Simple Pleasures

I can already feel the straps of my obnoxiously bright aqua togs digging into my side. The white linen blouse that I am wearing clings relentlessly to the sweat that crawls, as if purposefully in slow motion, down the small of my back. My denim shorts have been too small for months now. I haven't replaced them under the false pretence that I might actually loose some weight. I chuckle to myself over my audacity, just last night I had shovelled Belgian Chocolate ice cream into my gob, as though my life depended on it. I do an awkward dance on the pavement, hopping from one foot to the other and welcome the sweet relief when I finally find a grassy patch where I can take refuge. Despite doing this walk almost daily, I never seem to catch on. This would be a lot more bearable if I made the effort to wear shoes.

I can smell it. Taste it, even, long before I turn the corner of the beachside apartment block that I am grateful to call home. A mix of seaweed and a faint fishy smell fills my nostrils. I may not be selling it to you, but I promise it's not unpleasant. No. It's refreshing more so. I delight in tasting the salty air on my tongue as I open my mouth to draw in a deep, relaxed breath. I've reached the Broadwater. I allow myself to peel my top away from my skin, and slowly exhale as a precious breeze surrounds me, removing that miserably sticky, muggy feeling that threatened to keep me prisoner from this delightful paradise, instead only to waste the day on the couch with the air conditioning on full blast.

I traipse along the grass, I'm simply not in the mood to be assaulted by bindis this morning, so I take my time. I reach the sandy entrance. I will never tire of the deep blue that awaits. Seagulls dip effortlessly into the water. They're majestic and beautiful in this moment, a far cry from the squawking menaces they become only a few meters further up the beach, where they showdown over the abandoned hot chips of tourists that flock our coastline.

Wispy pieces of my golden-caramel hair that are already turning dry and strawy from the sea air, have caught on the sides of my mouth. I make a weak attempt to blow them away, shifting my posture to position my towel more securely under my left arm, and avoid dropping my water bottle from my right. I take it all in for a minute longer, feeling a welcomed warmth fill my stomach, spread over my chest and creep up my neck. I wonder if the novelty will ever wear off. It's not lost on me, the privilege that I have to be able to enjoy this incredible treat.

A little boy of only five - maybe six years old, grins cheekily across from a woman I assume is his mother. He splashes curtains of water in her direction, giggling hysterically while she pretends to writhe as the cool water hits her body. He has a bucket that is likely to drift away if he's not careful. I make the decision to brave the scorching hot sand. I bound down to the water, hoping nobody will notice the way my thighs jiggle as I do it.

The little boy has moved on now, he's perplexed by a slimy mixture of transparent goop and grit that has been washed up on the sand bank by the incoming tide. He prods the heap with his shovel. I pick up his bucket which has almost made a clean escape along the waterfront, and turn to take it over to him. His mother reminds him to be gentle with the innocent sea creature.

As I make my way over, I spot a weathered beige-coloured shell protruding from the sand. I pick it up between two fingers, and notice it has a faint blue hue at the base, where the ridges fold into a neat triangle. I peer over at the little boy and make eye contact with him. He doesn't appear too pleased that I am carrying his bucket. I reach out to hand him his bucket. He takes it from me, suddenly turning shy, and skips around to the other side of his mum.

"I also found this, and I thought your jellyfish might like it." I say to him softly.

He looks to his mother for approval, who gives him a subtle nod, and a kind smile. The little boy opens his hand for me to place it in his palm. His eyes light up, as if I have just given him a piece of rare, lost treasure.

"Thank you." he says politely.

He waddles down to the jellyfish with his bucket now in tow. He pauses for a moment, looking back at us. The cheeky grin has reappeared. Without missing a beat he turns, scoops the jellyfish up with his shovel, and tips it into his bucket. It makes a light 'plop' sounds as it lands in the shallow inch of water I hadn't poured out when I had picked it up.

I look over at his mother, we both wait for a split second to gauge the others reaction. She winces quietly before her eyes crease, and a half embarrassed smile floods her face. I grin approvingly back at her, to let her know 'kids will be kids'. We both giggle heartily, as if we've been friends for years.

"Ah, to live on the Gold Coast, hey!" I say to her, before making my way back to a flat spot on the sand, where I'll spend the rest of the day soaking up the sun.