sense of history about it.
Leaving the city proper, I saw an access road, and following signs, decided to explore the Old Port Road. I traveled along Highway 48 which took me through the port and industrial areas. Both sides of the road were dominated by huge, nondescript warehouses.
My curiosity made me want to stop, but the heavy security, highly evident, put me off. This was no place for the casual passer-by. I saw several restaurants that catered to the large industrial workforce as well as a few small convenience stores. When the long road ended, I found to my delight that I’d made a big circle and was back on Highway 100, the road that led past my home and over to the island.
I turned right. Going past the Bookmark and other businesses at Lighthouse Square, I drove across the two-mile long Queen Isabella Causeway.
The drive across the long, regally sloping bridge had to be one of the most beautiful sights known to man. Choppy bay and ocean water, bearing the characteristic dusky, clay-based blue of South Texas waterways, beckoned on both sides while brightly colored banners on the bridge and the accompanying long fishing piers lent a festive air to the journey. I’d heard how crowded the island became during spring break, but right now, during the month before, traffic was sparse and I was across and onto the island quickly.
Gaining South Padre Island’s now familiar main street, I turned left and proceeded down the center of the island. Turning onto the road that fronted the powerful Gulf of Mexico, within minutes I was at a wide beach access behind a small thatched hotel called The Surfer’s Stay.
The hotel was only three stories, much smaller than the towering hotels on either side. It had a warm, welcoming air. I was greeted with friendly catcalls from a table full of rowdy partiers at the open-air bar on the water. I smiled and waved to them, and made my way down the sand dunes until I stood next to the battering waves.
I stood a good while, allowing the harsh ocean wind to push against me. I took a deep breath and allowed my mind to dwell on the events of the night before.
I felt cheated and angry. I couldn’t even believe that my Mary would do this to me, torture me with her love, so close but so inevitably far away. I had begun to feel hopeful that healing had a chance, even though I knew I was far from healed, but I would never forget the pain of my loss while Mary continued to haunt me.
Emptying my mind, I headed north, my sandals dangling from my fingers. I listened as gulls appeared to shout snap counts to one another before arranging into an offensive line.
The water today was a muted blue, different from the bright blue of the day before. It was amazing how the ocean could change its face and demeanor from day to day, sometimes hour to hour. I stood at the water’s edge, my eyes following the slow progress of two shrimpers far out on the horizon. I moved on, closing my eyes and savoring the wind on my face.
I suddenly felt a presence next to me and paused. Alarmed, I opened my eyes to see the scowling countenance of a young Hispanic youth. His dark eyes bored into me. He stood less than a foot away. I could smell his strong, earthy scent, even in the pounding wind.
He made strange gestures with his hands, and then grasped me by the shoulders, trying to push me down to the sand. I gasped in fear which rapidly changed to outrage. I knocked his hands away, but with a grim expression, he grabbed me yet again. He made odd grunting noises and simply would not let go. I pushed at him again and we grappled. Realizing he was stronger and would soon overpower me, I swept his legs out from under him, a technique I had learned in self-defense courses.
“What the hell are you doing? If you’ve hurt him, I’ll have your butt in jail so fast...”
I turned and saw an athletic blonde shouting and racing angrily toward me. I recoiled and lifted my hands to my face. It was the same woman who had
Leaving the city proper, I saw an access road, and following signs, decided to explore the Old Port Road. I traveled along Highway 48 which took me through the port and industrial areas. Both sides of the road were dominated by huge, nondescript warehouses.
My curiosity made me want to stop, but the heavy security, highly evident, put me off. This was no place for the casual passer-by. I saw several restaurants that catered to the large industrial workforce as well as a few small convenience stores. When the long road ended, I found to my delight that I’d made a big circle and was back on Highway 100, the road that led past my home and over to the island.
I turned right. Going past the Bookmark and other businesses at Lighthouse Square, I drove across the two-mile long Queen Isabella Causeway.
The drive across the long, regally sloping bridge had to be one of the most beautiful sights known to man. Choppy bay and ocean water, bearing the characteristic dusky, clay-based blue of South Texas waterways, beckoned on both sides while brightly colored banners on the bridge and the accompanying long fishing piers lent a festive air to the journey. I’d heard how crowded the island became during spring break, but right now, during the month before, traffic was sparse and I was across and onto the island quickly.
Gaining South Padre Island’s now familiar main street, I turned left and proceeded down the center of the island. Turning onto the road that fronted the powerful Gulf of Mexico, within minutes I was at a wide beach access behind a small thatched hotel called The Surfer’s Stay.
The hotel was only three stories, much smaller than the towering hotels on either side. It had a warm, welcoming air. I was greeted with friendly catcalls from a table full of rowdy partiers at the open-air bar on the water. I smiled and waved to them, and made my way down the sand dunes until I stood next to the battering waves.
I stood a good while, allowing the harsh ocean wind to push against me. I took a deep breath and allowed my mind to dwell on the events of the night before.
I felt cheated and angry. I couldn’t even believe that my Mary would do this to me, torture me with her love, so close but so inevitably far away. I had begun to feel hopeful that healing had a chance, even though I knew I was far from healed, but I would never forget the pain of my loss while Mary continued to haunt me.
Emptying my mind, I headed north, my sandals dangling from my fingers. I listened as gulls appeared to shout snap counts to one another before arranging into an offensive line.
The water today was a muted blue, different from the bright blue of the day before. It was amazing how the ocean could change its face and demeanor from day to day, sometimes hour to hour. I stood at the water’s edge, my eyes following the slow progress of two shrimpers far out on the horizon. I moved on, closing my eyes and savoring the wind on my face.
I suddenly felt a presence next to me and paused. Alarmed, I opened my eyes to see the scowling countenance of a young Hispanic youth. His dark eyes bored into me. He stood less than a foot away. I could smell his strong, earthy scent, even in the pounding wind.
He made strange gestures with his hands, and then grasped me by the shoulders, trying to push me down to the sand. I gasped in fear which rapidly changed to outrage. I knocked his hands away, but with a grim expression, he grabbed me yet again. He made odd grunting noises and simply would not let go. I pushed at him again and we grappled. Realizing he was stronger and would soon overpower me, I swept his legs out from under him, a technique I had learned in self-defense courses.
“What the hell are you doing? If you’ve hurt him, I’ll have your butt in jail so fast...”
I turned and saw an athletic blonde shouting and racing angrily toward me. I recoiled and lifted my hands to my face. It was the same woman who had
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