Disclaimer: Don't own.
A/N: Just a drabble that suddenly came to mind. I will still post another story tomorrow, although don't expect it until late. I'm not feeling well. This is different than my regular works. Read and enjoy.
Sam scooped taupe granulates into his hand, letting it run through his fingers as it fell down. The water licked at his feet and he wiggled his toes in the cool froth. The soft cawing in the background lulled his eyelids lower and his skin felt sticky from the salt saturating the air.
His pail was beside him half-full and the red shovel stuck in the sand. He giggled as he looked all around.
The first thing he noticed about her was her hair- which practically glowed with the sun's reflection. The bubblegum-tinted bows in her hair matched her suit perfectly. She was shoveling sand furiously, barley getting any to the intended destination.
To her, it didn't seem to matter if she continued digging forever- she smiled.
He continued to gaze at her until she seemed to sense his gaze. She glimpsed his way and locked his eyes to hers. Her wobbly grasp loosened and the shovel in lowering from mid-air. She lifted her now free hand and he waved back.
They both gleefully laughed.
He threw a quick look at his parents- dad was asleep and mom was flipping through a magazine. Placing his hands on the floor, he pushed himself to his feet and took shaky steps until he broke into a frenzied run. When he was in front of her, he plopped himself into the squish next to her.
Her shovel was shoved sloppily into his hand. Her hand clawed and scratched at the dirt; seizing sand she opened her pinched hands and dumped what little didn't stick to her hands in the pail. He assisted the little girl in her task.
After a century of digging her hands into the soil, she grasped something hard. He admired the seashell in her palm; jaded ends, smooth inside, russet and sea-foam colored. She bent to lick it- making a face of disgust- before holding out her hand to him. He clutched, ran his fingertips over it then thrust it into his swim trucks pocket.
Two distinct voices shouted names and it wasn't until his mother's arms were around him- hoisting him up- and the other woman was doing the same to the little girl, that he got her name. He examined the name- beautiful, unique, simple. Like her. He tried to say the name.
His mom gasped. "That was your first word Sammy!"
She bounced him on her hip. "Say it again Sammy. Say it again. Dadda. Momma." She waved his father other as she spoke to him.
"U'in. U'in. U'in."
"That's right baby."
He blinked-his mom was so crazy- and skittered his wide eyes back to Quinn. Why couldn't they just let them play and leave them alone? He could stay, on the sand with her forever. His mother talked to hers, but neither of them noticed.
She gurgled out a spit bubble and clapped her hands when it popped. He reached out for her. And then suddenly they were moving further and further apart. He babbled her name- they couldn't take away her away, they were friends.
He didn't want to leave- he wanted to forever stay in the sand with her. As his mother buckled him into the car, he took one last look at the cerulean water and yellow-white sand.
The picture of that day is burned into his memory. He never quite knew why he was so attached to the beach.