The flight was relativley empty, the hour late, and her family was all asleep, sprawled out in the seats beside her, affording her a view of the ocean, the waves visible only as a white blur below her. She adjusted her headphones, the soft music drowning out the muted roar of the engines, adding to her seclusion from the rest of the passengers.

She looked at the seat pocket in front of her, the untouched book mocking her with the irony of having not been read during the entire two weeks she was on vacation. She smiled at the thought of it, knowing at the onset of the trip that it would be hectic, bringing two children along, seeing relatives along the way, that she would no doubt get less sleep and be far more stressed than if she had stayed at work. Ah well, she thought, isn't that what vacations really are? Shifting in her seat, looking out across the wing, the sun starting to set off in distance, she thought back across the past two weeks.

The beaches; in ones mind the white sand stretches seemingly forever, the waves rolling on the sand, washing your footprints away. What was it she had thought of a few months ago? Of the evenings on the beach, simple night alone with her husband, maybe even a wine glass in her hand, a pale dress, the bottom edges just wet from the waves. Ah, such thoughts she remembered, and such the opposite actually happened, she wryly thought, remembering the rental car full of sand. Her dress, wet only from the bottle of sunscreen spilled on it during the flight there, the rental car, or what passed as motorized transportation, full of sand, even before they went to the beach, broke twice, once leaving them to walk along side the road for a mile before finding a phone.

She laughed out loud, it was actually probably the most fun they had on their trip, at the little store they found the phone at. A funny little store, the owners only spoke French, and weren't used to tourists stopping by, not ont he side of the island they were on. Using a some variety of hand gestures, her husband getting exasperated and walking out, her kids laughing at her, the owner took some time to realize their predicament, and began laughing too, somehow conveying that the man they rented the car from was apparantly in jail for drug running. They'd left the car alongside the road, no doubt the police would have come looking for it anyways.

They'd spent the rest of the afternoon there, the wife had a flower garden in the back that rivaled the gardens in magazines, a tranquil place, far more so than the poolside ambiance that was so common at the hotels, yet so sterile. When the local bus had stopped by in the early evening, they'd gone back to the hotel, the resort atmospshere trying in vain to match what they had only caught a glimpse of at the store.

They spent time at the beach, the kids having fun in the warm water, but the beach was crowded, the black sock bedecked old men with cameras on their necks being led around by blue haired women in frumpy bathing suits. She had thought it looked just like any day at any lake at home, the same louts and morons, only she'd come 4 thousand miles away. The kids had gotten sunburned, her husband, against his better judgement, had eaten some unusual fish and been sick for two days. So much like home, yet so far away. Where was that vacation she had dreamed of, or was she ever supposed to have had it?

The sun was starting to set deeper in the sky, and she could begin to see land in the distance. Soon, she knew, they would be landing, her family would awaken, then the usual aiport routine would ensue. Getting their luggage, walking all the way out to where they parked the car, hoping it would start, the drive home back over familiar roads, the city unchanged since they left, seemingly unknowing of what she had seen, where she had been. The tropical paradise she had been to, seen, tasted, yet been detached from, would become so utterly distant, yet continue to move, as much the world does when you're not there to witness it. She thought of that wierd feeling you get on walking into your house after having been away a long time. That strange familiarity, the staleness of the uncirculated air, the mail waiting in the box, the plants, limp from want of water, that sudden symbolic closing of your vacation when you close the door, back into your regular life, the commute to work. She tried not to think about it, that final closure on her vacation, instead looking out the window at the vanishing sun, the sky turning a final shade of pink, her thoughts wandering back to the endless white beaches, a wine glass in her hands, and her dress, fringed with water, and she picked up her book and began to read at last.