Nonfiction by Meredith Escudier
A woman, pear-shaped and clad in a modest swimming suit, edges her way into the
water. Her toes sink into the wet sand, partially disappearing into a cushiony
softness as a few gentle waves ebb and flow. Despite her tentative approach, her
stance gives off a certain determination. Clutched securely in her right hand is the
left hand of her grandson. Together, in a kind of cross-generational unison, they
advance into the gentle Mediterranean.
Little by little, the waves ripple and swell. By the time the water swirls around her
knees, he will already be waist deep. Mindful of this, she goes no further, not for
now. This will be just a teaser, a taste, an awareness of why a beach holds sway,
why they are here today. The sky, in a wash of orange watercolors, gradually
transforms as the day wears on. The light brightens, nearly blinding in its
luminosity before it recedes, as the day proceeds, as life proceeds, gradually
darkening into another palette of grey and purplish navy blue.
Though the watercolors, light and lovely, maintain their transparency, something
has changed. The grandson will come to approach the water on his own one day,
arms held aloft in greeting, a young expectant heart soaring. She knows this. As a
promoter of life, she somehow hungers for this and yet, looking at the horizon, she
also knows she is enacting a certain lesson, a teaching for him, yes, but also for
her.
He will go on, a member of the future, embracing life on his own. And she, the
grandmother, will follow him along with her eyes, quietly drinking in his wonder
and waving to him, tenderly, from afar.
Meredith Escudier has lived in France for over 35 years, teaching, translating, raising a family and writing. She is the author of three books, most recently, a food memoir, The Taste of Forever, an affectionate examination of home cooks that features an American mother and a French husband.
