An Indian Summer Day

“I have been driven many times to my knees by the
overwhelming conviction that I had nowhere else to go.”
~Abraham Lincoln

10 Years ~ September 11, 2001 / September 11, 2011

Photo by ROB KULISEK

Only a few people remained, scattered in little clusters amongst the sand, which was pock marked with deep holes and crumbling castles, the last vestiges of young imaginations at work. The sun was sinking into the western sky, casting shadows across the tranquil ocean.

He is seated on a sand chair, burrowing his feet deeper into the cool sand while watching a man push a kayak through the breakers. “I think I am going to go for a swim,” he says to his wife. “Okay,” she replies without looking up from her novel. As is his custom, he leaps to his feet and rushes toward the water. Splashing in, he jumps over the smaller waves rolling toward the shore until he is hip-deep and meets up with a larger wave which he charges head-on and leaps over. Surfacing on the other side he watches the wave roll away and turns toward the empty horizon. “What a glorious Indian summer day!” he declares. “Not a cloud in the sky. What could possibly ruin this day?” He spots the next big wave forming over a sandbar about fifty yards out.

Suddenly, he hears a deep rumble, loud enough to send small ripples across the surface of the water. It is followed by deafening, high- pitched screams. He freezes in place, his skin turning cold and clammy and suddenly he is transported back to another splendid Indian summer day ten years ago.

With a clap the wave smashes into his back and pitches him into the water. The force of the wave sends him into a spin through the froth. He extends his arms to brace himself and opens his eyes. He does not see the froth or the rushing water. Instead he sees fire and clouds of smoke.

The wave spins him in another direction and he begins to feel nauseous, as though he has been punched in the stomach. The current is pulling him down the beach and he is growing weak. He knows that he must break the surface before he is swallowed up for good. At last, with one final rush the wave deposits him into the shallow water as it dissipates and he is left sprawled by the water’s edge, coughing and spitting. He can see other people popping out of the water crying and gasping for air. While struggling to his feet the rumble and the screams come again and he looks up and spots the source of the noise: it is merely a train of cars rattling across the wooden tracks of a roller coaster. He takes a deep breath and glances out at the water. Everything is just as it was moments ago. The kayaker is now skimming along in pursuit of a school of dolphin and there is no one else in the water.

His wife is standing and scanning the shoreline, using her book as a visor. She spots him and waves and he waves back. When he reaches her she asks, “What happened? Are you okay?”

He grabs a towel and wrings the water from his ears. “Yeah,” he replies. “I’ll be okay. All of a sudden,” he said, “it just struck right out of the clear blue. That is something that I will never forget.”