Especially our olfactory sense seems to link them together. Yesterday while getting a towel out of the
bathroom closet I caught a whiff of the coconut scented tanning oil that we have stored there for future use.
Immediately, memories of Panama City Beach came flooding into my mind. They were so clear and vibrant it
was almost like I was there in that instant. My family had a 28 foot camper that we parked at Venture Out a
community of campers mixed with an assortment of mobile homes for some of the locals in that area. We
went every summer for 3 or 4 years when I was in high school. It backed up to the bay and was directly
across from Captain Anderson's restaurant and the Treasure Ship that had recently been built at that time.
Across the street was the beach. Memories flood my mind fragmented and picked from many days spent
there happy, carefree and lazy. I do not recall a bad day spent there. I do remember walking in the ocean
around knee deep as the tide came in at night, flashlight in one hand, crabbing net in the other and catching the
next nights boil. Riding my bike with several of the local residents of the park to St. Andrews State Park to
fish off the jetties for anything we could catch. Swimming across the bay stopping in the middle to rest on the
sandbar always amazed by how quickly the ocean changed from shallow to deep.
I remember the red dress that the girl wore the night we went out for the first time during one summer. I do
not recall her name though. She was tall, tanned, blonde and way out of my league. Her father was career
army and they were taking a summer before leaving to live at Ft. Dix in New Jersey. Our first stop was the
Treasure Ship where we sipped Virgin Pina Colada's in tall keepsake glasses which only cost 3 dollars more
per drink. A local strummed a guitar and sang Jimmy Buffet, James Taylor, Christopher Cross and Paul
Simon songs in the background as we talked and laughed. I must have been 16 that year because I can
remember driving my parents big tan hideously uncool Buick LeSabre with her sitting next to me. I don't even
know if they still put bench seats in the front of cars anymore but if you've never driven with your arm around
a pretty girl with one hand on the wheel and the radio softly playing while she rests her head on your shoulder
you know why they should still make those seats. We ended that night at the pier that ran out into the bay.
Legs dangling into the water, feeling them floating up and down in time with the sound of the water lapping at
the posts. A quarter moon hung in the sky, shedding light enough to make the water ripple with a glow that
allowed you to hear the distant boats passing but not enough to see anything but their lights move in and out of
the bay. The warmth of her hand in mine as we sat mostly in silence watching the boats and listening to
someone's radio pour out tunes from somewhere close by. A slight breeze blew across us bringing the rich
smell of the beach, salt water, and the faintness of her coconut tanning lotion. It seems now like a complicated
symphony had been written to fill every sense to complete a memory. After leaving the pier I drove her back
to our trailer and walked her across the street to hers. She kissed me on the cheek, sweet, innocent, perfect.
A week later they left for her father's new duty station. I think she hugged me and we both promised to write.
We never did of course, and I've never seen her again. I don't think I've really thought about it again since it
happened and it all came back by opening a closet door and smelling coconut sun tanning oil. Sweet,
innocent and perfect.......
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