Twenty Years Later

The idea of writing about the future 20 years from now is a little frightening as I have “more yesterdays than tomorrows”, which is one of my favorite Bill Clinton quotes.  But writing is all about imagination and dreams, so I’m going to go for it.

PREWRITING

Here’s a list of ideas:

Me and my sisters at the beach house

Something sci-fi or fantastical where I live forever or a wish comes true like talking animals

Finally pursuing that doctorate

Adventures of Alan, Nan, and the cats

Literacy and evolution

Dystopian


There’s a howling in my ears as the wind whips across the balcony.  We take a sip of our cool tequila, remembering past sips of Don Julio Anejo, which at the time was the best tequila on the island. But now, 20 years later, we drink the good stuff.  Pure heaven.  As all my senses come alive, distant waves crash along the man-made sandy shore.  It’s too hard to say artificial even though that truly is how beaches are formed in this day and age.  Pure, authentic sand does not exist without man’s help.  After all, he’s the one who changed the climate.  

I reach over and touch my husband’s tanned hand.  His soft, brown eyes smile back.  We could not be happier.  Port Aransas is our favorite beach, and we’re atop the highest point of our favorite house, looking over the dunes towards the gulf.  

“It doesn’t get any better than this,” I say.   

“No, it doesn’t.”

“At one time, I thought Kenneally’s Irish Pub would be our favorite forever hangout, the place we would always go back to.  I can’t say that now after forty plus years of marriage.” 

“Yeah, no.  I can still picture you, Nan,  n your gray MIchigan State sweatshirt with an Irish Coffee in your hand, giving me a toast.”

I reply and lift my tumbler of tequila, “To Kenneally’s where we first met.”

“And to its proprietor, John Flowers.  May he rest in peace.”  

The two tumblers clink together against the backdrop of wind and  ocean roughness.  As the waves play hide and seek along the shore, two Vietnamese siblings head to the nearby pool – dug into the dunes – with their inflatable toys. 

“It’s amazing how much they look like Trihn,” I say.

“They’ve got her work ethic, too.  Driven and determined.”

“I’m surprised they’re outside by themselves.  What time is it?  I rarely pay attention to the hour anymore.  Scary to say, but I’m even less aware of the time than when I first retired.”

“You’ve never been aware, Nan.”

“Well, I am now.  What do you think those two kids are up to?

“Let’s check it out.”

🌊

We make it to the dunes in record time.  Much better than taking the 1.5 minute elevator ride from the beach house’s third to ground floor.  The sun stretches its rays as it wakes the dunes with a sprinkle of dew.  The morning light holds promise for a new day filled with adventure.  The two children toss their air-filled toys into the shallow end of the pool and run back to the house to get and fill water bottles.

The entrance door opens as they approach it.  Standing proudly, is their mother, Trihn, who hands them each a water bottle filled with ice.  She follows them back to the pull with her towel, book, and laptop.  

“Ah, they’re safe.  I’m glad we didn’t have to intervene,” I say looking towards my husband.

“Yeah, they’re truly Trinh’s kids with good heads on their shoulders. Which means it’s time for our next trip.”

“Yeah?  Where do we go from here?” I say with a mile.

 “How about another favorite spot?  San Antonio?”

“Absolutely!”

The two ghosts leave the beach and their legacy.  They head north to the Menger hotel where they’ll hang with the other ghosts like Teddy Roosevelt and Captain Richard King.

By nancyrsantucci

Newly retired Texas educator who loves reading, exercising, cats, and hanging out with her husband.

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