Fool Me Twice – Galveston
Luckily, we soon came to a series of bridges, and then spent the next ten minutes driving over and around water. Several estuaries near the Houston ship channel all drained into the Gulf of Mexico, and all that water soon began to work its magic on our frayed nerves.
I’d waited a long time to make it back to the coast, and I could feel the water welcoming me back like a long-lost friend.
Mac noticed the wistful expression on my face.
“What is it, Buddy?”
“The water,” I answered. “It’s always had this effect on me. Even a little pond or lake calms me down. I guess it’s true what they say about us living in the ocean for billions of years before we ditched our gills for lungs.
Mac lit a cigarette as we crossed the next causeway, the main bridge connecting Galveston with the mainland. The sun glinted off the water as I watched the people fishing and crabbing in groups along the rocky shoreline in the distance.
As I breathed in the salty air, a flood of ancient memories and emotions overwhelmed me. Suddenly, I was a kid again. I couldn’t wait for that moment when we’d cross the final rise and the land would give way to that boundless expanse of blue that made up the Gulf of Mexico.
All those childhood trips to the beach came back to me in a torrent of nostalgia. Back then, the magic of all that open water used to fill my young and impressionable imagination with the endless possibilities of life’s adventures. Of course, the water at Galveston’s beaches wasn’t quite as clear and blue as say, in Florida. Nor was the sand as white.
Yet, the island of Galveston had its own quaint and captivating charms, and I’d been in love with the place for as long as I could remember.
Mac and I were in the process of finishing our last beers, and halfway through singing Ninety-Nine Bottles of Beer on the Wall, when suddenly—five minutes from our destination—a loud and piercing siren rudely interrupted the festivities.