Divya Kulkarni
February 14, 2024
Destination: Friends Are a Testament of Time
August 5, 2023
I haven’t seen Eliza in weeks. She’s down at the University of Delaware for her neuropsych research lab, while Gwen and I have been in our hometown, King of Prussia, PA, all summer. We finally found a Saturday off from our crazy busy adult schedules and decided it was absolutely time to catch up.
Gwen lives a convenient two minutes away. I pull into the driveway in front of a little brick house with rickety blue and white striped chairs on the porch, a place I’ve spent many summer mornings sipping cool raspberry tea and munching on Ritz crackers. While I wait for Gwen, I shuffle the playlist I made for today. I roll the windows down, filling my car with the sweet morning air carrying notes of freshly mowed grass and last night’s firewood. Gwen walked out with her blonde hair up in a high ponytail and a pink cheetah print tank top. I smile thinking about our unabashed love for cheetah print, we never understood why it went out of style. Pink Floyd’s “Wish You Were Here” cruises through the speakers.
Gwen gets into the car, grinning at me. “I love this song!”
“I know.” I put the car in drive, and we headed towards I-95. We talked about the crazy people we encountered at work, how we don’t want to go back to college at the end of the month, and when we thought 1989 (Taylor’s Version) was coming out. I watched the familiar suburbs of Delco float by, the Best Buy that doesn’t tax, Hardee’s Diners at every few intersections, and highway signs for the beach. Thirty minutes into the drive, our conversations were going a mile a minute, laughter interrupting every other thought, hair flying out the window and tangled in our sunglasses, which is usually how hanging out with Gwen goes.
After a few missed a few left turns, we eventually arrived at Eliza’s apartment. Three flights of stairs later, we nearly collapsed into an excited Eliza’s open arms. We doubled over in laughter when we saw the bandaid Eliza used as makeshift tape to fix a torn window blind.
“Hey I couldn’t find any tape here,” Eliza complained. “I missed you guys so much. What do you want to do today?” she asked. I gazed out the window, my eyes fixating on a silver water fountain contrasting the burnt brick pathways across campus. With water so blue and clear, I wanted to dip my hands in to relieve me of the sweltering midday heat. Suddenly I am overcome with the need to go swimming.
“I don’t even care how old we’re going to look, is there a community center pool or something nearby?” I asked. “Gwen and I brought swimsuits just in case.”
“I don’t think so,” Eliza said. “I know we’re far from the Delaware beaches but maybe we can find something.” After a quick google search we settled on some place called Crystal Beach in Maryland which was about 40 minutes away. From the reviews, the beach seemed open to the public but not many people ventured down its path. I put on our joint Pitbull playlist and we headed on our way, the three of us singing along at the top of our lungs. I took an exit over a bridge, and I could tell we were getting close. The singing had died down, all of us anxious to get into the water soon. I followed signs telling me to turn right into a steep and windy road lined with open grass and a scarce few houses that crisscrossed down to the beaches. It didn’t seem promising. All I saw were little dirt paths of the main road and water in the distance, just out of reach, but no way to get there. We decided if we couldn’t find the beach in the next 15 minutes, we would just give up and head back. From the distance I saw an oval sign with the words “Welcome to Crystal Beach Manor” in what looked like a painting of an ocean with a yellow-orange sun setting behind the waves, a white lighthouse and sailboat in the distance. I turned down a steep gravel road and we all held our breath. A few minutes later we came across a dirt parking lot surrounded by grassy patches and filled with a few cars.
I parked the car, and Gwen and Eliza followed me through an open fence. An older woman and a younger man, who I assumed was her son, were sitting behind a picnic table. She asked us where we were from in a thick Delco accent and when she opened her mouth, she had a few missing teeth. We told her we’re a long way from home and paid the five dollar entry fee, making our way to the water.
Crystal Beach was a hidden gem, a cove with luscious green forest on either side of sky blue water, feeding into the Chesapeake Bay. In the distance I could see recreational boats, their white sails high in the air. For a secluded beach, there were a lot of families with children, some setting up cookouts and barbecues under rainbow umbrellas. Later I learned that the beach used to be a vacation spot for families that stayed at the White Crystal Manor. Over the years, tourism died down and the beach became a secret, enjoyed by locals and a lucky few wanderers like my friends and I. A warm breeze picked up as we got into the water. For the next couple hours, Gwen, Eliza, and I were kids again enjoying a secret paradise, playing marco polo, giving each other piggyback rides, seeing how long we can hold our breaths. I stood in the water, looking far along the bay, trying to see where the sky meets the sea.
After a while, Eliza and Gwen went back to the shore to work on their tans, but I stayed. I floated on my back, soaking up the sun. My mind drifted to the vacation the three of us took to the Outer Banks one summer. The beaches at the Banks are rough with little moon jellies. The waters at Crystal Beach were calm and still. While I stand still in the neverending water, I’m consumed with the realization that I don’t have an unlimited amount of summers with my friends. Eventually we are going to grow up, move away from each other, and create new homes with new people. I especially mourn the loss of Eliza’s house, our local meeting point for every sleepover, movie night, and baking adventure. The ocean works its nostalgia magic on me, my mind floats back to easy days of childhood, no worries, no commitments. I’m lulled to assurance by a calming voice from within, reminding me that while our time is limited, my connection to my friends is steady, anchoring me to the present I have no choice but to make the most of.
When it was time to go, we cheesily wrote our names in the sand, claiming our secret adventure. Gwen and I dropped Eliza back at her apartment and said our goodbyes. On the way back home we stopped at Freddy’s, Gwen’s favorite diner, and grabbed burgers and milkshakes. We were the only two people in the diner. I share my concerns from earlier with Gwen. She tells me that I’m right. We’re all growing up and we definitely can’t be in our late 20’s having sleepovers in Eliza’s parents’ basement. But we will find a new place, maybe one of our own apartments or houses or maybe on a trip or spontaneous getaway. We will fill our new places with the same old people and make memories over and over, until that new place becomes a part of us.
We both zone out, focusing on our food in comfortable silence, bone tired from the day, sand in our clothes, and wet hair dripping down our backs. In a moment of divine intervention, I’m pulled from my heavy thoughts as the diner starts playing “Kings and Queens” by Ava Max at full volume. Gwen and I take one look at each other and burst out laughing. We just laughed and laughed till our ribs hurt.
References
Another Cecil County Vacation Spot – White Crystal Beach – Window on Cecil County’s Past. (2008, September 1). Cecil County History. Retrieved March 19, 2024, from https://cecilcountyhistory.com/another-cecil-county-vacation-spot-white-crystal-beach/
