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“The sky is grey,” John declared. His voice echoed around Arthur’s skull, deep and inhuman. “Clouds block out most of the sun, but not in a way that suggests it’s about to storm. They’re a lighter grey than that. The waves are lapping at the shoreline, turning the sand a light brown in their wake. There are couples strolling through the sand, and some children dashing through the water.”
“Sounds pleasant,” Arthur said. He felt a faint pang of loss, not being able to see it for himself, but time had dulled that particular ache. It was worth it, he’d decided, to keep his strange friend around at the cost of his sight. John’s descriptions more than made up for it, anyway.
“It’s grey,” John complained. “The sky and the ocean.”
Arthur’s mouth quirked into a grin. “What did you expect, John? It’s not like we’re in… oh, I don’t know, Florida, or-or somewhere else that’s nice and warm all the time. The northeast isn’t exactly known for its sunny beaches.” They’d agreed to take a day trip out of Boston, though their reasons varied. Arthur wanted John to see the ocean; John just wanted an excuse for Arthur to stop running himself ragged for more than a few hours.
“That doesn’t mean it has to be like this, ” John grumbled. Arthur could picture him sulking: a wispy shadow swaddled in a yellow cloak, curled up on the floor of Arthur’s brain with his arms crossed tightly at his chest.
“No, I suppose it doesn’t,” Arthur allowed, the grin still present on his face. “It’s still nice, though. Don’t you think?” Arthur paused, then before John could reply: “Other than the dull colour, I mean.”
John continued grumbling for a few moments, before begrudgingly admitting, “I suppose.”
Arthur let out a long exhale and plopped down on the sand. The cloud cover meant the sand wasn’t very warm, but the cool softness under his hand was pleasant all the same. The briny air stung as he inhaled. “If the clouds bother you that much,” Arthur said, “Why not close our eyes? Just for a bit, and you can take in all the good parts of this excursion by themselves.” A pause. “You can even pretend the sun’s shining, if you want,” he added with a wry grin.
John grumbled a bit more, before falling silent. Arthur took a moment to listen to the various bits of scenery John had described—the whispering of the waves, the low murmur of conversation, the high-pitched laughter and rapid pt-pt-pt-pt of children’s feet in the sand, the latter of which was accompanied by even more high-pitched laughter and rapid splashing from their damper counterparts. Arthur could feel the wind blowing through his hair, and he both heard and felt it as it passed his ears. He lifted his left arm—arguably John’s arm, for the most part—a bit, angling it away from his body to also catch the wind. “Can you feel it, John?” he asked.
A pause. “Yes,” John said. “It’s cool, but not cold. I’d call it refreshing, if it were warmer out. As it is, it’s not bad.”
“Pleasant, right?” Arthur said.
“You’re right, Arthur.” A pause. “For once.”
Arthur sputtered in indignation as John laughed. “Ass,” Arthur muttered fondly.
Eventually, Arthur got up, brushing himself off as he did so. “There’s still sand everywhere,” John told him. Arthur could tell: the grit stuck to his and John’s hands, and he knew he’d be finding it in his clothes and hair for the next day at least. It was like glitter; there was no getting rid of it. Kind of like John, in that way.
“It’ll do that,” Arthur replied with a smile. “As long as most of it’s off.”
“I think so.”
“Good.” Arthur ‘glanced’ around, turning his head for John’s benefit. “Which way is the water?”
“In front of you,” John said. “We’re still a few steps away from where the sand gets darker.”
“Alright.” Arthur walked forward, hoping that the sounds of other people stayed distant, or that John would at least let him know if anyone was at risk of getting trampled… or at risk of trampling them. Eventually, the texture under his feet shifted from sharp and grainy to a softer, smoother grit. Arthur paused for a moment, letting the cool, shallow tide ebb and flow across his feet.
“Something just washed up beside us,” John said.
“Oh?”
“It’s small and round, and a light tan colour. I think it has some sort of pattern on it—get closer so I can see it better.”
Arthur obliged, squatting down.
“There’s a simple flower pattern in the middle and some slim holes around the outside of the flower pattern,” John described.
“Oh!” Arthur reached out and picked it up, running his thumb along the smooth surface. He frowned. “I think… I think this might be a sand dollar.”
“A sand dollar?”
“It’s a type of sea creature,” Arthur said. “Like the other ones that leave shells along the beach, but a bit different. I don’t actually know a lot about them.”
“Is it… alive? Should we put it back?” John sounded concerned.
Arthur frowned, tilting his head in thought. “I don’t think so,” he said. “It would be moving if it was, and I’d be able to feel it. I think this is just what it left behind when it died.”
“Do we keep it, then? What do we do with it?”
The corners of Arthur’s mouth twitched up. “We don’t have to, but we can take it with us if you’d like.”
Arthur felt John take the sand dollar out of his hand. “I’ve put it in our bag,” John explained.
My bag, Arthur thought but didn’t say. “Be careful,” Arthur said. “It can break.”
“Okay.”
“Do you want to look for more?” Arthur asked.
“More shells!” John said, failing to make it sound like a proper question. “Yes, that sounds nice. Let’s do that.”
Arthur sighed lightly and turned to wander farther down the beach. Every now and then, John would tell him to stop, and he’d dutifully stoop down to let John pick up his latest find. “This one isn’t nearly as flat as the others, Arthur,” John said. “It’s a rounded tube of sorts, with tapered edges on both sides of the tube. There is a bulge in the middle, and the longer taper opens up into the middle section.”
“Oh! That would’ve belonged to a-a snail, probably?” Arthur said. “Or maybe a hermit crab.”
“A snail?” John twisted in Arthur’s mind. “Aren’t those… in the dirt?” John had been in Arthur’s head for a few months now, but they hadn’t had much downtime before this, and John had only absorbed so much from Arthur’s mind about life on Earth. Arthur was used to these kinds of questions.
“Usually,” Arthur agreed, “But there’s also some that live in the ocean.” A clink as this shell joined the others John had accumulated. “Are there a lot of pretty shells?” Arthur asked, standing back up and continuing to walk. “I know a lot tend to be shades of white or brown.”
“A mix of both, I’d say. Stop.” Arthur did so. “A lot are white, but some of those are… shiny. They have hints of blue or pink as I move them.”
Arthur hummed. “Opalescence, you mean.”
“Right.” Another clink. “This one’s just plain, though.”
“You’re keeping it anyway?”
“Of course,” John said. “It still looks nice. And it’ll be a nice reminder, later.”
Arthur’s mouth quirked into a smile. “A memento,” he said. “We deserve a few of those from something pleasant, for once.”
Arthur heard the bag rattle. “Try a few dozen ,” John said.
Arthur smirked. “Made up for the grey skies, didn’t it?” he asked.
“I’d say it did more than that,” John purred. The rumble under his voice intensified with his words, making the ‘purr’ more literal than Arthur was used to.
Arthur laughed. “Alright,” he said, “Let’s get home so you can figure out how you want to store all these shells. Sounds good?”
John took a moment to reply, then said, “Alright. I suppose it is beginning to get a bit dark. Let’s go.”
“Lead on,” Arthur said loftily, and headed back the way they came.