Clinging

by Liz deBeer

Mom’s quiet as we drive to the beach, not even complaining that my music’s too loud. Since summer’s over, the parking lot’s empty when I pull in. Holding onto Mom, we follow the path as memories flick: building sand castles, body surfing, kite flying, picnicking on peanut butter sandwiches. Kicking off my sandals, I step into the salty surf, ignoring its chill, then dive through waves, clutching Mom’s urn tightly. Her ashes cling to my wet skin when I shake them into rocking ripples that cradle me with calming consolation before I submerge myself and swim back, stroke by stroke.

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Liz deBeer is a teacher and writer with Project Write Now, a writing cooperative. Her latest flash has appeared in Switch, Bending Genres, Sad Girls Diaries, Lucky Jefferson, Every Day Fiction, and Libre.
Liz's website is www.ldebeerwriter.com. 

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