Most locals don’t know it exists, it’s not named on any maps and the approach is difficult, almost impossible at high tide along the shoreline. We scrambled over slippery rocks, avoided a hornet’s nest and seaweed shaped like a noose, one misplaced foot might sweep you into the ocean. From the beach we could see multiple islands and there was actual sand, not just pebbles. Worth the trip, my friend said, crouching beside a blanched starfish in the tidal pool. Yeah, I said, but if anyone asks we’re supposed to say we parked by the main beach and walked along the shoreline, which is what we did. Why would anyone ask? he asked. We approached the right way so it doesn’t matter. Why would anyone care how we got here? I heard the people here don’t like it if you use the path by the road, I said, gesturing behind us at the beachfront homes. But this is a public beach, he said. Yeah but the people here wouldn’t like it if they knew we used the path, which we didn’t, that’s what someone told me so if anyone asks. No one should ask, my friend said. We stared at pale clouds forming along the horizon before clambering back over the rocks. The tide was coming in.

Aaron Rabinowitz writes poetry, creative nonfiction, and fiction. He won PRISM international’s Creative Nonfiction Contest and Meridian’s Short Prose Prize and has been a writer-in-residence in California, Oregon, British Columbia, and Alberta. His work is published or forthcoming in Cherry Tree, The Dalhousie Review, Humber Literary Review, Queen’s Quarterly, Acta Victoriana, Jabberwock Review, and elsewhere.