The Landing

I rush out of the decrepit brick building, ashamed to call it my home. My feet are a jumbled mess as they carry me across the soccer field towards the sidewalk and into the town of Dobbs Ferry. I can still hear the shrill sounds of shallow gossip from my peers echoing in my head, their desperation to fit in by degrading others making me run as fast and far away as possible.

The sun is like a torch on my skin as I stare, confused, at the sign that reads, NO TRESPASSING in generic red letters on a rusty piece of metal. A sign that hasn’t been taken seriously since before I can remember. I chuckle, eyeing its chipped corners, as it meekly tries to protect what’s just beyond. Disregarding the fake camera and other decaying warning signs, I journey across the one-lane bridge above the train tracks. I pause, looking at the endless tracks through the old rusted sides of the bridge. I resume walking, greeting the lanky thorn plants that spiral around the frame of the bridge, the vines grasping on with their vicious spikes as if it is their last hope before falling into the tracks below. Atop the unkempt building to my left, a brass cow watches over all who cross the bridge, making me feel at ease.  As if walking into a new world, I see the pavement soon fade into gravel, and the air becomes lighter. I feel a slight breeze whistle through my hair, each strand gaining its own freedom. I close my eyes and take in the fresh air, feeling it fill my lungs.  From afar the river is a vibrant array of yellows, purples, and oranges from the sunset — each color bouncing off the rippling water. The colors blend into one another with ease. It is a piece of art that needs no artist. 

Out of habit, I veer right towards the beach, following the dirt path that leads towards towering sculptures that seem out of place in the natural landscape. Their reflective hexagonal panels form large metal structures that have not changed for at least a year. There are four of them, each different in size, but all strikingly unpleasant to the eye. Their bulky unnatural forms look like  bad cartoons graffitied on a flawless impressionist landscape.

Every once in awhile I venture over to the abandoned building to the right of all the sculptures, peering in the broken windows to find shards of colored glass and cans of paint. I think about what the beach used to be like before the building was abandoned and the artist moved in. What kind of offices were there? Why is it empty now? Is it for sale, or does someone just choose to keep the building rotting the way it has for the past ten years?  In front of the building is an RV, which has not moved in the past year and a half, graffitied in so much color it looks like a kindergarten finger painting. 

I skirt around the large sculptures and walk past the building and RV to see the unsophisticated stretch of beach ahead. Putrid garbage adorns the edge of the beach with its disgraceful ugliness and even more jarring smell. The rocky, unrefined sand stings my raw feet as I venture to the other side of the beach leaving the incomprehensible sculptures behind me. 

I walk along the water inhaling the mix of rotten trash, sea salt, and a light hint of smoke. The sparse jungle to my right just barely hides the train tracks on the other side. Its wimpy greens bend sadly from years of fires and reckless teenagers as I wiggle my toes in the cold sand.  I sit down on a shriveled log covered in mud and other microbial treasures that once inhabited the water, and watch the river flow by. The soft waves are melodious to my ears. I sway to the music from the natural sounds around me – the rustling of the leaves, the faint squawks of the geese, and the grinding of my toes in the sand. 

I remember the first time I laid eyes on this treasure. I remember looking out at the sunset from the bridge feeling free for the first time, bound by no schedule or social obligation. I also felt scared. Scared of the impurities I brought to an unrefined place like this. I felt small in the midst of this beautiful scene. But now as I look closer, the beach and I are more alike than different. We both have scars from our past, yet we still choose to see the purity within each other. As I sit down on the beach letting my head fall back and my hair drape behind me, I curl my toes farther into rocky sand. I rub the sand in my hands until my skin is raw. Until I am exposed.