Adam’s Ale

Sarah Crucilla

Loneliness is a state of mind that someone reaches when they lose all hope, all fear,

all emotion. My goal in this writing piece is to tacitly explain the differences between being

alone and feeling lonely. I want to capture the candid, emotional experience of being faced

with something larger than life and feeling small in comparison. I chose to use a

mysterious, hypotaxic sentence structure to portray levels of emotion. Moreover, each word

I use is selectively chosen to express my feelings. The ocean is described like a lady to show

its nurturing nature, contrasted with the jagged peaks, which are there to portray conflict.

With an irriguous breath, the morning opened its shades. Little droplets of water, gray in

form, came together, like two friends. The little circles fell from the tip of tall, moss-covered

trees onto a little, 4-person tent. My eyes began to flutter. With a shiver, my arm hairs stooderect.

I didn’t need a beep of an alarm clock to wake me up. It was around 6 AM and the ocean

was calling me. The misty morning embraced my face as I daintily stepped over sleeping souls,exiting my temporary home. Life just began to stir. A banana slug, long in its yellow form,

meandered across the sandy ground, taking my eyes with it. Its graceful form glided, enjoying

the pure simplicity of the still earth.

Ash and smoke lay scattered around the fire pit from our s’mores from the night before,which were still sitting in my stomach. I clenched both my fist and my teeth. I didn’t want

anything to inhibit me from feeling the kiss of the ocean before the spit of humanity would be on

my back.My feet carried me to the top of a fallen birch branch, bleached by years under the sun’s

watchful gaze. I caught my first glimpse of the Pacific for the day. My soul was sold to her

majestic grace; my body was within the holds of her golden hands. A veil of fog left the jagged

 peaks of silver stone resting in pools of water. Their luminous presence, just offshore, consumedmy mental being, mocking my existence, beckoning me closer.

I climbed further over the trees. Tibetan prayer flags flew from the top of the tallest one,

welcoming us into the campsite. One of my instructors brought it with her from when she visitedthe Himalayas the year before and danced within its high peaks. I do not necessarily believe in

their myths of hope, but they did serve as a good marker as to where the campsite was relative to

the long, hazy beach.The water lapped up against the shore, in a cyclic, rhythmic pattern. Tentatively, I

listened to its song. The wail called for me, and, like an automaton, I moved towards it, allowing

at first my toes, then my feet to be submerged by its salty presence. Ocean spray moistened my

windbreaker, leaving little circles of white salt where it evaporated.Though it was condemned to go in the ocean by my instructors, my feet kept walking

deeper into the frigid water. The drenched land melted away with each footstep.

The tide was slowly going down, exposing more and more of the secrets of the shore to

my eyes. Out about 100 yards from where the waves crashed lay a little rock formation dottedwith beautiful shades of violets, tawnys, and golds. It was visible not like this when I first walked

out. With light steps, I ran down the beach, with my hair in flight behind me.

 

As the wind rushed through my hair, my mind drifted in circles, dwelling for a time upon

the song “Mr. Brightside.” With a crackle that I could not prevent, the words flowed out ofmy

mouth and quietly floated around in the air around her majestic grace.

“But it's just the price I pay, destiny is calling me o pen up my eager eyes…” 

In my ignorance, my foot caught a rock, sending my frame tumbling into the churningwater, as calmly as a bird, I torpetoded my head out, looked around to ensure that no prying eyes

would glipmse, and when I was satisfied, exhaled, with a smile, the last lines of the song still on

the tip of my tongue.

“’Cause I’m Mr. Brightside.” 

Soon, I emerged on the little island, which was now more of a peninsula because of thereceding water.

On its murky brown walls lay hordes of starfish sitting front row listening to the ocean’s

symphony. With a wet finger, I slowly approached the nearest one. My finger lay on its spiny, prickly surface. This was a novel experience. Sure, I had seen these majestic creatures in the

touch-tanks at aquariums, but never in the wild. Their perfect star shaped body was almost unreal

to my naïve eyes. They lay, indolently, forlorn on the rocky shores of heaven in silence, yet

unlike the captive ones, they seemingly smiled as they breathed in the wild breath of freedom.More carful, yet faster than my commencement, I scampered out. I did not know how

much time I had before someone else would wake up, and I wanted to experience more of the

 beach for myself. I began wandering among the rocky shores.Each pebble that lay upon the shore was a tiny story or prayer from another time and

 place. No one human being has time to honor them all, or enjoy all their pretty colors. But, they

were always there, just another fixture of the ocean that drew you in.

Another girl on this trip, with her blonde hair shining in the sunlight of the day before, picked up a black rock and declared that it was a wish rock. In that same sun, each one of us

 proceeded to find a little pebble with a continuous white band around its center. I looked for an

analogous one today. My wish would be my contribution to the shores of plenty.As the water receded, a little orange sparkle caught my eye. Back at the campsite, the

instructors drilled the Leave No Trace policies of the Olympic National Park into my brain. As

those environmental policies were crawling around my head like a termite, I chose to suppressthe idea of following them. I had just laid my eyes on one of the most beautiful stones I had ever

seen. It wasn’t a wish stone, but it was something more. 

My fingers touched its smooth surface. I placed my nails inside of each groove, feeling

the places where the ocean scarred it, and the placed where it wiped old ones away. Its starkorange color matched the color of a storybook starfish.

Along the shore I walked farther away from the campsite, tentatively was replaced with a

zealous passion that burned through my soul. She was there to listen and to comment back with

her caresses of cool water. I could think, and she would answer.After the bottoms of my feet were worn and my soul was completely gone, I plopped on

top of a large, white rock and just watched. That could be enough, sometimes, just to look upon

something with a silent mouth and vocal eyes.

 

  I was wrapped up in this wonderworld that I could not decipher the footsteps behind me

from the rest of the sounds. I felt a tap on my shoulder.

As I turned around, a brown-haired boy I knew stood behind me smiling, shattering myworld.

“Good Morning.”