There is nothing like the humid heat of a clear Puerto Rican day, the hushed whisper of the tide in the distance, and the easy companionship of my family at my side. We step from our car to the pavement, flip flops slapping, and apply sunscreen immediately, a familiar practice from all of our days spent in county pools. The fruity smell and the sound of my mom fretting, “Don’t forget your shoulders,” makes me laugh, while my sister rolls her eyes.

The sun beats down so impressively, I wonder if the sunscreen will be able to shield me properly. My hair is already sticking to the back of my neck, but when I complain, my sister just laughs and brings out a hair elastic, pulling my hair up into a ponytail. I use it to smack her in the face. She chases me all the way until the pavement smoothly transitions into sand, and our footsteps send small billows of the beach into the air.

We tromp across the boardwalk, shaking sand between worn wood panels, and our little party sounds a bit like a troop of horses-- clomp, clomp, clomp. The food vendors cast the smells of spiced meat and browning dough to settle into a tempting trail to their door. Later, I promise myself.

The seagulls crow and croak, waiting around for some parents to buy their kids fish to feed them with. They eye us greedily, and I make sure to give them a wide berth; they tend to be spiteful sorts of creatures.

As we wander further, into the shore line and away from the solid boardwalk underfoot, the waves suddenly call to me, and the salty sea breeze seems just as tempting as the food vendors’ wares. I break into a sprint, my sandals slipping off and being left behind as my family shouts to me. The sand is swelteringly sun-hot, and if I were to stand still for too long, I knew it would scorch my feet like hot coals, so I just keep running until my toes meet the cool, reaching hands of the tide.

It felt like relief. It felt like peace.