Descriptiv Prose- A Holiday Memory

The little airport bus pulled up outside a row of tall houses stood next to the road, dark, with the shutters at the windows pulled tightly closed. We unpeeled our sweaty legs from the plastic minibus seats and gratefully tumbled out onto the baking tarmac. My clothes were creased from the long flight and I felt disorientated in this brilliant light and heat. Mum and Janice pulled our wheeled cases from the trunk and paid the friendly driver, who sped off in a cloud of dust to rejoin the other cars on the little road. I squinted up at the tall house as Mum fiddled with the lock of the iron front gate. “It doesn’t look much, does it? I thought Frances said it was right on the beach?” We ascended up some steps to the front door. With a creak it swung open and a burst of light streamed around us as we clattered into a huge white-tiled kitchen, gleaming and airy. The wall opposite had floor to ceiling windows set in distressed wooden frames, that reminded me of driftwood, and a door that we rushed straight over to. Jangling through the bunch of keys until she found the one labelled ‘back-door’, she threw it open and we tumbled out onto a wooden patio area, decked with huge slats of thick oak wood. We all stood still and let out little gasps of air as we took in the view. The decking jutted straight out over an endless beach of brilliant smooth white sands so bright they left a dazzled imprint on my retinas when I closed my eyes. At the shore a turquoise sea sliced through the white, choppy waves caught the sun’s rays and sparkled. The sea changed colour in stripes, moving through all the shades of blue, translucent at the shore, darkening to a deep navy far out in the horizon. As we stood on the decking I noticed movement on the white; little crabs, nearly invisible against the sand scuttled in and out of tiny holes in the ground; their black beady eyes swivelling all around.

We spent our holiday basking out in the sun until we could stand the heat no longer and our skin dripped with sweat and sun cream. Running, we’d plunge straight into the blue surf and submerge our heads in the crystal water, floating weightlessly on the waves. Then, dripping wet, we’d retreat beneath the welcome shade of the striped awning on the decking, the breeze quickly drying our skin. We sat at the big round table, sipping on Bajan rum cocktails in tall glasses that smelt of sweet and spice. The ice cubes melted quickly in the heat, condensation soaking the glasses and leaving dark wet rings on the wooden table. We smoked roll up cigarettes down to the filter, talking and laughing and playing endless card games until the sun had slipped its colourful descent through the sky.