BRIGHT ORANGE

 After we moved from Alabama to Galveston in 1945 Pop would occasionally take us for an evening stroll on the beach. Mom walking, holding Connie by the hand, Pop carrying Mary Sue, and me tagging along or running in front. From our apartment over Klater’s drug store, we walked along 42nd Street south to Avenue T. Then east to the Lovenberg Junior High School campus, which we walked across to the intersection of 39th Street and the beachfront. We’d descend to the sand on the stairs at 39th, and explore the beach between 39th and 37th.

At low tide, we examined the flora and fauna, the marine life adhering to the nether parts of the groins, and dug for shells on the sand which was uncovered by the receding water.

We found ear shells, olive shells, whelk, jingle shells, sea beans and more. We saw jellyfish and Portuguese Men O’War, a few dead fish, and sometimes a skate egg pouch.

The five of us were all children in a new wonderland. Pop enjoyed sneaking coins from his pocket and dribbling them onto the sand along the water’s edge, for his kids to find.

Then, as dusk threatened to rob us of our playground, he would herd his small group homeward. Usually I would lag behind, reluctant to so soon abandon the disclosures of nature so mystifyingly revealed.

On one such occasion we were on the beach near 37th Street. Mom, Pop and the two girls were leaving; they were already atop the seawall and heading toward 39th Street. I approached from the low tide’s murmuring caress along the darkening sand toward the granite rip-rap which protected the seawall. There in a small tidal pool was – life!

I walked forward, to better see.

Pop whistled, to summon me to join the entourage. I crouched, to compensate for my poor vision, for my glasses were safe at home.

The mysterious life form was at one end of the pool, which was crystal clear and about four inches deep by a foot wide and three feet long. It was bright orange – today we would call it fluorescent orange - , about three inches long, and of the proportions of a standard goldfish. The thing reacted to my presence, and shot to the opposite end of the pool.

Pop called out softly, “Come on Abe.”

I moved closer, to examine the phenomenon. It flashed back to the other end of the pool. I still could not identify it. My eyes were just too weak.

If I could just get another step closer!

“ABE!!”

The imperious roar commanded. I responded, and left behind, to wonder about forever, the bright orange mystery trapped in the tidal pool.

This is clear in my memory: the small fish-like life form moved in a manner since familiar to me in the various aquarium fishes enjoyed in many homes, including my own. I have watched them swim casually, and I have seen them flee in panic, rushing from one end to the other of their aquarium’s confinement.

Whatever that thing was in the late afternoon Galveston beach tidal pool, it was easily twice as fast as any “goldfish” I’ve ever seen. And in the 65 years since, I’ve spent may hours on the beaches, and fishing in small boats around the islands of the Texas coast. And I ain’t never seen nothing like I saw that evening.

You tell me — I don’t know.