Check out was 10:00 AM Saturday morning. Our hope was to be on the road by 7:00 AM. The girls and I were up at 5:45 AM to watch one last sunrise on the peaceful, mostly deserted beach. Barefoot we walked across the taut sand of the shore as the waves swirled around our legs. If you stopped and stood in one spot for too long the firm sand dissolved beneath your feet and buried your toes.
We laughed as the salty, humid air made our hair stick up and posed together to take silly selfies. A pair of dogs raced across the sand into the waves chasing a dancing ball a head of us. A sand piper stood on the shore and took to flight just as I focused my lens on it. The girls chatted about the cute surfer boys they’d admired from afar the day before. We stopped to pick up one last shell. Across the fathomless waves the sun peaked over the horizon. It was time to head back.
We washed the salty water and sand from our feet one last time. We waved good bye to our home for the past week at 7:18 AM and settled in for the long drive home. The next 12 hours felt like the lasted longer than our entire trip there. I struggled to get my shoulder/in a comfortable position to alleviate the throbbing pain radiating down my arm. We stopped for 10-minute bathroom breaks and ate in the car. We listened to Folklore Taylor Swift’s new album (love it), let our smart phones entertain us and let sleep give us an escape from the monotony.
And finally around 7:52 PM we pulled into my parents driveway. Fifteen minutes later, I waked though the door into my boyfriend’s arms. I missed him so much. I was finally home. And, for me that is the best part of going on vacation.