The boy stomped his way along the beach, kicking shells as he went. He could hear the sand crunching under his feet. Combined with the crashing of waves, he found it to be a jarring timber. His stride was stiff and forced and he could feel his anger welling up inside of him, when he noticed a pile of driftwood to his left.
He reached into the pile and grabbed the biggest stick that he could find. It was almost two thumb widths wide and came up to his chest. It had a curve to it at one end. Looking at it, he got the impression that it used to be straight, but time had forced its spine forward. The bark looked coarse, almost flaky in spots, but it felt soft and subtle against the flesh of his hand. Despite its brittle exterior, he could tell that it was a hardwood, with a solid core. Its musty smell was a strange, but pleasant combination of forest floor and the ocean. The tips of the stick were rounded and a wisp of moss adorned one end. He knew that it was a good stick.
His mind suddenly flashed back and the anger grabbed hold of him again. Ignoring the stick, he felt a sudden urge to lash out, so he arched his body and brought the stick up behind him with both arms. He let out a violent breath, more like a scream than a sustaining force and swung the stick forward with all his mite. It pendulumed around his torquing body, cutting sharply through the air.
At that exact moment, his bare feet, which he had planted firmly in the sand to improve his purchase, slipped on a piece of slimy kelp and he felt himself falling forward. As his feet and torso fought against gravity, the stick changed its course and planted itself firmly in the wet ground, allowing him to stabilize himself.
He stood there stunned for a moment, his pulse was racing and he looked at the stick, now firmly planted in sand, which had saved him from his fall. The bits of moss at the end were flowing in the gentle breeze. He didn’t understand how it had ended up there, the trajectory didn’t really make sense, but he was thankful that it had and he cracked a small smile.
His emotions didn’t allow him to dwell on the strange happening for too long though, he still needed to vent. He felt the wood against the palm of his right hand and he began to apply downward pressure on the stick. He used so much force that he could feel the bark leaving a striated mark in the flesh of his hand and he started to move the stick. Despite his best efforts, he couldn’t draw the stick across his body; instead, he found himself pulling it towards him. The stick left a trailing imprint in the sand, parallel to his feet. He didn’t understand what had happened, it was as if the stick didn’t want to go where he was telling to go. He moved his feet and tried a few more times, but each time, the stick wouldn’t move across the front of his feet and each time, he found himself straddling the line.
He pulled the stick out of the sand, lifted it closer to his face and twirled it around, inspecting it closely. Each of the lines along the stick seemed to tell a story. Although he didn’t know what they said, he got a sense that he understood them. Despite knowing better, he got the impression that the stick was wise and had been held by many hands. After looking at it closely for a few minutes, he realized that he had forgotten his previous anger and instead, he was enveloped in a sense of calm.
He walked up to the water’s edge and placed the stick down gently and took a step back. A seagull perched itself on a stump beside him and watched him with great curiosity. It let out an approving caw. He could see a small, rolling wave moving slowly from out in the ocean towards the shore. It broke about four feet away from him and reached out with its white water. As it receded, it grabbed at the stick and pulled it back, reclaiming it. He strained to his neck, trying to follow it, but the stick was gone. He stood there for a few minutes, admiring the view and then slowly turned and continued to make his way lightly along the beach.
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