The Short Life of My Perfect Sand Dollar

I am lost. I am somewhere in the midst of a dream. I turn to the left side of the bed that I share with my mom. My imagination keeps the dream’s wheels turning over and over until I feel as if I cannot escape. It feels like forever, but in reality, only a few minutes pass before the alarm rings. Last night, I was determined to find the perfect sand dollar on the beaches of Marco Island in Florida. My ebullient attitude had waned two days ago when I lost the small sand dollar my dad had found on the Sailing and Shelling trip the resort offered. Today would be my day to redeem my loss, but walking on the beach beneath the resort. My simple strategy was to be the first person on the beach, early in the morning before the sun had risen. 6:22–yes, I’m very obsessed with precise timing–seemed like the perfect time to awaken. This is when the alarm rang.

Quickly, my family dressed in casual clothing. The moon with still high in the air, leaving a mysterious feeling of uncomfort. I expected a slight breeze in the currents of air and the water to be on the cooler side of the average temperature in the Gulf. I grabbed a plastic bag for the shells I would find, as they are delicate and bountiful.

Water lapped onto my toes. I stood in the Gulf, rinsing my sandy flip-flops with the salty water. I glared at the moon overhead, its brilliance and its gloom. I began to walk, subtly glancing in the vicinity close to my feet for sand dollars buried deep within the sand. Florida fighting conchs were sprinkled along the wet beach, the sea imbricating the sand with disorganized squiggly lines. Mom’s erudite knowledge of shelling on travelers destinations lead her to walk rapidly, aiming for the curve on the beach where tide pools may form, ignoring the miniscule shells that were drawn from the sea, scattered before our resort.

Starfish from the tide pool

8:00. The sun has began to rise, its thin rays beaming light upon the sandy beach, trailing dark shadows behind figures. We stand where the land begins to curve inward. Tide pools have formed and one narrow strip of beach is unearthed with the receding line of water. I wade clumsily through the tide pool, water pulling my legs downwards. I begin to search around the tide pool, observing starfish of all shapes and sizes, purplish sea urchins, hiding away from the billowing waves of the Gulf, and an affluence of miniature conch shells with creatures inside. The glistening of the rising sun casts a flash of brightness on the surfaces of the rippling water. This glistening was all I needed to spot my first, perfect sand dollar of the day.

Eagerly, I snatched the sand dollar from the sand bed, almost as fast as seagull dives for fish. Unsure I was seeing things correctly, I held it up towards the sun. I observed the smooth texture, almost perfect circle shape and a brilliant shade of snow white, not the least bit corrugated. My perfect sand dollar.

“Daddy! Daddy!” I shouted, holding the sand dollar triumphantly in the air, “I found a sand dollar!” I ran towards Dad standing on the protruding strip of land farther from the shore. I showed him my treasure, and he grinned.

My sand dollar, resembling one found in the store!

“Yeah, that’s pretty perfect. It’s so white.” Directly after, I spotted another sand dollar. This one was different, covered in barnacles and tinted a reddish hue. It was chipped around the edges, however it was larger than my previous sand dollar. Then my dad spotted his first sand dollar sand dollar in our vicinity, pristine in shape and size, just tinted grey and yellow instead of white. My mom found three sand dollars in addition. In total we had six sand dollars. I tossed the one I had found with the barnacles into the Gulf.

It took around 40 minutes to walk back to the resort–a much briefer time than what we walked to reach the tidepool–as we were satiated with our finds, not stopping to search for more. I chattered with Mom and Dad. My next blog post should be called “how to find the perfect sand dollar,” as I had definitely found one that satisfied my taste. My blog post would run somewhat like this:

1. Go to Naples.
2. Stay at the Mariott
3. Walk two miles along the beach to the bend in the shore.
4. Find sand dollars

The sun rose steadily, slowly creeping above the queue of resorts lined up along the shore. I purposefully carried the sand dollars in my left hand, feeling their weight and observing their shapes individually, mesmerized by their uniqueness. My conclusion, the sand dollar I had found seemed to resemble ones sold in a shell store the most. I couldn’t stop touching it, the soft curves of the edge, the delicate mount in the center, its flatness and the subtle lines of the star in the middle.

“After you finish eating, Ava, you’re only duty is to pack the shells we found while I pack the clothes.” Mom said to me during breakfast. It was our last day on Marco Island. Checkout was at 11:00 A.M. I nodded, excited to finally exhibit all of today’s and yesterday’s shell findings.

On the balcony, I grabbed all three bags of shells. I poured them onto the deck. What conquered the floor of the balcony was a wide range of scallops, conchs, murex, sand dollars and others I cannot even name. Proudly, I wrapped the sand dollars into the mesh shelling bag I owned. Next, I sorted the colossal pile of shells into one’s I would keep and one’s I would toss. Finally, I sorted them into the bucket I would use to take them home. This shelling bucket was not large enough, so I supplemented the insufficient space with a plastic bag. I threw the small conch shells, a couple murex and scallops into the bucket and placed the sand dollars on top, just below the lid. I aligned the lid with the rim of the bucket and pressed down on the edge to snap the two pieces together. The lid wouldn’t quite fit. The pile of shells inside was too high. I dumped some shells out, placed the sand dollars back in the bucket and closed the lid. The lid still didn’t close flatly, so I pushed down on the edges. It sealed shut, but there was a small mound under the lid, instead of being flat. I threw the remaining shells into the plastic bag. I walked into the hotel room proudly. I imagined the places I could hang my sand dollars or the locations where I would store them. It was then that I remembered that my mom had found one other small and insignificant sand dollar yesterday and it was lying on the counter near the front door. I grabbed the remaining sand dollar and walked across the room, out onto the balcony and opened the lid to my shelling bucket to place this sand dollar with the others I had wrapped in mesh. My heart broke at this sight.

I cannot describe what I was feeling. I lifted the mesh, and peeked into the bag where the sand dollars lay in pieces. Before unwrapping the mesh, I had seen broken pieces of sand dollar. These broken pieces were white. Perfectly white. Snow white. I knew my perfect sand dollar had broke, but this whole time, I was hoping it wasn’t mine. I kept thinking, how is this even possible? I could feel the heat come to my eyes, and my trembling fingers pick at the remaining pieces of the shell I had found. They were shattered, and I couldn’t piece them together. Where had science gone? In school I just learned about tension and compression! I realized, in retrospect, that when I had pressed down on the lid to close the bucket, I had put compression and tension on the sand dollars I had placed directly beneath the lid!! My head felt dizzy and I felt tears commencing to well into my blinking eyes. Too stunned, I thought, so much for a blog post called “How to find a sand dollar.” More like “How to Keep Your Sand Dollar Intact.”

My sand dollar broken into pieces. Preservation.

From this experience, I have learned that finding the sand dollar had made my day. It was the most important part of this experience, that glorious feeling success. I cried after I found I had destroyed my perfect sand dollar. I have also learned that like anything else you find or do in life, you have to preserve it. I cannot expect success to last if I waste it, forsake it, or forget about it. I cannot expect life to last if I do not preserve my health, my budget or my basic expectations. I welcome preservation into my life with open arms.