.

I left the pier for coffee during the judging process, I always hated that part. I was thrilled to find a best-in-show blue ribbon at my station when I returned, a trophy at my castle's base. Not that I gave a damn about the trophy or the accolades, but the check for winning would pay for gas which my RV was a glutton for.

I hung around behind my entry after the pier was opened to the public where locals and tourists alike came to view all the sand sculptures. I always enjoyed seeing the reactions from the kids. I noticed Rick's getting a lot of attention too. I overheard one man tell the woman he was with, "Look at those tits, I'd like to put my face in that sand." He got the reaction he wanted when she called him a jerk and punched him in the arm.

I looked out for Rick all day, but he was a no show. I was hoping to give him his money back. I was especially uncomfortable having that much cash on my person, so I was hoping to see him sooner than later. He was a no show on Sunday too.

Monday morning, I woke to the sounds of equipment removing the sand from the pier after smashing all the entries. The temporary nature of my sand castle was always satisfying to me, probably why I didn't work with any other medium.

It also signified the fact that I'd never see Rick again. I could at least take his advice and spend his money like he told me to. I drove straight to the tire store like he ordered in all capital letters.

I asked the friendly looking woman working behind the counter for the guy in the note Rick left. "He's one of the owners, I'm his wife, another owner. Is there something I can help you with?"

Oh, what the hell, probably less embarrassing showing the note to a woman than if a dude read it. I opened my sketchbook for her to read.

She looked up at me in an all new light, surely judging me. I pointed out the first line, "It says 'thanks for last night' but that's not what you think it means."

She smiled at me, "I'm sure it doesn't." After an awkward pause she said she'd get Jim and went into the door marked 'Manager's Office', coming back with a jolly looking guy with a sizable beer belly and a smile that naturally narrowed his eyes. "You must be Sandy. Rick told me all about you in an e-mail. I'm glad you made it in."

Glad he passed on reading Rick's note left on the counter, he led me outside to look at the RV, opening the door for me as we went. He couldn't conceal the look of shock when he saw my tires. He looked under the little hood at the engine too, his brow creased in concern.

OK, yeah, I know it's a piece of garbage and that I don't know shit about mechanics, but this RV represented the brightest parts of my childhood and maybe even the best memories of my 32 years of life. I'm not about to put a bullet into it. Only I may have inadvertently killed it anyway from neglecting maintenance.

Only maintenance is expensive, and I was starting to worry. I saw dollar signs growing in stature before my eyes. I had every penny carefully mapped out for the summer and it didn't include any of this. I saw price tags on tires in the store and the money Rick left me surely couldn't cover it.

"Sandy, this is worse than I expected," he started out ominously, "you were really lucky you didn't kill yourself getting here from wherever you came from. The metal cords are showing from every tire, and taking this on I-5, it would be a miracle if they didn't all blow."

"Oh, no," I cried. This would put an end to my summer and it barely started.

"Don't worry, we'll saften you up and get you back on the road. I hope you're not in a hurry though, this is going to take probably all day."

I had to level with him, "I don't have a lot of money, what's the cheapest way I can get out of this?"

No clipboard math, no computer, he quoted me right there off the top of his head. "Five tires including the spare, a little touch up under the hood, oil change, tax and labor, it'll be exactly $977."

It took a few revolutions around my brain before I could speak. "No way."

He chuckled, "Way. First, you're going to have to go back inside and ask Maggie, my wife, for a cup of coffee. The good stuff and not the swill we leave in the waiting room. And you better be quick about it, before her head explodes. Like one of these tires on the highway."

*

I got it. Obviously friends with Mr. Rick who clearly had influence. My discount included getting the third degree. I didn't have a lot to tell though, so I wasn't worried, but I wasn't going to spill Rick's ugly from that night. I owed him a significant amount of goodwill that I'd repay a little bit with keeping my mouth in check.

"So, how did you meet Rick?" Maggie started out while we sat in the customer lounge, a really great sip of coffee passing through my lips.

I told her about the sand castles, even the argument over the nipples, how I shaved them off, and stopped there. She seemed nice enough, and she seemed to genuinely care about Rick, but she knew I stopped short.

She sighed, put her face in her hands briefly, and said, "You're a good kid. I know he's not put together yet and you're leaving that part out. Me and Jim, we're so worried about him. He's just such a great guy, he didn't deserve what happened."

"What happened?" I sheepishly asked.

"When she got sick, she hid it from him. When she couldn't anymore, she went quick, and he was absolutely destroyed. It was terrible. She told me before she left this world that she didn't think he would recover and was worried more about him than all the pain she was going through."

She paused and drank from her mug, looking off in thought. "This world is just so unfair to people that deserve better, you know?"

I just stared at my coffee, remembering what Rick said to his wife in sand. He really thought he was talking to her. I hoped she heard him from the other side, as crazy as that sounds.

Maggie brightened up suddenly. "At least she brought you two together. I know you aren't going to tell me how you rescued him the other night, but I just know you did. And just like classic Rick, he's your knight in shining armor, Jim tells me you really needed these repairs badly. Were you his damsel in distress maybe, was it the other way around, or a little of both?"

*

It was indeed a long day. I walked to the micro park a few blocks away, finished my novel on my Kindle and started another one, had lunch at a Mexican joint next door to the tire shop, and sipped on some iced tea exchanging life stories with Maggie in the afternoon, leaving out any confession of my crazy.

Finally, Jim came out from the shop with the verdict. Tires, belts, brakes, and some things I just pretended to understand.

"Was your air conditioning working?" He asked me. I shook my head, no. "Well it does now, and the tuning I did will restore some horsepower so you can use the air and your mileage won't be affected. Still shitty mileage though, I can't perform miracles."

I had to ask, "I thought this was a tires-only shop? How could you do all that?"

"Because I can. It actually felt good getting my hands dirty for a change. It gets old watching these youngsters I hired doing all the wrenching. Now, the ugly part, the bill. That'll be $977."

I could see Maggie smirking from behind the counter. I asked incredulously, "Seriously?!"

*

The three headed dragon was down one head, it was lying at the feet of the knight that severed it. The knight glanced back and forth between the two remaining heads not knowing which would strike next. It mattered not. He was too in love with the queen safely tucked inside the castle to let this beast escape with its life though he had no backup, the rest of the queen's defenses lay in ruin. The knight taunted the beast now. He knew, the dragon knew, the next slice of his sword would be the fatal blow.

Prokofiev's Symphony no. 4 was reaching its crescendo in my earbuds, I could feel the drama within my chest. The cool hand on my shoulder brought me crashing back to Earth with a shriek from my throat, my earbuds both popping out and into the sand.

"Sorry. But are you OK?" Asked my assistant, another local college art student that was working with me for the very first time.

I wiped the tears from my face with my arm, feeling the grit from the sand scratch and transfer to my face, and I lied, "Yeah, I'm OK."

He looked at me with concern but went about his business, building the sand around the dragon's backside which would become its sweeping and scaled tail.

I talked to myself in my head only without any visions of dragons or castles. I am OK. I'm going to be OK. This is normal. Right? People do this. Behave like I do.

I didn't place in the contest. Looking back I think my sculpture was too gory. Didn't matter though I would have liked any of the cash prizes and been able to loosen my belt, so to speak.

I roared out of Dana Point with my 'like new' still piece-of-shit RV and headed north to next week's sand challenge in Newport.

*

Newport sucked for a bunch of reasons. First, I wasn't allowed to park my RV anywhere near the beach location of the contest so I had to pay for a space in a shitty RV park and Uber to the beach. Secondly, the contest mandated the theme of 'circus'. Many of the entries had clowns, which have always freaked me out, but it meant I couldn't carve a castle which was my signature edifice. Instead I carved a montage that included an elephant, tiger, and a top hat. I didn't place in the judging.

I've never even been to a circus, and a sand castle without a castle? What's even the point?

Long Beach, Santa Monica, Santa Barbera, Pismo, Monterey, the weather held up as typical and I pulled off some ribbons and even one more 'best of show' which gave me a little gas money. That put Santa Cruz next on my calendar. My home town. Also a black hole. Yeah, I'd get to see my sister and niece, but it also meant seeing my mother.

Maybe it was because of the environment but here, my castle lain mostly in ruins. The castle fared poorly from the dragon bombardment, but somehow persevered. Multiple slain dragons littered the landscape in gory states, their severed ligaments strewn about. The lone exhausted knight knelt in prayer, held from collapsing to the ground by only his sword.

"Oh, my gahwd, Sandra. What the Hell?!" It was my mother. Standing behind the ropes with my sister and her little girl.

"Your father," she went on, after capturing my attention, "he would not approve."

She was right, of course. The castles that Dad taught me to carve, and that we'd make together, were always fun and fanciful. Never dark like this.

We all hugged, said our hello's, and caught up for a bit. My sister, Sam, sent Mom off with my niece to see the other entries in the contest.

When they were out of sight, Sam gripped me by the shoulders. "Sis. You are not alright."

I agreed with her. She embraced me tightly and that helped a little. No, more than a little, it was salvational.

I whimpered a little as she extended her embrace. I whispered to her, "I have to get out of this town."

*

1

*

The last day of the school year was bittersweet. I loved my kids, and this year's had been mostly a good group, but some of their parents had given me a lot of grief. Just one example, this little girl somehow lost one of her shoes at recess once a week, and her mother would give me shit about it, even complaining about me to the principal, and I didn't even monitor the playground.

I drove my ancient Honda 141 miles down the coast from Bodega Bay where I lived, to Santa Cruz and my childhood home where Mom still lived, only now with my sister and niece. I paused when I pulled in front, looking at my piece of shit RV next to the house where I had stored it, in the same place Dad always kept it. It was going to surely stink like hell inside once I got the tarps pulled off it. I wish I knew how Dad had been able to keep it from getting that smell when I was a kid.

The 141 miles were key. Just outside of Mom's range to drop in unexpectedly, which she had done too many times when I lived locally. Yet it was close enough that my sister would drive up for a weekend visit once a month. I wonder how many times my sister has saved my life just by being near me.

I spent a couple of nights in my childhood bedroom while the RV was at a local garage getting ready for this summer's excursion. I had tightened my belt more than ever before over the school year, budgeting for extra maintenance. OK, how about 'just enough' maintenance to cover the Pacific coast's summer sand castle competitions, because gas, food, the occasional entry fee, and parking were enough to keep me living like a pauper. It was bad enough I still had to pay for an empty apartment the ten weeks I left town every year.

I gritted my teeth throughout my time at home. Mom followed me around with all the usuals. I was too skinny, my hair was done all wrong, my clothes looked like they were from Goodwill. OK, she was right on the last point because they were. Then she followed her endless checklist where she voiced how every single decision I had ever made in my life was wrong. Sam tried to defend me, bless her, but it was exhausting.

I escaped the house a couple times but to no relief. Everywhere I went in town brought memories. I tried not to count all of the places where I had sat in the lady's room and cried at some time or another.

The bill for the oil change and some other maintenance on the RV wasn't as bad as I expected. Jim must have done an over-the-top job last summer, I silently thanked his skills with a wrench. All things cosmetic I overlooked. It was a rust bucket, beat up and ugly, sure, but we had that in common.

Sam got up early in the morning to see me off with a hug. "I hate that you go away for so long," she said, her voice quivering with emotion, "I worry about you."

"I'll miss you too, sis," I replied, holding back tears. "Take care of that little girl."

As I roared out of town, with every mile I put behind me, I felt just a little bit freer. I could breathe just a little bit clearer. The cinder block in my chest feeling just a little bit lighter.

I erased my mind of my life and pondered a possible three-peat in San Diego. Castles, dragons, kings and queens swirled around in my head now.

And one impossible knight. Bolted into his armor. Sir Rick of The Order of the Sand.

*

I located my station on the pier, glad to see my usual assistant. I probably wouldn't get her again; she had just graduated and was about to realize her dreams by interning at a museum in Europe.

She anxiously bypassed the usual hug in greeting. "You won't believe this," she said, and turned me to the drama a few stations away where there was something going on in a crappy location on the pier, completely hemmed in by some temporary structures erected for the competition.

Rick was once again arguing with the asshole official from last year. The argument elevated to a one-sided shouting match.

Enough was enough.

"Hi, Rick," I voiced, getting in between the melee. "What's going on here?"

It took a second for my intrusion to register, but it finally did. "Hi, Sandy. Um, shit, you wouldn't even know."

I looked at the official and he shrugged at me. Looking bored even. Totally unaffected.

Rick explained to me, "Sandy, this shit location they put me in. She won't be able to see the sea."

I could see it in his face; desperation, anxiety, but not surrender. I got it.

"Look," I started into the official, "can't you move him to a better spot?" With a view of the Pacific from this pier?

"No way," he responded.

Rick's assigned station, as it was situated, felt personal. This asshole was clearly punishing him over their confrontation from last year.

I got close and looked the official in the eye, "I'm trading places with him."

Rick and the official both protested. I stood my ground. Sand, in my case.

The official sputtered, "Sandra, you have the best spot on the pier, you are a popular draw at this exhibition. You just can't. I won't allow it."

I responded stiffly, "I can walk away from this, you know. I don't need a hassle."

He sputtered again, but I wasn't having it. He knew from my expression that he wasn't going to get anywhere, at least not with me.

When I knew I had him, I pointed to his clipboard, "Show me your cancellations." He made a weak attempt to hide it. "I know you have some. Every year that I've been here there have been empty stations from 'no shows'."

He looked at his clipboard, which I read from over the top and upside down. "There," I pointed out. "Right next to mine. Put him there."

He muttered, "Fine," made note of it with his pen and scurried off in defeat.

I turned to Rick, "Hello, neighbor."

"Thanks, Sandy," he sheepishly replied, a little embarrassed.

I chuckled at his expression, "What is it with you? Do you have to do every one of these things with drama?"

He screwed up his face, not knowing how to answer. I asked, "I gather from your request for a better view, you are sculpting your wife again, and you want her to have a view of her favorite beach. Is that right?"

He enthusiastically responded, "Exactly!"

"How are you going to sculpt her?" I asked with honest curiosity.

He pulled out a printed picture from his back pocket and unfolded it for me to see. His late wife was simply stunning, this time sitting on her towel in a bikini, posed in the lotus position. Her eyes piercing anyone who gazed at the picture, and there was mirth in them. Like she had just been laughing. "Did you take this photo?"

"Yeah."

"OK, well, you know what I want." I asked, now looking into his dreamy blue-green ones. "What's the story?"

"Oh," he shuffled his bare feet, looking away for a moment, "I took it right over there. She had just started getting into yoga at home and I was teasing her about it." There was some nervous shyness in his voice, so my guess was that the teasing was of a naughty nature that he was leaving out. "So she got into the lotus position and dared me to do the same. Taunting me. I gave it my best but struggled at it and she was laughing at my feeble attempt. She looked just so cute, I was lucky to have my phone next to me and snapped that picture."

I looked at the picture again and had a thought, "Wait. How are you going to do this? How are you going to support the arms like that without collapsing?"