Special Place Significant Location Without

Special Place

Significant Location

Without disparaging my family, I believe that it is safe to say that I grew up in a chaotic environment. My house was filled with noise and drama; laughter, but tears as well. It seemed as if the house was always alive, unless everyone was sleeping, and it was rare for us all to sleep at once. So, for me, finding a special place when I was younger meant finding a place where I could hear nothing but silence, if that is all I wanted to hear. Just for a moment to have peace and quiet, and time to reflect, was something I needed, though, at the time, it was merely something I believed that I wanted. To my surprise, I found my special place of solitude while I was at a party, surrounded by friends, and noise, and drama; laughter, as well as tears. I was thirteen years old, and I was attending a friend's birthday party. Her parents had, according to my parents, more money than sense, and they had rented a beach house for a supervised, co-ed weekend-long birthday party. However, the supervision was not as great as they promised, and I managed to sneak away with my big crush, Casey, the first night. It was that night, wandering the beach, that I discovered my special location: a long public fishing pier, jutting out over the water, sparkling in the moonlight.

A cannot be certain whether the night was magical because of the place, or whether the place became magical because of the night. Looking back, I realize I was far too young for romance or any romantic thoughts, but at the time I considered myself practically an adult. So, when we snuck away, I had grandiose thoughts of an evening of passion. Instead, we walked along the water, just talking about life. When we walked down the pier, we sat down. The tide had come in, and we grazed our feet into the water, as we talked. Casey was a friend of a friend, and, until that time, a mysterious person in my mind. Prone to dark clothes and esoteric conversational topics, I was convinced that Casey was some type of tortured genius; far too advanced for my suburban existence. Instead, that night, I learned that Casey's torture was not theoretical; we talked about the absolute neglect and occasional physical abuse in Casey's home, and what, if anything we could do about it. We also talked about other things, from the mundane to the serious. My memory of that night is clear as a bell. It had been a hot day; one of those late-spring days that reminds you summer is near. The night began as balmy and warm, and we were initially blanketed by the salty air as we began our walk. As the stars moved through the sky, the temperature dropped, and we had to pull our feet from the water and steel ourselves against the chilly air. The sky was completely clear and dark, which made the moon seem even bigger and brighter. Though the beach town was busy, the house was in a residential area, and no night pollution ruined our view. We could see fish jumping in the distance, and even convinced ourselves that we saw a shark.

Casey and I never began dating, but we became the closest of friends. That pier became the place that we went to when we wanted to talk about serious things, or when we just wanted to talk about things we did not want other people to hear. Casey was older than me and drove and my parents were thoroughly impressed with the platonic nature of our relationship, so we could head to the beach with minimal interference. We would arrive there around dusk, and walk along the beach till the last of the fishermen had disappeared. Then we would head to the end of the pier, just to talk about life. Every once in a while we would see boats off in the distance, and we would make up wild stories about the adventures that the people on the boats were having. One time, a fisherman had left something tied to the pier, and we were horrified to pull it up and find a baby hammerhead shark on the line, eaten up by other animals, a huge crab still attached to it as we pulled it up. Another time, we headed there during a storm, in retrospect, a very dangerous and stupid thing to do. The waves crashed high against the pier, and we could actually feel it sway beneath us. We were full of dangerous behavior that day; it was the same time that we shared our first and only kiss, a foolish thing which could have jeopardized the best friendship that I have ever had.

It would seem like a fishing pier would be an uncomfortable place to sit and talk, but it was not at all. The wood was old and worn, and it had the feel of satin. Whatever splinters had been on it had been worn away by time and the pounding of the water. The noise of the ocean, rather than being distracting, was lulling; in fact, it seemed to encourage us to talk about the serious things in life. Casey fell in love with someone else first, and when I think the sound of the water made the news easier for me to hear. I had thought I would be devastated to hear it, but I found myself happy that Casey would be happy. The water and the balmy air also made it easier to pretend that Casey was not crying when describing their eventual breakup, and the betrayal of a mutual friend.