Sweet Caroline

Caroline lived down by beaches of Marshfield. My friend Matt and I use to drive down there to go see her, have ice cream called Moose Tracks by Hummerock Beach and then house hop to friend's houses we knew, hang out with their parents and dogs. We would talk about how we wanted to do great things, help people and live with passion. Living by the sea does that to people. You become overwhelmed by it's vastness so much so that you feel so insignificantly small. That was summer in high school.

One night in the middle of July Matt wanted to go and see Caroline. We drove in Matt's blue Acura for forty-five minutes down route 3 to Marshfield. We listend to jazz and it became a summer of Flamenco Sketches. We picked up Caroline and her friend Amanda and got Moose Tracks. The night was warm. Caroline with her ice cream in hand pulled Matt's hand and said, "let's all go to the water." Amanda ran along and I followed taking in the smell of salt, water and life. Amanda looked back at me, put a hand through her short brown hair and said, "come on, slow poke."

The waves rythmic beating on the shore washed over our feet as we stood in the sand and searched for the edge of the Earth. Far from the city,  Marshfield's stars shined bright. "I didn't realize there were so many," I said.

We all layed in the sand, Amanda's hand in mine and Caroline and Matt further up on the beach. "How many stars do you think are looking down on us?" I asked. "Billions," she said.
"There are a lot!"
 "Keep staring," she said, "you will notice more."

And as I layed in the sand, the vast sky of stars became brighter. Amanda and I saw five shooting stars that night. Before then, I had never seen one before. They shot across the sky dimming the light out of the other stars for a second. I felt small, but free and fortunate. Living by the sea with do that to people.