Down the Streets of Playa del Rey

19 3 4
                                    

The sea does not reward those who are too anxious, too greedy, or too impatient. To dig for treasures shows not only impatience and greed but lack of faith. Patience, patience, patience, is what the sea teaches. Patience and faith. One should lie empty, open, choiceless as a beach—waiting for a gift from the sea.

—Anne Morrow Lindbergh, Gift from the Sea

ESTÉFANO: I'm missing my babies Ceci and Stéfi. I miss my Alondra. She is my greatest love; I cannot hide this. I walk down the streets of Playa del Rey, and I can feel Alondra near me in spirit.

I can't convince myself to go down the hill we would go down together, the girls and me, as that path led down to the shore where we'd walk barefooted hand in hand.

I imagine Alondra and myself kissing again, feeling the earth, the sand wet beneath our toes like heaven's damp and firm carpet. Our lives were much happier then—simpler, cleaner; now I have made a mess of Anna's apartment, and of my feeble mind; I am obsessing over Alondra. I can't sleep, won't eat, or sit still.

Wandering along the sands of this beach hands pocketed, I remember Alondra's fragility. I miss her voice that would calm and reassure me especially as she'd massage me in bed every night, and what is most holy of her: the part where I feel God is in her: her spirit.

Once Again, I Dreamt of WaterWhere stories live. Discover now