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The first place Christopher and Eddie Diaz visited when the reached Los Angeles, California, had been the beach.
(Other than stopping in at the home Abuela owned, which they were staying at until Eddie managed to find a house to rent.)
Christopher had half-heartedly pushed for Disneyland, sure his father would carry him if the walking got to be too much for the young boy. It was only after a solemn promise that they would visit the attraction once they were settled in that Christopher had settled on a beach visit.
He’d spent his entire short life in El Paso, Texas, over 700 miles from the largest bodies of water in the world. Even if he’d lived closer, he was pretty sure his grandparents wouldn’t allow him to visit a place they deemed as dangerous - even if his mom had been the one to decide to take him.
That hadn’t stopped the fascination. He;d devoured every book on marine life he could get his hands on at the library of the public school he went to. At the public library his family took him to, he was much more limited in what he was allowed to read; his grandma was very protective of him and argued over anything she deemed too old for him.
His mom tried but he’d learned early on to pick things his grandparents approved of. It helped stop some of the fights his mom had to fight on his behalf.
They stopped at the pier first. The salty sea air was laden with the scent of hot dogs and popcorn and Christopher’s stomach grumbled in hunger, causing him to look up at his father.
“Want a hot dog, buddy?”
He nodded enthusiastically and followed his father to the line. His father watched him but didn’t step in to help; Christopher enjoyed the independence he’d been afforded little of in his life.
They settled on a bench at the end of the boardwalk, overlooking the shifting water. It was dark blue, indigo, out in the deepest part Christopher could see, where there were tiny white boats dotted on the horizon. He bit his lip, trying to bring to mind the colors in the 240 crayon tub his mother had bought him a week before she left. It became lighter as it came closer to the shore, persian, cobalt, sapphire, … the closest, cyan, was tipped in white froth as the waves broke against the beige shore that glittered in the bright sun.
It was interrupted by people on surfboards, bright dashes of color against the blue, and he knew he wanted to try that sometime.
They sat for maybe half an hour before Eddie stood up and stretched, holding his hand out to his son.
“Ready to hit the sand?”
Christopher nodded and they made their way down to the sand together, the boy grateful for the hand on his back. Eddie was a steadying presence at his side, but not infringing in any way.
Newly found independence or not, he didn’t want to fall and hurt himself.
The sand was scratchy and hot against his bare feet and the tips of his crutches sunk in at odd angles. The water, as it lapped against his toes, was cold enough to make him squeal a laugh.
“Will we come back here?”
“Of course, buddy. We live here now.” Eddie gave in to what he’d wanted to do and lifted his son up, twirling him around in his arms. The gleaming red crutches banged against his legs as Christopher giggled, head thrown back, eyes shut against the bright sun.
“We live here now,” Eddie said again quietly. It was a reminder, a promise, to himself and to his son.
“Together.”