Fire Island: A Short Story

“Wow,” was the only expression that Neil and Gabe could select to state their excitement when they arrived at the beautiful pastel yellow sanded beaches of Fire Island. For Neil, it would be his first trip to any ocean, and there was some concealed fear tucked away, but he was geared up to challenge it.

Roger Vreeland, a friend of the Turner’s let them use his stilted edge-of-the-water getaway. This was like no other house the boy’s had seen before. They’d seen pictures from far off places of such raised houses. This one was just beyond their city, but scanning the vista, it proved not to be the exception at that beach.

Neil and Gabe helped Mr. Turner cart the luggage and their beach paraphernalia. Both mothers entered the house and to their delight found the interior spacious, comfortable and after drawing the

Turner asked. He walked over to them and peeked into their bucket. He saw they had flounders and a couple of eels.

“Do you like eels,” the smallest boy asked him?

“I do,” Gabe’s father answered, “but I doubt if the ladies would want them.”

Neil’s negative expression indicated he didn’t want any. “What are they?” Tim asked, pointing at something that looked different, but suggested they might be ‘cousins’ to flounders?

“Sole,” the taller youth answered, giving Gabe and Neil a once over glance.

“Mom cooks them with lemons,” Gabe said, and nodded approval to his father.

“Sole it is then. We need five.” Mr. Turner picked through the jumping fish. The boy grabbed five, wrapped them in brown waxy paper, negotiated a price, Mr. Turner paid him and set in motion their stroll back to the stilted house.

“Tomorrow we’ll look for a Lobster and crab fisherman.”

Neal and Gabe expressed their love of Lobster, but a rejection for crabs, unless they come in cakes.

“Look at our catch,” Gabe shouted to the ladies sitting under a large blue and white stripped umbrella they had somehow -- without masculine help -- planted in the yellow