Jersey Shore Memories

Ocean City is one of those places for me that if you begin to tally up the memories, you give up. They surface with the first whiff of salt water as you cross the bay bridge.

I drove to the Jersey Shore with two friends from exercise class last week. This is the second year we’ve gone to the shore to celebrate my birthday and get away for the day, the fledgling tradition we hope to repeat next summer. Last year it was Asbury Park.

My family used to rent a house every July or August in Ocean City when I was a kid. Dad stopped at Somers Point first to pick up his booze and beer. Ocean City is dry. The Methodists founded the place as a Christian retreat back in the 1800s.

I see Mother coming home from the beach, and that night turning red as the proverbial lobster from a nasty sunburn. My brother, Andy, who was seven years older than me, sat on the front porch of the rental house and smoked cigarettes, and our cocker spaniel, Lucky, sat at our feet. I adored my older brother and played endless games of Blackjack with him, not because I loved cards but because he did. When I was three, I was stung by a jellyfish. I don’t remember it, but Dad said he sucked the poison out of my toes.

My parents spent their honeymoon in Ocean City in 1940 at the Flanders Hotel. The hotel is the signature building with its coral-tiled roof rising on the horizon when you cross the bay bridge. The Flanders is also where John and I spent our first honeymoon. Our first because we had to get married on the sly before the actual ceremony in June since his mother was threatening to kill both of us in her jealous rage, and the minister at my church suggested a marriage certificate would end that once and for all as she would see the futility of trying to rail against a done deal. Our room at the Flanders had a big double bed and a TV tuned to the 76ers playing in the NBA finals that year. Away from the madness with the curtains billowing from ocean breezes the world was ours for taking.

“Whoever said aging is a joy is …” I shook my head and didn’t finish my thought as my friends and I entered the Flanders lobby and took in the framed photographs of Ocean City back in the day. Women and men in bathing suits that covered half their bodies and a mermaid sculpture over by the window were so lovely and ephemeral. My friend nodded. “Yeah, it’s BS,” she said, referring to my comment about aging being a joy. “Thanks,” I said with a grateful grin. It’s seen as uncivil, even ungracious, to say you don’t like growing old, especially in a room full of old people. I wanted to hug her for the affirmation. Anyway, the upside is you learn to appreciate the little things, the small moments of pleasure, the more you’ve endured.

A few summers after our honeymoon at the Flanders and before the kids were born, John and I would drive to Ocean City just for the day, out to the end of the island where there are showers and changing stations. “See that’s where we were,” I said, pointing to the brown doors where you change. Parachute-shaped kites rode high above the dunes. The humidity hung like a heavy wet curtain and no one wanted to take my sad and romantic trip down memory lane by getting out of the car and heading to the beach.

He’s been gone so long, almost thirty years now. I remember those trips, that sunburn on his chest that I tenderly touched with my fingertips, my streaked blond hair turned naturally by sun and saltwater. “It’s hard not having a husband,” I said. “You two are so lucky. I’d get depressed if I thought about it too much so I stay in the moment, don’t look too far ahead, and be grateful for what I have.” A companionable silence followed in the car. I mean what do you say to that? Husband or not, I think we all feel that way, that is if we’re smart. Still, thank god for good friends so you can confide.

They’re all gone now…my parents, my brother, my husband, but nothing changes with time. Not really. They’re still with me, still here in what I write.

“Where to now?” We ended up at a diner about an hour out of Ocean City one of those red, black, and silver things straight out of American Graffiti with pot pies and cookies the size of plates sold by the register. As we drove home, a brilliant sunset of rose and peach streaked the sky to end the day. Next birthday another shore town to explore with good friends. That’s good enough now.

How about you? Do you have a place filled with memories?