Story by Sonoran Resorts “Best Job in the World” Travel Writing Contest Entrant Naomi Black

Here’s the story by Sonoran Resorts “Best Job in the World” Entrant and author in her own right, Naomi Black:

A stressed business owner, sitting at her desk, looses herself in a Reverie of vivid Rocky Point beach memories.

My Office Reverie

By Naomi Black

Once upon a time there was a middle-aged girl. (Yes, she still called herself “girl” for some reason, although that title seemed entirely out of date.) On this particular morning she sat very still at her desk, waiting for the next unexpected problem to fall out of the sky.  More likely, it would actually come as a phone call: The bank announcing some bounced check. Perhaps today, it will be the near-to-bankrupt, slightly manic client himself calling to excuse that bounced check and his unpaid bill. Or, an employee who just received a government required levy, blazing into the office with his boiling hot anger raging and demanding to speak to the owner.

Whatever it would be, she knew it would happen. Her husband (a good guy who simply hated desk work or any paper pushing!) always told her that all she really did in that back office was wait to ‘respond.’ A morning could begin quietly enough, with light office banter and a hot cup of coffee. Then, before she knew what had hit her, it would be late afternoon. . . A desk full of issues, each one suddenly requiring immediate attention and the poor girl’s brain would be twisted in knots.

Later in the day, she wondered what happened to that lunch hour?  She must have worked right through it. (Again.) Some days, she just wanted to escape! Run down the sidewalk and never come back.

For a minute, she closed her eyes and allowed herself to travel to a distant place – a special place that she loved. She found herself once again sitting on the beach. This was what some old song calls “The Seashore of Old Mexico.” It was the Sea of Cortez and in Rocky Point, to be precise.

She was on a brightly striped Mexican blanket gazing out at the aqua blue water of the sea. This was the moment, the place, the time that brought her peace.

There she was, and the kids were small again. In this moment, the tide was low and all the volcanic black rocks exposed. The kids had their sunscreen and hats on, so she could just listen to their banter, “Don’t splash me, Ben!” Then, his response, “You are crazy, Bethany, you are sitting in water. What does it matter?” And the baby let out a little happy scream. She opens one eye to be sure he is fine. And she smiles and returns to her reverie.

Again, it is low tide, but this time her husband has the baby and the kids follow behind, walking along the beach. He is pointing out a fish here, a crab over there, and maybe when he turns over that next rock, there will be a starfish or perhaps, even an octopus. The kids are entranced, jumping over rocks with their plastic sand pails and shovels. She knows they will be bringing some tiny ocean friend back to the camp. Of course, it will get a name. She anticipates their momentarily sad little faces when their dad finally tells them, “OK. Time to go dump Spot back into the water.”

Another dream: this time there are no kids. And she is newly married and still a teenager. They have the Bronco and a knee board.  (She knows that back then, they had no concept of the delicacy of nature along the sandy shores.) But it sure was fun at the time! She sped along atop the knee board in the shallow sea holding onto the tow rope which was strung out behind the old Bronco. She whooped with delight as she nearly flew through a group of pelicans and seagulls.

And, then it is sunset and she sits silently next to her husband. This time it is the future and they are on Sandy Beach and much older. The kids are grown and gone. No wild rides now, as they listen to the sounds of the seagulls. Just behind them are the Sonoran Resorts. And, there, just off to the left is the afternoon sun sinking away into the night. They have ice cold drinks in their hand, and the little cooker grill is simmering away offering up its garlic buttery shrimp aroma which will soon be dinner. Earlier she wrapped them in foil, along with other packets of potatoes and onions. Together, they sit in awe of another perfect, relaxing evening precisely created for the artists’ paintbrush. As always, the unrelenting waves rhythmically pounding the sand…

Again, she finds herself on that Mexican blanket. Is the tide coming in or going out this time? Oh well, she lays back and closes her eyes. If it is coming in her feet would be wet soon. And she would pull herself up and drag the blanket up the beach a bit. But for now, she just listens to nature.

Her eyes fly open! Her heart is pounding! “Wow!” she thinks, “I was asleep right here at my desk!” She quickly places her hands on the keyboard. And, it cannot be helped. Her hands type out this memory. The words that belong to her reverie:

The Sea Is Always Calling

Up from the Silence it comes
Calling me again.
Lapping at my Memory
Building in my Head.
Pounding the Beach in my Mind
Calling me back.
The Waves are fierce now
Crashing and booming and breaking.
The Swells overwhelm me
(And, I cannot finish my Work!)
Thoughts of the Ocean beating in my head.
Just like every other time when the Water Reaches the high tide Crescendo.
When the white foam breaks over the top Pouring through my Memory.
Roaring in my ears
Calling me again.
Return to the Sea…to me…to me..
There will be no Peace
No Calm.  No Release.  Until it Recedes.
Flows out of my head.
Pools quietly into a subtle low tide.
The waves just a whisper.
Return to me the sea quietly begs
Again and again.
Return to me…the sea…the sea.

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