Family Reunion

Nam Hoang Tran

My mother and I are reclined in cerulean blue
beach chairs while the Sun bakes our bodies
a golden brown. Between us rests an ice-cold YETI,
the closest we’ll get to the Himalayan monster.
A child nearby is wailing. He sits crossed-legged and
red-cheeked, lamenting the fall of his sandcastle
at the hands of an unexpected high tide. Colorful plastic
tools lay haphazardly around it’s remnants. To my left is
a thin European man adorning a Speedo. His shades are dark,
his thighs are not. I shudder at the contrast. My little brother
shuffles towards us with cupped hands. A small creature
carrying an even smaller one. A human Russian nesting doll.
He opens his palms revealing a baby crab, its legs glowing
under the beaming Sun. I looked at my mother and brother
then myself, our orange hue resembling that of our new
crustacean friend. How lucky he must have felt,
to be in the presence of great company.

Nam Hoang Tran is a writer living in Orlando, FL. His work appears in various places and collectively at He enjoys grapes.