Passage I

Jersey Shore Hometown

[1]

I live in southern New Jersey, it is just two blocks from the Atlantic Ocean. Being a resort in most people's minds, I call my town home. Vacationers know the town only in its lively, boisterous summer phase, but I know it's leisurely "off-season" mood too. During the fall, winter, and spring, when the tourists aren't there. The town is quiet, intimate, peaceful. When I go to the corner grocery store, Mr. Williams, the proprietor, puts his book aside and inquires about my family. (5)

[2]

Then, in late May, everything began to change. Walking my dog, I find the beach is no longer deserted: dedicated sunbathers lie on towels or sit in chairs, read, slept, or talked. I know the season is beginning then. The town itself seems it has been held in its breath in expectation of summer activity.

[3]

During the summer months, the streets and shops and boardwalk are crowded with tourists buying sunscreen, postcards, and souvenirs. It is pleasant to see vacationers enjoying my hometown so much, and yet there is a part of me that feels they are invading it. Everywhere I go, it is noisy and crowded: the beach, the grocery store, the movie theater. I find myself looking forward to the time when my dog and I will be the only one's on the beach again. I can't wait to hear sea gulls crying and waves crashing instead of people shouting and laughing. I want nothing more than to sit alone on the beach and watch the sunset. I want nothing less than to feel my home is someone else's "getaway."

[4]

Then, after Labor Day weekend, all the tourists are suddenly gone, and the town seems strangely deserted. Once school starts again, my classmates and their parents, are just about the only people I see in town. Although I have craved solitude, after the lively pace of summer the autumn stillness seems too great, the silence almost oppressive. It will be weeks before I feel at peace with the silence again.