Written for a challenge at Blue Grapefruit. I think I'll put the link on my profile, just because you should join. :nibbles on your arm: The challenge was: THE COAST. There was more, but I'm LAZY.
AN EQUATION THAT WORKS
kurosaki family fun
Dad took us on a trip to the shore once. I think all of us were feeling a little nervous, or at least I know I was. This was the first trip we had taken . . . without Mom. I suppose we all dealt with it the only way we knew how. Ichigo liked—likes—to be angry about things instead of facing them, so he frowned and glared out his window. Angry at what? I don't know, maybe our father, but in truth, I doubt even he knew.
Yuzu . . . well, she was Yuzu. She's the bright spotlight of our family, since the rest of us were—are?—either too weird or sullen to even make a weak—and probably futile—attempt to replace Mom. She fluttered about as much as she could in the small car, trying to start energetic conversations with us all. She commented on everything: oh, look at the clouds! Doesn't that one look like a bunny? Ichigo shook his head, no. Yuzu tried her best not to look crestfallen at Ichigo's obvious attempt to shut her up.
Nothing short of a bomb falling on us could have put a damper on our father, though. I think he was trying even harder than Yuzu to make this an enjoyable trip. I guess I was wrong when I said none of made an attempt to replace Mom—Dad did. He did it badly, and was more like himself when he did so than like our mother, but he did try.
I would be grateful for that, if he didn't always try and start those goddamn sing-alongs in the car.
I closed my eyes on them, and just tried to sleep. Dad had awakened me with a loud Good morning, children of my heart, and a hearty breakfast—courtesy of Yuzu. We had ate in relative silence, the upcoming trip heavy around us. Yuzu and Dad had been planning this trip for week beforehand. We'd never seen the ocean before—Ichigo, Yuzu and I. Dad described it to us, beautiful, blue, deep, mysterious, powerful, huge. We never could grasp it though. To us, the ocean's vast lengths were unimaginable, no matter how much we assured our father that we got it.
Of course, Dad took us to the worst place he could have. In the car, we caught a glimpse of a small, broken-looking lighthouse, and at night, its light seemed sad and weak in comparison with the powerful shine of the moon and the stars. We still couldn't see the ocean.
Then it rained, huge drops of water splattering on the windshield and obscuring our view of the ocean until we were practically falling off the cliff into it.
That was my first sight of the ocean. On dark, gray, rainy day, I stood there with my family—what was left of it—and I watched the waves tumble uselessly against the cliff, as if these waves wanted nothing more than to pitch us headfirst into the sea. I ignored the damp feeling of my clothes, and sharp prick of water hitting my skin as I viewed the ocean.
I bet you've seen the ocean. You're probably thinking right now, what's so bloody special about it? Water, salt, fish, so what? The ocean's always held me in awe, though, ever since that first day, standing up on that cliff, staring down at it, soaking wet and not caring. Maybe it was even though I was so high up, and even though I knew I wouldn't fall, it still scared me. This powerful being that took life and gave life as coolly as one would pay for candy seemed to never end, and my eyes could spot no land at the horizon.
The fact that the ocean scared me won it my respect. Despite what I felt, though, my siblings were soon bored of gazing at the dark depths hidden beneath the waves, and asked Dad when we were leaving. I looked up at my father, and I didn't even have to say a word. We exchanged one glance, and I knew he felt what I felt.
"Just a little longer, guys."
We found a hotel soon after, and spent the rest of the afternoon and evening eating and horsing around. It felt nice, I guess. It felt like family. Father plus Sister plus Brother plus Sister equals Family; an equation that worked.
The next day, we awoke to find that the rain had ceased during the night, so we 'went out on the town.' There wasn't a whole lot to see. As I mentioned before, Dad took us where there was no stores, no clean beaches and no restaurants. He said this would make it easier to enjoy the scenery. Yeah, the seagulls that made god-awful noises and ate dead meat. The abandoned lighthouse I had spotted from afar, which lit up like depressing memoir to the past where existence had once been bright. Even the plant life seemed to despair at ever seeing another good day again. The trees bent down towards to the ground to meet us, as if beckoning for us to keep them company in their sad, twisted lives.
Even so, the feel of the damp sand underneath my bared toes felt just right. Ichigo and Yuzu dragged their feet behind me, and ended up deciding to stay at the hotel while my father and I walked the dirty beach together. Although I was reluctant to spend any more time with my overly zealous father than I had to, I agreed, just because my heart ached to see the ocean.
My father was unusually subdued, actually, his hands in his pockets, and his face turned towards the sea. We stopped walking for a while, and just stood there, those damn seagulls cawing loudly above us. When he did speak, his voice was soft, and thoughtful. "This is where your mother and I first made love."
"Dad! W-what! Don't tell me that kind of stuff!" I cried, spluttering out the words in my shock. In all actuality, I thought it was kind of sweet, how my parents had come here, years ago, and had maybe spent a day walking down the same beach we were. How they had lain down together, and had sex, maybe with the waves playing in the background, in beat with their own bodies.
My father only answered with a half-hearted smile, as if his heart were still in the past, in times now lost. I reached over, and I took his big, strong hand in my own. He looked at me, surprise and amusement lighting up his expression. I turned my face away from his, and I forced him to resume our stroll, the sand beneath us sticking to our feet.
"Don't worry. We'll make new memories."