Haulover

I went to a writing workshop for AIDS caregivers and was given these prompts:

1. Write about the first time you were aware of another gay person.

2. Write about the first time you saw a dead body.

* * * * *

When we were children living in North Miami, mom took all ten of us to the beach as often as possible. It took her 45 minutes to cautiously drive nine miles from our house to Haulover Beach. Being the oldest, I always made sure there was a towel for everyone and that we brought a couple gallons of water, a bunch of plastic cups, a white foam cooler with ice, bologna, American cheese, and a large loaf of bread.

Mom seemed happiest and most relaxed at the beach. There was a public swimming pool several blocks from our house and she made sure all the kids learned to swim as soon as they were old enough. Haulover was a beach on the Atlantic, and the water could get rough, and she wanted everyone to know how to swim to build their confidence, as well as ease her own worries.

I was taught to always watch out for my younger siblings, especially at the beach, and became especially vigilant when I was anywhere around water where children were present, something I still am to this very day.

I’m not an especially good swimmer myself, but I always got by being tall. I could swim on my back fairly well and do the dog paddle for quite a while. My mother was a strong swimmer, and it was amazing to watch her head into deeper water, further out than anyone else, and swim back and forth in the distance. It was one of the few times I can remember seeing her doing something completely by herself.

* * * * *

Sometimes I’d let the waves carry me along the shore, away from where my siblings were playing, away from our blanket and cooler. I’d watch the families on the sand, watch the dads splashing with their kids, watch the older boys come running into the water. Sometimes the water carried me far down the beach, past a small concrete block building that had signs on it reading ‘Men’ on one side and ‘Women’ on the other. There were times I’d see older men standing outside the entrance to the Men’s room. They’d wait until someone went in and then follow them. Sometimes the older man would reappear and quickly move away down the beach. Sometimes he’d be inside a while before they both came out.

Once, one of the men who was waiting saw me watching him. He stared back before entering the water and swimming out towards me. He was wearing sunglasses and called as he approached.

“Hi!” he said. “How are you?”

I told him I was fine.

He said something about the sunny day, swam closer to me, asked what I was looking for, so far down the beach. I told him I was with my family. He asked how old I was and when I told him he quickly swam back to shore and returned to standing outside the Men’s room.

If the current was too strong to swim back to where I’d begun, I’d get out of the water and walk along the shore to where my siblings were. I’d pass by all the children playing on the edge of the sea, parents carrying infants into the gentle waves, the older boys and men laying on their towels, their powerful bodies spread out in the sun. When I eventually came upon my brothers and sisters, everything felt peaceful and easy. It’s one of the happiest memories of my childhood, all of us together on Haulover Beach.

* * * * *

It was always a challenge to round everybody up and head back home, everyone reluctant to get back in the hot un-air-conditioned car and travel slowly back through traffic to our hot un-air-conditioned house.

Once, as mom was driving us home, all the traffic came to a stop. We could see flashing red lights in the distance and when the cars began to move again, we slowly drove past a policeman waving his hands, telling drivers to keep going. Another cop was standing next to a white sheet covering something small, lying in the street. A third man was bent over a crumpled bicycle in the middle of the road.

“What happened mom?” we asked. “What happened?”

“Please,” she said. “I’m trying to drive.”

“But what happened?” we asked.

“Please,” she said. “Please stop!”