My Second Home

As the sun begins to peak over the horizon, we all pile into our separate cars and head down the highway together. By lunchtime, I will finally be back at my favorite place. I decide to rest my eyes for a moment, and the next thing I know, we are driving down the bridge entering my second home. We then turn the corner of the windy beach road, and I can see it again: it’s our beach house. The large exterior is fashioned with grey and caramel stone and black shutters. All three of our cars pull in the short, black driveway one after another. I open the car door and hustle out so I can finally stretch out my stiff leg muscles that were cramped for almost the whole 8 hour drive. Pulling my large suitcase out of it’s wedged spot, I then run towards the front steps. Wheeling my suitcase on the grey sidewalk, I arrive at the black front door. I type our code into the futuristic locking system and a green light shows, allowing me to open the door.

The familiar scent of laundry smacks my face as the door continues to swing farther inside. Hobbling towards the creamy carpeted stairs, I hope for the arm strength to make it to my bedroom. I reach the top of the staircase and run down the long hallway filled with many doors and pictures of our family. Entering the spare bedroom, I plop my suitcase on the plush comforter. Afterwards, I crack open the glass sliding doors and it hits me: the crisp smell of the beach followed by a cool breeze. Knowing that we will all make our way down to the sea soon, I decide to change into my bathing suit. I grab my blue suitcase and unzip the larger of the two pockets. As some of the pressure is released by me unzipping it, my suitcase practically opens itself revealing the crammed items of clothing. I search and search for my favorite swimsuit, only to soon find the yellow scrunched material laying on the very bottom of my suitcase. I quickly change and head downstairs to see when everybody else wants to go.

Soon after, my parents, sister, cousins, and grandparents grab their bathing suits, and then we make our way to the sea. Passing the house’s clear, blue pool we enter our private walkway. I kick off my jet black flip-flops but soon regret it as the hot and faded grey wooden structure jabs at the bottom of my foot. To my luck, our house is located fairly close on the beach, so my feet will soon be greeted by the pleasant sand. Once we arrive at the edge of the beach, I run to our known spot and lay my chair and towel down. After that, my sister and I race towards the water to feel the temperature.

My toes sink further into the soft sand, heating my soles, and eventually warming my whole body. The warm, blue waves rush to enclose my cold ankles. As I stand there, the wind pushes my body slightly to the left, but I remain upright, as I dig my feet further down into the now wet sand. Taking a deep inhale, the wind brings the crisp ocean smell right into my nose, instantly calming me. My tan ears remain open and the laughing, talkative voices of my family drowns the silence. The large ocean reflects the bright, shining sun, but I squint my eyes and am able to see the dolphin fins perching out of the sea in the distance. I make my way over to my green towel that has absorbed the sun’s warmth, and lay to take a nap in my summer home.

Feeling a little drowsy, I close my eyes planning to relax for a few minutes. About three hours later, I wake up to burning red, hot skin and quickly realize my mistake. I covered up with a large white t-shirt that I had brought down for this very reason, and reached for my sunglasses, trying to avoid the sun for the rest of the late afternoon. About another hour goes by of talking and laughter, when my younger cousin exclaims that she hungry. From this, we come to the realization that we haven’t eaten since the last rest stop we took two hours up the road in Virginia and how it is almost dinnertime. Coming to the conclusion that it would be best to go inside and wash up for dinner, we pack all of our beach necessities and start the walk back to the house. After we washed all of the sand that found its way into our hair, we plan what to make for dinner. We all agree on seafood, a very fitting option for our location. Heading down to the town’s best seafood shop, we enter the small, white shack named “Whalebone Seafood Market”. The rusty door creaks as I pull it closer towards me, and the smell of fresh seafood fills the air which surrounds me. My Mom-mom and I pick out enough seafood to feed the whole 13 of us, and pay for the pounds at the counter. We then arrive back at our house and enter the lively kitchen. The sizzling of the fresh shrimp, scallops, and fish makes the noisy room even louder. Along with this, the sun dances upon the grey countertop as it illuminates the tall walls. Once dinner is served, it takes about an hour to eat, as everyone is talking too much and not eating enough. This night is only beginning, we have many more hours to chat, laugh, and play games. These weeks of summer are my ultimate favorite, and I wouldn’t change them in the world, for anything.