Sunny Day Beach Story

Grabbing my binoculars and heading out through the hurricane glass sliding doors to the balcony I stretch out on a chaise. Manning my post I look east scanning the ocean from the white sandy shore to the darker, deeper blue-green sea.

The vantage point from my perch lends itself to checking the swimmers and what lurks just below the surface. Years of observing the ocean I recognize the changes in the swaying, rolling waves. The dolphins swim out toward the anchored cruise ships and loaded container freighters. They surface and dive in a choreographed ballet. It’s the fin that pokes out from the water and draws my attention. The dorsal moves slowly through the current. Coastal areas experience two high and two low tides every 24 hours due to the tidal bulges every lunar day. The tides are predictable, unpredictable is never knowing when the sharks will make an appearance.

I’m an observer. A looker - a seeker. This is always necessary in group living. Every condominium needs someone like me - even if they don’t think so. I’m the Condo Commando. The person that notes the rules and follows them. My so called transient neighbors think of me as the annoying little ole bitty.

It has been difficult for the last twenty-five years taking it all in and noting that rules need enforcement. That’s the missing piece of the puzzle for South Beach multi-unit dwellings. Miami Beach the city of all day, all night partying with a huge contingent of Airbnb illegal renters flocking to our shores. They know nothing about our sea - it’s beauty and it’s frightening living things that sneak up on you.

I have taken on the job - no pay - volunteer to be the lookout - taking in the movements of the salty water. I see the dark, lost staring eyes of the homeless showering and washing their clothes on the Beachwalk while people look on. Beach side restaurants line the shore on the backside of the hotels. The prices for the hotels, condos, and the menu options are expensive to amuse the rich. They sip their wine and cocktails, throw back their heads in laughter. The Speedo clad men and thong suited women speaking in a variety of languages never realize what awaits them. I know.

It's deadly to wear red, some believe it attracts the kings of the Atlantic. Global warming have intensified the attacks of the Selachimorpha, the scientific name for sharks. A dip in the ocean at the wrong time could be their last swim. Violent, painful, deadly.

Today chattering voices can be heard even from high above on the fifteenth floor where I sit, wait, watch. The children play in the water. They jump and kick their feet. The shark is in the neighborhood. I try to think like a shark - the scariest of fish takes the splashing as prey. Fast he navigates, swims, and charges speedily. The jaws lock tight around an arm or a leg. These body parts are favorites for striking and digging their teeth into the swimmer’s flesh. I yell, scream, blow my whistle and try to warn the swimmer and the lifeguard as I see him swiftly move in the human direction. High up in the building I see what is coming. Frustrated, I'm unable to reach out to those in the ocean. My success record pales to that of the shark as he cuts through the shallow waters of the sea.

On this particular day the sunbathers recline on their backs frying under the relentless sun. Parents doze as their kids play in the sand. Buckets, shovels strewn on their building space. They create games and bury each other in the warm sand. The other parents talk amongst themselves. The young boy and girl take a bucket and fill it with salty water and bring it to the castle they’re constructing. Back and forth they run stepping over the jellyfish and chasing the prehistoric looking crabs back into their holes. All seems quiet. A perfect day at the beach. Relaxing, resting - a great getaway from wherever they are from - the fin rises from the sea. It circles slowly - I start yelling, my whistle shrieks. The screaming pierces the summer air - the water turns from blue to a bloody hue. The lifeguard runs with a kickboard and bravely heads into the water. He grabs the boy and hits the shark with the board and forces him to let go of the child’s ankle. The blood runs down and trickles from his toes. The sand absorbs the red blood into the granules. The little girl cries and shakes on the shore. Her parents soothing and cradling their son. The sound of the ambulance rushes towards the group as it drives on the hard packed sand. The rescue begins as the two EMT’s run at record speed carrying first aid equipment and a stretcher.

Frantic action lasts only minutes and then the family disappears into the crowd and heads in the emergency vehicle to the hospital. I sit on my balcony frustrated and disappointed. This time I failed to warn the beach goers. Maybe next time they’ll hear me shouting. I note the blood in the ocean and the bloody beach have been washed out into the deep. A group of surfers run into the water. The rulers of the sea are lured in closer to the shore. They are aroused by the kicking surfers as they head out to the deep water.

I stare out into the distance. The Atlantic Ocean appears to be calm. I strain my eyes and there is a glimmer near the shore - it's a sand shark. He lays just below the surface of the water, then swims away. Another day of enjoying the beach. I grab a towel and head to the elevator and down to the pool. I’m just getting settled and hear a blood curdling scream, “Shark, oh my God. It’s a shark.”