At least I feel clear about what I want to do with Miles.
I take a minute to sketch a doodle of a super muscled man running on a beach on a torn piece of paper from my sketchbook and lay it on my pillow for Miles to find when he wakes up. I used to leave little doodles for him to find in his apartment in college and he loved it then. I suspect he’ll like it now, too.
It’s still dark out, morning’s rays not yet showing themselves as I arrive at the bus. Walter is already on with seats saved for us. He’s holding two to-go cups and hands one to me, the warmth of it transferring to my hands.
“Morning, sunshine,” Walter says, too cheery for this hour. Of course Walter is a morning person. “I got you a coffee, but if you don’t want it, we can pawn it off on someone else.”
“Walter, this is so nice. I didn’t get a chance to grab any, so this is perfect. Thank you.”
“And here, if you’ll just hold mine…” He hands me his cup and digs around in his fanny pack to produce a handful of sugar packets and small cream cups. He holds them up, delighted to share his treasure.
We doctor our coffees and share a whispered conversation on the drive to the excursion. We talk about what else Walter is getting up to while he’s here and my imminent departure.
“Are you ready to get home?” he asks.
I thought I would be more ready to go home than I am. I feel way less burned out than I did when I arrived. I feel like I spent my first few days trying so hard to relax that I couldn’t actually do it, and then by the time I did start relaxing, I barelynoticed. By then, I was spending a lot of time with Miles. Was he a contributing factor in that? Most definitely. But I thought for sure that I would be settled on whether I would go back to school in the fall or say yes to the graphic design program, and while my conversation with Gray last night certainly got me thinking, the idea of leaving the only career I’ve ever known fills me with a kind of dread that makes me want to just stay where I am. Walter is right, of course, that no one really likes change, but I’m afraid I’m not equipped to handle it. And that the devil I know is better than the devil I don’t.
“I wish I had more time here,” I say honestly. Not because it would be nice to get more time with Miles, but because I want to believe that eventually I could relax my way into feeling secure about my next move. It’s probably not true, but a girl can dream.
“You’ll be glad to sleep in your bed again,” Walter says.
“I don’t know, Walter—these beds are pretty great.”
Walter belts out a great big laugh. He asks me if I want to be pen pals when I go back home, and we exchange contact information. He asks me how the lighthouse hike was and I tell him how we got rained out and camped in the lighthouse for a bit. I leave out the…detailsand ask him about his excursions.
Walter talks all the way to the excursion’s headquarters, where they check us in, verify our registration, and let us wander the gift shop. It’s filled with tchotchkes—keychains, magnets, commemorative spoons, stationary—all turtle-themed. I’m not a big souvenir person, but the baby sea turtle plushie is too cute to pass up, so I nab one for myself before they load us onto a van to take us to the hatchery, stuffing him in my backpack.
Before we see any turtles, they sit us down in an outside classroom area with a large monitor tucked into a stone wall. Everyone in the group takes a seat on one of the benches set up classroom-style, and a young marine biologist introduces herself to us and tells us about the history of the conservation programas well as an overview of the nesting cycle and challenges that sea turtles face. She tells us that normally, this time of year, we would just get to tour the facility, visit with any of the turtles being rehabilitated, and see all the spots where the nesting and hatching happen, but that she has a special treat for us.
“You guys are fortunate because this year, one of our rescued and rehabilitated turtles laid her eggs pretty early, so we are going to get to release baby turtles today, even though it’s still pretty early in the season,” Kelly, the marine biologist, says.
Delighted gasps break out through the crowd. When I signed up for the excursion, they told us they can’t guarantee a release this early in the summer, but that occasionally a group will get lucky.
We got lucky.
They lead us on a quick tour of the place, showing us where they house rehabilitated turtles before they’re released back into the waters. They show us the nesting grounds, and we all get a glimpse of the baby turtles that are being released.
A staff member loads the baby turtles into a large bin and a few other staff members join us on the walk down to the beach. The group stops where dry sand meets wet sand, and over the soft roar of the ocean, Kelly tells us we can each grab a bowl from one of her coworkers and line up to get a turtle for an individual release. We’ll release them together, once Kelly gives us the signal.
Walter and I keep elbowing each other, unable to believe our luck. I was satisfied just getting to see the place and maybe meet a turtle or two and learn about the conservation efforts, but a release like this is such an unexpected gift from the universe. A going-away present for me, Walter deems it.
We wait patiently, clutching our bowls until it’s our turn. Kelly places a baby sea turtle in each of our bowls, and we take our place next to the other excursion guests as we all wait for thesignal. I sit first and help Walter to the sand, where he slides off his flip flops and digs his toes in.
“Gosh, they’re adorable, aren’t they?” Walter observes, eyeing his turtle nervously like it might escape.
We can’t touch the baby sea turtles, but it’s so tempting. They’re barely bigger than the palm of my hand, and I want to give its little nose a pet, but I keep my hands to myself. My turtle is ready to go, using its flippers to propel itself around the bowl in tiny circles. He’s so cute. I want to name him and take him home and keep him forever. I don’t know if he’s really a boy, but in my mind, his name is Ollie and he probably sounds like the cartoon sea turtle fromFinding Nemo.
The sun has started to show herself, golden rays painting the sky and the expanse of water before us. The beach is waking up, and with it, the new life we’re holding on the precipice of the most important journey they will ever take.
When I look out at the ocean and back at my baby sea turtle, panic grips my throat. It’s so big and he’s so…small. How is he supposed to survive that? Those waves are going to overwhelm him, and then, of course, once he makes it past those, he isn’t safe yet. He’s got to make it through predator-infested waters—and I just have to sit here and cross my fingers that my boy makes it.
“Don’t worry, Ollie. You got this. I can see it, you’re gonna make it. It’ll be hard, but you can do it. I believe in you,” I say to the little turtle in my bowl. Tears prick my eyes, and my little sea turtle paddles around, eager to be set free.
Kelly gives us the go, and everyone tips their bowls, letting the small turtles scoot their way onto the beach. I don’t let Ollie go yet, watching Walter let his turtle go and cheer it on as it paddles through the firm, wet sand to the water. I give Ollie one last look and position the bowl so he can make his own journey.
He was ready to go before he hit the sand, but once he’s on the ground, he’s moving quickly, like he knows exactly where he’s supposed to be going.
I feel full of pride and fear for the little guy, and as he gets closer to the water, the fear gets a little louder. The first big wave hits him, and I gasp, covering my mouth with my hand. Walter reaches over and takes my free hand in his as I frantically scan the water for Ollie.
