Creola's Moonbeam (6 page)

“Enjoy your morning’s feast, Beau, my love!”

The sun had been up just long enough for the heat to begin to steam. I considered turning back but urged myself to keep moving for the sake of exercise, demon exercise. In the distance, I spotted the familiar form of a woman, one who walked at the same time as me each morning.

There was nothing of a pelican’s look about the woman. She reminded me more of a crane. Tall and skinny with thighs the same size as her calves, the crane-like woman almost appeared to be walking on stilts. She looked to be in her late seventies or possibly in her early eighties. Dressed in white, her gray-streaked blond hair was topped with a Styrofoam safari hat. The woman was monochromatic with the exception of hot pink sunglasses.

I sighed. “Everyone is starting to look like birds to me,” I told the pelicans. “Not only am I talking with birds, but I’m also comparing other humans to water fowl. I’d best initiate some human contact, and soon!”

Following traditional beach etiquette, the woman and I had begun by nodding greetings to each other for a couple of weeks. Our polite nods next became hearty “Good mornings!” and had now progressed to the point where I actively looked for her each day.

This day something else happened. The birdlike walker stopped some fifty feet down the beach and turned a cartwheel. For a split second, I feared she had taken a fall. I rushed to her aid.

She sprang to her feet and threw her arms in the air as if she’d scored a touchdown. “I have grand and marvelous news on this glorious morning!”

I halted, looking around to see if this rather strange exhibition had been for another person. No, the large bird was definitely performing for
me
. Now rethinking my tendency to be friendly, I cautiously approached her.

“Are you all right? I was concerned you might be hurt.”

“What? Me hurt? For heaven’s sake, I’d never allow for such a thing. I’m the very picture of grace!”

“Apparently so.”

“Should I assume that
you
don’t turn cartwheels when life is being especially good to you?”

“Actually, no. No, I don’t.”

“And why not?”

“Because I can’t?” My voice rose on
can’t
as if I were asking the woman’s permission to confess my inability.

“For goodness sakes, I’ll teach you. It’s rather simple.” With that, she turned three more cartwheels.

I applauded. “So, tell me, what is this remarkable news?”

“My dear, you can’t escape so easily. My announcement must be delayed because I’m on a mission. Charming beachcomber, I must instruct you in elementary gymnastics, first.”

“Thank you, but it’s not gonna happen. Trust me.”

I had a flashback to elementary school gym class where I suffered humiliating defeat as my body failed to flip, twist, turn, or perform any skill beyond a front somersault.

The woman frowned in frustration. Her intense look of disappointment made me think of Creola.

I stood at attention. “Okay, but you’d best step back or you might get hurt.” I gingerly put my hands palms down on the sand. Kicking like a mule, I threw my feet up into the air and came down on my back with a resounding thud.

The stranger bent over me. “A fine first effort!”

“Oh, you think so, do you? I’m just glad I didn’t break my neck.” I looked around for a jeering audience. The beach was mostly unpeopled. For that mercy, I was abundantly thankful.

“Try again, but this time, I’m going to help you. Here, give me your feet.”

Determined more than self-conscious, I staggered upright, bent over, placed my hands in the sand, and raised my feet, one at a time. The woman gripped me by the ankles and shoved. “All right, over you go!”

Indeed, over I went. It was my first cartwheel in a half century of humiliating efforts. I shouted and cheered as if I’d won Olympic gold. “Did you see
that
?”

“Yes! How graceful you were!”

“My lord, is anybody else looking?”

“And what difference would that make? As a matter of fact, an accomplishment is all the finer
with
an audience!”

“You know, you’re right.”

Like old friends, the two of us strolled up the beach together. The wind was in our faces. A cool breeze energized me.

“I do feel rather silly.”

“My dear, you must get over that. Life is far too short to worry about whether or not you’re being silly.” She paused. “Ah hah, methinks it’s more what
other
people think that concerns you?”

“Not really. Well, maybe so.”

“The truth is, we all might get a great deal more accomplished were we to act as suited ourselves. That is, as long as we stay within the laws of common civility.” She added, “If we must!”

“You make it sound so simple.”

“Listen to me, my young friend, and you’ll learn to get more out of life. I’ll guide you from my own rather lengthy experience.”

“All right, then. Do you practice what you preach?”

“There is no other path for me. Now, when are you going to ask me about my show of jubilation?”

“This very minute. I’m afraid I got caught up with my cartwheel,
our
cartwheel. Enough! Please tell me your news.”

“My son, Jennings, called this morning, and he’s coming for the weekend! The darling boy works so hard he hasn’t a moment to spare. Naturally, his phone call merited my joyous display.”

“Naturally!”

“Now, tell me about
your
children. I see you’re a mother, too.”

“You can
see
that? It’s because I’m out of shape, isn’t it?”

“What are you talking about? Your shape is fine. I believe you could use a self-confidence tune-up!”

I felt my face heating from embarrassment. This total stranger seemed to look inside me. I wasn’t sure I liked that. I’d once consulted a psychiatrist when I was trying to deal with the stresses of caring for aging parents. Even with a professional sleuth seated across from me, I’d managed to maintain my optimistic and controlled southern persona. My consuming fear for our parents’ plight remained comfortably imprisoned behind my smiling and hopeful mask. No, I wasn’t about to open up to this lady, either.

She peered harder at me. “I only deduced that you’re a mother because of the way you watch after people, specifically the way you watch after children on this beach. You see, I’m a skilled observer of humanity. I don’t merely walk on the beach, I take notice of what’s going on. I’ve noticed how you keep an eye out for others. Yesterday, I watched you run into the water after a child’s lost bucket. Such actions demonstrate your concern.”

“My, but you are observant. Yes, you’re right. I was worried about the toddler. He was ready to chase his bucket right into the water. I could see his mother was preoccupied with her younger child.”

“My point exactly.”

“I’ve noticed you, too. You and I walk at the same time every day.”

“Kindred spirits, dear, we are of kindred spirits.”

My embarrassment faded and I began to feel invigorated. Although she appeared much older than me, my new acquaintance was amazingly youthful. What a perceptive mind she had. And such a positive attitude! A good attitude is such an important quality; what’s more, her spunk was beginning to rub off on me. Hadn’t I just turned my first cartwheel? And this with the help of someone who was at least twenty years my senior!

“Where does your son live?” I asked.

“Oh, Jennings, such a precious boy! My Jennings lives in Atlanta. He works for a large company there. But I must confide that his heart is really in the arts. He just cannot discover a way to liberate himself from the corporate world. His real vocation is in writing. I say never fear, for Jennings is young, not yet forty.”

“Young. Not yet forty.” I suddenly felt younger. The crane woman was like a fresh breeze.

“What do you do, young lady?”

I didn’t want to admit what I did because of the inevitable next question, “What do you write?” Which was often followed with, “Are you writing something now?” I wanted to nip that in the bud so I replied, “I’m simply on vacation and enjoying every minute of it. I feel so rejuvenated by the beach. Sometimes I return just to fill my lungs with salt air. The first time I step onto the sand, particularly after a long winter away, I feel plugged into some sort of energy. Weird, don’t you think?”

The woman cut her eyes at me. “One must feed one’s soul, especially if one is creative. We are all creators in one way or another.”

Her message was unmistakable.

Had this casual meeting had been arranged by the spirit of Creola Moon? Crellie had always been a wise old owl to me. I almost wanted to cup my ear and listen for a
wwwhooooo
from amongst the nearby palm trees. That feisty owl was somewhere nearby. For certain. I could feel her presence.

“You remind of someone,” I said.

My walking companion smiled at me. “Like you, I too am best fed by the salt air and sea.”

I found myself trying to pinpoint her curious accent. It had the flavor of an English person’s, yet it was also not anything I readily recognized. I only knew she was not from the South. I nearly bit a hole in my tongue when I heard myself inquire, “So, where are you from?”

How Southern was that?

“My dear, I’m from the Continent by birth, but I am currently from
Every Place
. She mouthed the words as if
every place
were her country. I’m neither fish nor am I fowl. I am happy at sea or on the land. I’m at home anywhere I am home. And you, dear, where is home for you?”

Wishing to appear somewhat worldly to her, this Georgia native replied, “Well, ma’am, for the entire summer, my home is right here on this beach.” I immediately wanted to swallow back the “ma’am” word.
Ma’am
was certain to expose my country origins.

“And your name, dear, what’s your name?”

“I’m Harriette. Harriette Newberry.” Harriette? What was I trying to keep from the woman? “And yours?”

“Now there’s a thought provoking query for
you,
because I have numerous names. To some, I am Beatrice, to others, simply Bea. There are those among my dear ones who call me Aunt Beattie, or Madame B. I decree that you must choose your own name for me.”

“I like Beatrice. It was the first you mentioned. In my opinion, it becomes you.” I wondered why the lady hadn’t shared her last name. Who was I to question? Hadn’t I just given the woman an alias?

“That’s fine, dear, but do pronounce my name like thus,
Be-AT-trice
. Please put the accent on the ‘at’.”

“
Be-AT-trice
. I’ll practice. Beatrice, Beatrice, Beatrice!”

“Very good, Harriette. You are doing the name its justice!”

“Thank you very much,” I said with flourish.

“But, my young friend, I must bid you a very good day. So farewell, for the present, darling Harriette.”

I was disappointed that our conversation ended so abruptly, but I politely bid good-bye. Actually I said, “Bye-bye now.” I bit my tongue. How Southern can you get?

We traded a wave as I walked in the direction of the condo. I was glad I’d finally introduced myself to the eccentric beachcomber. What an
encourager
was Beatrice! I would scratch from my
To Do
list the formerly unlikely accomplishment of
Learn to turn a cartwheel
.