Shells

Surreal is the only word, however overused, that I can think of that can adequately describe my sense of being. Here I was, walking on the beach belonging to Florida's coast, my footsteps slightly slower than this boy I watched grow up. He's nearing thirteen which sounds incredulous to me. His mother comments on how along with this approaching age also comes a somewhat cantankerous attitude. Her choice of words remind me of a species of crab crawling out of its shell ever so slightly before returning to its dark home. In all seriousness we can see this boy being one of the most courteous, family conscious teenagers this side of the Mississippi.
I look down at my feet, the sand runs in and out between my toes and the waves lick my calves. Broken pieces of shell cover the ground like a mosaic. I look above me a ways and see the pieces make a design. At the very beginning of the beach they are whole shells, this subsides into large pieces which eventually breakdown into tiny pieces almost but not quite resembling sand. Once you are able to wade in the ocean, the shells are whole again. I pick one up.
It is my mother's shell. It isn't as whole and perfect as I wish it could be, but it belongs to her. While wet, the black, grey and white seem to mix perfectly into a marble. I smile as I grasp the shell in my palm. I glance at the sun which is not quite ready to make its rapid descent. I have time. I climb up the sand towards the full shells and smile at the boy as he runs a little too far into the ocean. There! I see it, it is such a strangely shaped shell, certainly not one that would be sold in a shop. It has rounded spikes colored coral and purple, white masking the rest. 'Werf' is the word that passes through my mind when I pick it up and it is Afsaneh's.
I glance up and breathe in the semi-salty air. I am almost positive that I am one of tens of thousands of people who have made the comparison, but holding these shells in my hand I cannot help but think that they resemble people. They are washed ashore as whole shells and gradually break down and return to the ocean. Each shell is an individual,though you might see several clam shells they are all different.
This thought ran rampant in my mind and I saw a blindingly white shell, perfection. That is what I want to grace her life, its been a difficult several months, so this shell is hers.
I knew that I could walk forever on this beach naming a shell for every person in my life but I stopped. My name was being called, my attention drawn to the sunset. Our eyes darted over the horizon wondering if the dolphins remembered their cue of the falling sun. I turned to his father, speechless for several breaths. His smile rippled into laughter at my obvious excitement of this moment. I know I am hooked. Hooked on this feeling of ecstasy and ease that took me over from my limbs to my soul. I feel if I stayed here long enough that I could find the whole meaning of life in that ocean.