You are home. Home is the warm sand beneath your feet, as it pushes through your toes, the sloshing of the sea as it runs up to you, swirling about your feet and causing a shiver to go up your spine. Home is the warm summer sun, or the winter storms, home is by the sea, where you know your home is. You stand, as you do every morning. Warm mug of coffee in hand, smelling the rich aroma of the freshly ground coffee beans, the sound and smell of sizzling bacon in the background, the soft popping of eggs as they fry, with the pop of the toaster signalling that the toast is ready for you to slather on the butter and start your day. But breakfast isn’t the main part of the day, knowing how you like to spend your days off as you open the doors and step out onto the stone steps, feeling the warmth of it burn slightly at your feet as you take in the deep breath of the seaside air. There’s so much, you realise, to take in at once. From the scent of the flowers that are lingering around the edges of the river channels that the sea has made over the years, smelling of the familiar curried scent with their pretty white bloom, mingled with the scent of wet sand and salty sea water, washing about it. It laps idly, running back and forth as though it’s trying to get back home. The sand is warm beneath your feet, as your toes scrunch up and take in the warmth of it. The sun beating down on it, as the scent of warm sand wafts over you, mingled with the smells of the ice-cream sellers gearing up for their day. The sweet scent wafts over you, as you let out a breath to savour it all, committing it to memory in a brief, brief moment. But that’s not all that comes to mind as you wonder down to the shore line, with the water rushing in to greet you. The ripples of the white horses dancing about your feet, playing with the sand between your toes. With the fishermen bringing in their haul, the smell of fish, freshly caught and ready for selling, fills your nostrils as you wish them a good morning. The ocean calls to you, with it’s salty sea breeze, the roaring of the waves as they crash and crest and fall, running along the sandy shore. The mist spraying over you, as you taste the salty sea water, catching droplets on your lips and tongue as you tilt your head up to greet the newly formed waves, to smell the salty sea breeze as you relax. Here, you can let the ocean wash over you. Here, you can let the sights and sounds and smells of the waves lull you into a relaxing start to the day.

The strong breeze brings along the smell of the sea. It’s not necessarily just a salty smell, but a smell that only the sea can bring along. The breeze also carries the smoky smell of hotdogs grilling, and funnel cakes being fried. The boardwalk air is heavy with the smell of sunscreen and sweat, which radiate off of everyone around, including yourself. With exhausted eyes and heavy feet, you walk back to your condo that evening, letting yourself embrace the cool night air, much fresher than the smoggy city air you are used to.

Sugary doughnuts oil fried. It lingered in the air and I closed my eyes and took as much of a breath in as I could. Tripping over my head hits the sand. Luckily it wasn’t something worse like pavement. The smell of sugar disappeared and all I could smell now was the wetness of the sand on the shore. I look up wiping my face and moving in the direction I was going, only to encounter the smell of sun cream and slowly decomposing plant life. The aroma was gone now and all I could breathe in was the fresh open air. I closed my eyes longing for that scent of fresh sugared doughnuts.

Sitting there. The hard graduals of sand digging into my skin. The breeze hits hard as the tide returns from its trip out to sea. With it bringing the scent of everything. All of the things I do not know but am desperate to learn. I close my eyes and hear it crash against the land, thinking of how powerful everything wave can be. Beautiful and destructive. Full of force and intimidation. I breathe in the air rushing into my face, cooling me down on a sweltering summers night. I take it in and hold it for as long as possible. I smell the unmistakeable scent of the sea. Comforting and familiar. Allowing it to cleanse my thoughts and take with it all I crave to shed. Sitting there, uncomfortable and unsure of what’s to come. Only that the moon will rise another night to push and pull the tide in and send it away. As if it were a lover it couldn’t ever really let go of.

I sit on my balcony, my gray hair flying across my face and the sea breeze floating along my wrinkled skin. The ocean is right in front of me, I could throw a rock and it’d plummet into the sapphire depths. The air was crisp, its smell was salty, yes, but something more. It held secrets, and seemed to hold the key to a vault of memories and a vast collection of stories that “once were”. I remembered my husband and I as young adults, we were fresh out of college and naive, but madly in love. We’d just bought this house after years of saving since high school (yes, he was my high school sweetheart) and On our first night as a married couple we took advantage of the benefits that were given us as man and wife, but then we got dressed and strolled underneath the stars, the sand between our toes and we talked about our dreams. This was where I told him I was pregnant, where our sons and daughters took their first steps, got a taste of salt water up their nose and even learned to surf. Our family had known nothing but this ocean air. But then we lost track of the scent of the salty vanilla sands and moved to the city, it’s here that things got rocky. My husband and I faltered in our story and separated, eventually divorcing after months of failed attempts at reconciling. What we fought over I forget now, but I’ve never remarried, seemed a waste of my time and to be honest, I’ve compared every man to him ever since. Once divorced, We sold our beach home, vowing never to look back. Years have past since all that, our kids have kids and they’re going on to have their kids, but I made my way back to this briny smell. It’s nostalgic tendencies have brought tears to my eyes many times and so when I saw this house for sale again some months ago, I impulsively purchased it. I couldn’t tell you why, other than I’ve gone soft in my old age and just wanted to near my end with thoughts of happy times. I close my eyes now and just rock in my old rickety rocking chair, the seas timeless aroma filling my nose, and… my name being called in the distance. My old eyes reopen and I slide my glasses higher onto the bridge of my nose and I think, “It finally did it. It brought him home.”

Susi’s head throbbed. Her mouth was dry and tasted of rancid wine. She felt the damp grit of sand on half her face. She sat up and rubbed her eyes, gunked together with last night’s mascara and remnants of false eyelashes. It was barely daybreak, but she could see a few earlybirds out, walking dogs or getting a jog in. Her party dress from last night was wrinkled and askew. Her shoulder length curly hair was plastered to one side of her head. Susi’s nose began to run and she used a corner of her dress to wipe it. Why have any shame at this point? As she breathed in the fabric she smelled the smoky wood of bonfire and had a flash of memory. She was dancing around the bonfire, the life of the party. Smiling, laughing, drinking straight out of the bottle of Sauvignon Blanc. Lots of other young people, shadowy in the flickering firelight, laughing, egging her on. The sweet pungent smell of marijuana. She had to get out of here and back to the beach house where she was staying for a few days with her girlfriends. Where was that house? Why had her friends left her? Was she harmed at all? She closed her dry, stinging eyes against the glare of the August North Carolina sun, already so bright, and tried to think. She breathed in and out, in and out, trying to calm her nerves and make sense of her situation. Waves crashed; the tide was coming in. The air smelled sticky and salty, humid. There was another smell - body odor? Hers? She sniffed an armpit. Oh God. Opening her eyes, she saw her pashmina shawl was covered in sour, acrid wine vomit. She gagged. Shielding her eyes and looking up and down the beach she remembered she and her friends had Ubered to the bonfire party. There were the remnants of it, not 50 yards away. The beach house was well beyond the pier, which she could see quite a ways away. She fumbled around for her phone and her shoes. Miraculously finding both of her Birkenstocks and her (battery dead of course) iPhone, she staggered to her feet. Time to begin the long walk of shame.

Ava sat cross legged on the beach, she closed her eyes and tried to let the sea cleanse her, invited it to wash a sense of calmness over her. As her eyes closed, her other senses were heightened. She could hear the waves smacking and fizzing on the shore, smell the damp salt and musty sea air. Her eyelids flickered. She couldn’t relax. It had been a mistake to come here. Even though it was warm, daylight, bright, her mind shot back to midsummer night last year, the first night that she had met him, under a blanket of twinkling stars and a huge majestic moon. She could almost hear the crackle of the fire, smell the woodsmoke, taste the salt on his skin. She could smell the heat of the fire, the hops, the heady scent of the beers they shared, hear the clink of the bottles. The one that got away. Why had she let him go? A crying gull brought Ava out of her reverie. It was no good daydreaming, she could never go back there. Ava sighed and stood up, brushed the sand from her legs and began to walk back to her hotel. She heard the distant music of a fun fair up ahead, it’s tinkling notes sounding creepy and altered carried on the wind. As she drew closer she smelled hot dogs, onions frying and candy floss. She realized she was hungry. She jogged up to the stand and pulled some change out of her back pocket. The boisterous March wind whipped her hair in front of her face. As she fought to push it back and her vision was cleared, she took a sharp intake of breath as realized who was stood in front of her. It was him.

Why is ‘ocean breeze’ such a popular candle scent? Have the creators ever been to the ocean? It smells nothing like those fake blue blobs of wax. Nothing clean about it. I’m staring at the steely blue water now. I smell seaweed baking in the noon sun, flies buzzing around my ankles. If I walked further down the beach, I’d smell a bloated, rotting seagull. It’s been there for a couple of days. Probably died from swallowing too many yogurt lids. I’m walking in the wet sand, barefoot. Just close enough that when the waves rush in they tickle my toes. I’m squinting because I forgot my sunglasses, and thinking about synthetic ocean candle smells when it hits me. No, like, literally hits me. I look around, disoriented, and see a volleyball floating in the foamy surf. Some asshat in board shorts trots over to grab it. He looks at me as he picks it up, shrugs, and saunters back over to his buddies. Damn tourists. I bet the girl he’s sleeping with has an ‘ocean breeze’ candle on her nightstand. I wonder if that keeps her warm at night.

“Captain—dad, forgot I’m not supposed to call you that. What the fuck did we hit?” His daughter asked, peering through the glass, eyes of wonder, no fear laced in her wild brown eyes. “What did I tell you about cursing?” He asks, instead. “To do it quietly?” She replies, face still smushed against the clear window, “Dad, what if we hit a rock? Remember what happened to the titanic?” “Our boat is a lot smaller than the titanic.” “Exactly!” She replies, pushing her body off the window and turning toward him, she notices how he’s reaching for the doorknob and she sputters out, “WAIT! Let me go with you!” “Last time—“ “Last time, I just wanted to swim! But I don’t want to swim right now, come on! Give me a chance! I just want to see. I can warn the others if we’re about to sink and—!” “You’ll do no such thing.” “What? Why?” “We don’t need mass hysteria,” he casually replies, then opens the door and motions for her to follow him down the hallway. “We didn’t actually hit anything,” he adds. “Maybe a graze, maybe not anything at all. I really don’t know what you’re on about, or how you could have felt something like that.” “Dad, you birthed and raised me on a boat. Remember? You trained me.” When they made it outside onto the dock, a wicked stench filled their noses. Salt water, dead fish in bins but—something else that they couldn’t quite see. Yet. “I know that smell.” He says under his breath. “Is that..blood?” He asks, then turns to the few passengers playing cards on the ground. “Hey, everyone up! I need a head count right now!” “Dad, what are you—what happened?” She asks, “Dad, is someone hurt?” “Jessie, calm yourself.” He warns, “Mass hysteria, remember?” Jessie closes her mouth, but the question still lingers in the air unanswered, right next to that smell—that fucking smell, strong but not unfamiliar. People got hurt all the time at sea, but it never mixed with the water like this. “Listen to the waves,” Her father orders, “Remember when I taught you that—“ “We can hear gaps in the water, a wave being blocked from passing?” “Exactly.” So Jessie held her chin up high, and listened as best as she could, dismissing the distant whispers from the bunks—questions of, “what is the captain doing?” A wave, a pause, another, that smell—then, a whimper. A whimper..? Wait, “Dad, do you hear that?” “Hear what?” He asks, but Jessie’s beat him to it, and she’s racing toward the edge of the boat just as he yells out, “Jessie! Don’t you fall in that water again!” “I won’t—!” She yells back, over her shoulder and not paying attention as her stomach hits the railing, “Ow! God! Fuck!” She mutters, grimacing and looking down, and—holy shit there’s something in the water reaching out to her. “Holy fuck, Jessie whispers. Her dads footsteps are heading toward her, but Jessie’s not listening to her surroundings like she’s been trained to because, that’s not something, that’s someone! That’s that smell! Salt water and blood, and it’s so much more of an experience to see where it came from. Wait—she’s hurt, Jessie tells herself, check on her and.. Wow, her eyes are beautiful, and, she’s crying, and, that’s..not a human? “Please help me.” The girl in the water pleads, “I wouldn’t ask if I could untangle myself,” Jessie stares at her, unmoving for a moment, brown hair, light brown eyes, bloody skin and a tale. She never knew these things actually existed! “You’re a mermaid,” Jessie sputters out, grasping the girls hand, and her heart stutters a little. She knows in the back of her mind that her fathers behind her now. “You’re a human,” The mermaid weakly replies, “And I’m stuck, and hurt.” Jessie smiles, then, “Oh, fuck, right. Let me help you! I’m so sorry!” Blood smears her dark skin, and that smell hits her nose at full force, and it’s a mixture of so many different things, a life she hasn’t lived but has read about in stories that aren’t supposed to actually be real. Salt water, blood, sand, seashells, scales, skin, and right now? Jessie really wanted to save it.

By the seashore, the sight is beautiful. Watching the sunrise was like watching a bird hatch from the egg. Sunset was a fire slowly dying with the embers barely glowing. The waves crashing on the beach sounded like a cascade of beads falling off a shelf. But it is the smell that stays in your head the most. The scent of a clean but busy beach is sunscreen and a little bit of salt. A trashed beach smells sweet with the decay of dead fish and like the oil abs trash that have built up over the years. But the best beach to remember is the one that is untouched by men. It smells like the nature that is supposed to be around you. A tang of salt in the air mixed with the dried wood that lays on the beach. It smells as close to pure nature as you get ever get.