That summer: A microstory by Sian Kneller

It was blisteringly hot that summer. We were staying in my aunt’s caravan in France. This particular evening I remember it well. My dad was in his usual spot - out front, slumped in the cheap plastic fold-out chair, 2 empty bottles of 1 franc wine on the table in front of him and 2 more full bottles still in the bag on the floor next to him: evidence of an earlier run to the supermarket.? My frustrated mother was in the shoebox-sized kitchen cleaning up and muttering under her breath - she was always thanklessly taking care of everyone.

A stack of dirty dishes and pots flanked the miniscule sink. Peeking out from between the plates were charred tentacles; remnants of the evening’s fish-market supper. Chunks of half-eaten squid atop the stack, deemed too rubbery and chewy for human consumption by my pernickety brother. The caravan smelled of stale cigarettes, fried onions and cooking oil. My mother had added an extra layer of grease to the interior with the sauté potatoes from our earlier feast. Sid and I shared a little cubby hole with two mattresses inside that perched precariously on large brackets jutting out from the paper thin walls, while my parents slept on the pull-out bed which doubled as a sofa during the day. Sid, a bonafide extravert, needed to be the centre of attention and couldn’t stand to be in his own company. I, on the other hand, then and now, preferred to be alone and needed quiet reflection time. We were like chalk and cheese and this was a constant source of tension.

I snuck out that night at around midnight. Sid tagged along determined not to miss out on anything. Not 5 minutes walk from our caravan was a white sandy beach. The closer we got to the beach, the more my lungs filled with that sweet salty air. We sat on the low wall that bordered the shore and watched the stars for a little bit. I dove my feet into the warm sand. As I lifted my feet I noticed that I liked the sensation of the silky coarseness gliding between my toes, but I didn’t like the dusty coating that remained.?

“I’m bored!” whined Sid.

“I told you not to come! Why do you always have to follow me around?” I scolded.?

Sid went in search of a stick or something else to ease his boredom and entertain his idle hands. He found a poorly inflated beach ball next to a discarded sun lounger. While my brother ran off somewhere kicking around his meager ball, I noticed a young couple emerging from the sea: glistening in the moonlight, naked. I felt like I had witnessed something unspeakable - I could almost hear my mother’s reaction, I could imagine her ushering us away and pretending nothing had happened. I was both embarrassed but also strangely intrigued, unable to look away but knowing it was wrong to stare on. They lay down together on the sand in an embrace, legs and arms intertwined. I watched them for a time until I had an unshakable urge to feel the sensation of the water on my bare skin. I still to this day do not quite know what possessed me, maybe I wanted to feel a fraction of the thrill that the lovers felt, but I thrust my clothes off and went charging into the sea. I swam out until my feet could no longer touch the ground and I floated for a little bit, bobbing gently. The only sound was my breath and the water lapping against my skin. After a while I swam back to the shore.?

As I emerged from the chilly depths, I noticed the couple were no longer there and neither were my clothes nor my brother. I frantically searched for something to protect my modesty but there was nothing around so I decided to make a run for it, darting, bobbing, zig-zagging through alleyways and side streets whilst trying to retain my decency until I finally arrived at our temporary abode. There I found my brother laughing like a hyena still holding onto the futile beach ball next to a discarded pile of my clothes. Instead of being angry as I almost invariably was with him, I laughed too. I realised at that moment that my brother wasn’t so different from me? - he too was just looking for something to fill the void.?