September 2014 will definitely hold an honored place in the time line of my life.  Before all of this though, I should tell you that the Atlantic sea is quite an anomaly. But no, I suppose the proper definition of anomaly is, “Something that deviates from what is standard, normal, or expected,” and that my dear reader, doesn’t even put it into words.  So many conflicting emotions overcome me even now, as I think of the great, billowing waves. The first time I saw it, it was an experience like no other. The world aligned and imploded all at the same time. I instantly was enamored with the great ocean, but acquired hydrophobia and was scared to enter its dark depths.
It all started with a tightly sealed car ride of seven-hundred, forty-eight, and point seven three kilometers. The babies had finally calmed down from their tirade as my mother fed a pacifier to the youngest little pioneer and leaned her head against the general’s car seat. The General, Maddie, droned on about a monkey in the “big bup” as I held my drowsy eyes open to see the buildings of yet another state capital in shotgun seat. My Dad, naturally built to last this type of thing, gripped the steering wheel with one hand, and his extra black coffee with the other. “The ocean should be showing up here in between the buildings.” My father told us as our car clawed its way up the road. A weak roar of excitement spread through me and my twin-like sister, making us both look at each other and smile up to our ears. My veins heated and my heart had a renewed sense of hunger as I indulged in my father’s bold interjection. I shifted, left shoulder first, then right shoulder, until I sat up straight, polar to my grungy slouch and made a direct grab for my mother's, (or as I call her “Momma”), phone. “Thirteen minutes calculated to your chosen destination,” mono-toned the little black device. After a few more finger pokes, I managed to calm my dire excitement and put the cellular device down.

Transition As a result of this, the car had jollied up and we all giggled slightly as the weight of the moving box fell off our minds. It was close to night and we had been following my grandfather and uncle down various lanes and highways that took forever to cease. The babies had never been clamped in their food-caked seats so long either and they were taking it rough. They must have felt like caged animals; zoo creatures settled at the edge of the last frontier with the key in the lock of their enclosure.  I started to check the time non-stop now, probably driving Suri out of her mind, or better yet, her battery. Openings in between buildings teased us like bullies, consuming us practically whole. I decided instead of talking about the sea, maybe a change of perspective would be nice.

“Oh my gosh you guys, did you see that Piggly Wiggly?” I asked with giddy interest. “Yeah, I like the Piggly Wiggly, it's cute. I've been there before when your Nana and Pappy took me as a little girl,” Momma said, smiling as she remembered the establishment.
“Really?! What was it like? Is it like Kroger?” I asked, pressing for more information.
“Kinda like that, just smaller and the workers have accents.” My mother told me as she gazed upon the altar that praised all pig kind.

Not to mention, my sister and I had a very complicated conversation using nothing but excited laughs and wide-eyed looks. We had this ancient language, which is used by all best friends, perfected, and we had amazing vocabulary. Here is what it most likely translated to, if my memory allows:

“SIIISSSSS!” I said while gripping my seat and twisting all the way around; my eyes spun 360's in my scull.
“KENZZZZZ!” My sister responded clearly by rounding her eyes and widening her mouths in a pristine O. She clasped her hands on both sides of her head.

“Oh my snap! This is the most amazing trip in all the history of amazing trips!” I exclaimed with a smack of the head rest.
“Well said, well said! Hear, hear!” My sister nodded at me and snapped her neck back to the attention of the new wonderland we had entered.
Furthermore, I sighed and sat back down in my seat. Boy, was I proud to have her as a sister. I smiled and laughed at Dad, and he smiled back down at me too. My mother was getting giddy as well, this holy land was her dream for as long as we have known her. She was the original dreamer, the encourager of all our expeditions. Speaking of dreams, it was my dream to make her's true, and I swore that I would try hard to enable her to move there one day, although I had no income and didn’t plan on having one any time soon.

That’s when it happened. The sliced and gray beauty stole my heart. Ah, the sea has its way of silencing you the second you see it. It clasped me in choppy hands and sunk me in the rip tide as I let go a squeak of utter stupefaction. It never faulted in its dark beauty once, it refused to be pacific. We followed the sea west, until we came upon a humongous building that liked to eat weary tourists. I crawled out of my gray automobile and right there it was. It splashed and sloshed up the beach, throwing itself on the sand and beckoning me with an outstretched finger; next, it fell slowly back into its dance, probably showing off to fresh and salt-less eyes.
“Come on, lets go check it out while your mom and Pappy go get the room.” My father said with a smile of sheer relief to be out of his dutiful seat. The three of us, my sister, my father, and I, ran and galloped to the ever searching expanse of water as if we were the last wild horses. The moment my bare feet touched the water, I stopped in complete and utter fear. I short circuited as I remembered, I was in the ocean and I was not going to take one factor lightly, the sharks!  fragment The utter strength and power of the vast waters dumfounded me. I could go in there and never come back out. My father and sister dived straight in, but I faltered. The briny sway laughed behind its hands at my folly fear. I hugged the sea shore as my sister walked closer and closer to the horizon point. Harsh waves smacked at my bare ankles as I admired the cascades of pure black ink.
The next day, we took our Scooby Doo “boogy boards” out to the beach and started our descent into deeper waters. I had various thoughts quietly playing out in my mind like a flash back. The Soul Surfer scene I had oddly memorized played with perfect precision, knowing in just what fear to poke fun at. I followed my sister, cautious step by cautious step, until the water was up to my thighs.

“This is far enough Sis, any farther we will get caught by the rip tide.” I said sternly, becoming stiff with every movement.

“Come on Kenz, this may be the last time we can be in the sea, just live in the moment,” she replied.
I snorted. My sisters maxim seemed ironic to me sense it was my life that I feared I would lose. Still yet, she marched into the water. With fear that the shark would find her more appetizing, I chased after her like a remora to the questioned species. Watching my sister slip into the open water was a very humbling experience; for some reason I couldn’t help but feel a sharp stab of urgency.

“Sis, seriously, do you want to be eaten by a shark?!” I screamed over the moody prose of the sea.
“I leave that in God's hands!” My sister said, as she laughed at my urgency and continued out.
Then, to my good fortune, she stopped, got on her “boogy board” and rode in the direction of our temporary home. I hopped on my board as well, even more nervous to not have my feet on the ever sifting ground. She paddled against the tugs and paid little attention to the fact that she very much resembled a sea turtle. We ran aground after a small lifetime, and our vessels became engulfed in a cacophony of sea shells and sand. My sister then did what I most dreaded; she picked up the board and went back out again. Dutiful as her protector and little sister, I followed her into the ocean once again. I figured if I was there with her I could help fend of sharks, or if worst came to worst, at least we would have each other if we became lost at sea.

Soon this “chased and be chased” game became tiring, and we dragged our mini ships back onto land.
“Did you girls have fun out there?” my mother inquired while she shifted Maylee from one pale arm to the other.
“Yes, I did, thank you guys so much!” my sister responded, answering the question in a high pitched tone.
“Yeah, thanks you guys,” I said with a somnolent smile.

I took one last look back at the sea as we got into the car for lunch and realized that nothing had happened to me. I was still in one piece. Maybe, just maybe, I was too harsh on the sea. Maybe that moody crashing of waves, that beckoning hand, was not an antipathy towards me, but a request of amity. I smiled to myself and thought of how much of an implacable chicken I was and climbed into the car with sprawled limbs.

Now, don't think me a changed girl. I did not go out into the ocean with the zeal that I thought I would that day. But I imagined swimming farther and farther out every time I waded. It was my dream to overcome this silly little child’s fear and move on into the sweet grace of boldness. Now when I think of my sweet South Carolina, I regret not letting myself bask in the deep waters of my dearest ocean. I regret not hardening my faltering heart for the sake of the sea. I swore to myself from the day I was to return to my own world, that I would one day swim farther out. If I did not succeed my endeavor in one day, than maybe I would in a month. If I did not succeed in a month, then maybe I would in some amount of years.  Even now, every time I think of the sea, I see myself sinking into the deep Marina trench or front stroking out in the direction of some further island. As I have said, the sea is quite an anomaly.