pocketful of shells (part 2)

Perhaps I'm over-reaching here...or perhaps I was so desperate for a little theatrics that morning on the beach. All I know is the empty red inhaler seemed the perfect ironic prop for that scene in my life's play. It was as if moments before I arrived, or perhaps even while I was staring at the ground a hundred yards away, God muttered quietly on His headset, "Stage manager to crew: can someone place item 246983 on the front of stage right in 3....2.....1...?" I remember chuckling while I snapped the photo with seagulls watching quietly but pensive like any good audience would.

After staring for quite some time I sensed my right arm was about to act independently from my brain and just reach down and grab the thing. Repelled at the right arm's lack of good sense, I pulled it back quickly, with a stern word that we would discuss the unsanctioned move more later. Everything about the inhaler made me think of breathing...the person who had used it in order to breathe, the way in which it dispensed medicated air to relieve a constricted airway....And then I thought about what that must feel like: your throat beginning to close and your lungs gripping your insides like a prisoner. My right hand went rogue again and placed itself on the bottom of my throat, rubbing a small circle at the meeting place of neck and the rest of me.

A tear jostled around the corner of my eye, as if in negotiations with an agent or something. Finally an agreement must have been reached, for it rushed onto stage with a flourish. I knew walking down to the water that morning that I needed salty air, thunderous water and unrelenting wind. I knew I needed to feel the realness of those things to remind my heart of counterfeit things. I also knew I needed to feel overwhelmed by that which I couldn't control...the wind, the water, the air...unbridled beauty that couldn't be arranged, performed for or impressed. What I didn't know, but my stage manager obviously did, was I needed reminded to breath, to think about breathing, and maybe even more importantly....to know that in those moments when my throat began to constrict and my lungs clamored angrily, He could provide an inhaler. Maybe next time He'll give me one that's not empty (ha ha)...or perhaps He just did and that was the whole point.

I finally managed to pull my gaze away from the littered object on the sand. A smile crept across my face as I turned it up into the air like our beloved old dog used to.