"PUFFS OF GREY SMOKE"

Puffs of clouds like grey cotton balls almost blanketed the skies over the long curving span of beach. A few sandpipers, unmindful of the accelerating winds, pecked in their peculiar way at bits of sea life washed in by the tide.

Andrea was barefoot and as her long brown hair was caught by the wind and flung across her face, she saw it. At first it was a dark blob on the horizon, and then as she walked it seemed to gradually turn into something else.

The serenity of the afternoon gradually diminished as Andrea viewed the grey molecular blob that had washed ashore.

"What could this be?"

As Andrea approached the grey monster, she noticed a slight movement as if the mammal was breathing.

"What could this whale have eaten or been exposed to?"

She acknowledged to herself that the nuclear power plant was presently located three miles north of San Clemente. Andrea wondered about a nuclear disaster as she stood on nearby Capistrano Beach.

Andrea felt the earth tremble underneath her feet. Her blue eyes grew larger as she dreamed about two disasters happening simultaneously.

Tears pierced her eyes as she touched the slimy slick skin of the whale with her soft hands.

"Why would society let this sort of thing happen? Why have we created such explosive devices on the breach of disaster? The Newport Inglewood Fault is only 20 miles north. The Elsinore Fault is 30 miles east which runs southward towards San Diego. Why does society do this?"

The transistor radio was turned on so she could hear the latest news.

"There has been a slight earthquake. The quake was located near Capistrano registering 4.5 on the Richter Scale. San Clemente nuclear power plant has sprung a leak. The plant will be closed temporarily. Stay tuned for more information. Now let's hear Bette Midler "The Rose".

Andrea turned up the volume thinking, "What the hell is going on?"

Andrea was scared as she glanced at the deserted beach.

"Had the whale swallowed those massive chemical doses exuded from the power plant?"

The orange Toyota looked like a long- lost friend as she approached the parking lot. She turned the motor on, backed out driving northward to the Laguna Beach Hotel where she knew she could contact The LA Times to tell them about the whale on the beach.

Upon arrival she parked near the entrance to the restaurant. Andrea walked inside. She asked the hostess where the pay phone was located. She walked to the pay phone near the restrooms. Andrea called a reporter at The LA Times. A reporter told her he would be out to meet her shortly.

Andrea squinched her eyes, sat down at a table to order coffee. She waited at a table near the entrance so she could see the reporter when he walked into the restaurant.

Thirty minutes later a long leg blonde male reporter spotted Andrea at the table near the entrance. He walked over to Andrea, sat down at the table facing her, "Let's get on with it."

Andrea replied, "I saw an awful prodigy on the beach. Why don't you follow me?"

"Yes, my name is Mike." His brown eyes lit up as he followed the pink bikini clad Andrea out of the restaurant.

Andrea was feeling flushed and excited as she showed him her car. He got into his red mustang convertible. Mike followed her to the beach where the whale had been spotted.

When they arrived, the whale was gone.

"Well lady, apparently you have mistaken this to be a nuclear accident. The whale has gone back to sea. San Clemente sprung a leak and you look like you had one too many joints."

Andrea replied, "Ain't life the pits Mister? I tell you the whale was here an hour ago and the last joint I smoked was 24 hours ago on top of ole' smokey."

Her sarcasm went undetected as the reporter turned and walked away.

She fell into the sandy beach. She saw the whale swimming out to sea, spurting water, jumping in and out of the ocean.

As she cupped her right hand above her eyebrows to see more clearly, she noticed there was blood on each finger.

"Crazy I may be, but this is the same spot where the whale lay an hour ago. The poor thing was dying."

"Who cares? I am just another crazy with sand between my toes, blood on my hand."

Tears fell as Andrea sulked into her shell as she hung her hand between her bent legs.

"Who cares about the blob on the beach? Not even the sandpipers as they continued to peck away at various forms of sea life. Oh well. another day, another time."

Andrea pulled a joint from her pink bikini top. She looked at it, lit it, placing it between her pink lips. She inhaled blowing puffs of grey smoke into the winds that were diminishing as dusk covered the seascape.

Another dream, another vision of a girl on the beach blowing puffs into the wind as she sighed waking up with her joint completely in her dream.

"That's all folks. Now hear the new hit this week by the Eagles," blurted the disc jockey as "The Sad Cafe" began to fill the air waves.

Andrea lay back, closed her eyes, curling her toes in the sand.

"Tomorrow is another day."

Written by Vicki Trusselli 1979 as told through the eyes of the decade of the 70s.