The Blue Cube

Where is she?

After a series of text message locations  that I don’t understand, I have arrived at Alameda’s Crown Beach. In search of the Lovely I. I scan the beach after rechecking the texts: “I usually swim in front of the Boardsports California Hut”. I have no clue where this is and text her back this. “Use your navigation and point it toward the Boardsports” I have no navigation! Haha!

 I had gotten lost before I even arrive at the beach. Yes, I do find the island, but then can’t find the beach! How the hell do you lose the beach on a small island? I take a wrong turn up Central—to the right instead of the left. I drive along the empty 4 lane highway. This doesn’t feel right as I pass a huge sculpture of a former plane that has been put up to show what? An airport?

            Damn.

            I make a U turn, and head back the way I came. Past Webster again. And then, voila! There’s the beach. Only a block away. The other direction.

            I can’t park in the parking lot. They’re collecting a toll at the little booth? What? Is it summer?

            Do another U turn; drive around looking for Shell Gate (another Text from the Lovely I). What the hell is that? Is there a big gate somewhere made of shells? Or in the shape of a shell? I turn up a side street. Check my phone again. It’s dead. Shit. I hate this phone! Turn around again and head back to street by the parking lot and just park. Okay, I’m here. Now where is the Lovely I?

            I march down to the beach, lugging all my stuff for the big adventure. So excited to be going swimming again, esp. with the Lovely I, but now my swim is colored by getting lost. I hate getting lost. But I ALWAYS get lost on Alameda. Always always always. Yet, now standing under the big shady tree that Ian and I had sat under the other day, the Lovely I is nowhere is sight.

            I text her again. Telling her where I am.

            “I am down the beach, by the Blue Cube.”

            The Blue Cube? Well, at least that’s poetic and bright, right?

            I head down the beach, scanning the shore for The Blue Cube. I spot the Boardsports California Hut. There’s a crowd of swimmers here preparing to enter the water. They’re chatting and energetic. They know each other. They don’t social distance. I wonder, Is The Lovely I in this group? Are these swimmers from her Hot Tub group of Mills College? I stand at the top of the sandy hill trying to see if she’s in the crowd. A Swimmer Guy with his swimmer’s body stretches and chats. A muscular woman in a strawberry patterned Speedo jumps up and down. It’s a club of some sort. They look very serious. I don’t think the Lovely I would be a part of this group, so I walk around them, feeling more and more anxious.

            Where is the Blue Cube? Where is the Blue Cube? Oh, where are you, Blue Cube?

            I text her again. “Is the Blue Cube toward The City or away?” The great thing about Alameda beach is that San Francisco looms in the distance. Like a postcard.

            “Yes, if you’re facing the water, walk to your left.”

            Damn, I don’t know my left from my right. I pick a direction and walk. And walk. And walk. The beach is more crowded than the day Ian and I came. Lots of families with children running and screaming, no masks, no social distance. I’m anxious and need to go to the bathroom, of course, but I haven’t even found the Lovey I yet, let alone gone in the water.

            I trudge on. My feet sinking in the sandy shore. My neck beginning to ache from lugging my bag full of shit.

            And then….could that be it? I spy a turquoise cube shaped tent. The Blue Cube! That must be it!

            Quickening my pace, I hurry toward it and …..sitting on the other side, in a low slung beach chair, sits the Lovely I, calmly gazing out to sea.

            She turns just as I start to holler at her! “You made it!” she proclaims, jumping up but not hugging me. We do social distance air hugs, laughing. 

            “I thought I would never find you!”

            “I know! I don’t know when the last time was I saw you!”

            “I know!”       

            And I plop down, 8 feet away, and we begin to chat as I start the process of getting ready to enter the water. Sunscreen. Rash guard long sleeved shirt, black sun protection pants, my cap, my mask. It’s a lot. The Lovely I starts in too. Sunscreen. Her purple cap. A friend of hers shows up. “You made it!” she proclaims again.

            The woman grins, “Yup.”

            The Lovely I introduces us, and Gretchen starts to don a wetsuit. It’s really a process, but man, I envy her. I get too cold, and today the water is choppy and less inviting than when Ian and I came. But I am ready!

            Gretchen grins as she tells a story of swimming obsession. “Yeah, I have these friends that don’t swim and when I tell them that I swam 5-6 days a week before the Pandemic they look at me admiringly and say, ‘Wow! You’re so disciplined!’ But I just tell them, ‘Discipline has nothing to do with it. It’s like Breathing’!"

            The Lovely I and I laugh, nod, sing in unison, “Exactly!”

            I grab my fins, head toward the water, ready to breathe deeply for the next 20 minutes.  

            I back into the water, turn and dive in. As I begin to pull through the brisk chops of the bay, a pelican soars overhead. The water’s brisk wave envelopes me.  I’m breathing!