That was not true, like most of the things Adrian told our new friend.

“Are you married?” “I was,” he said. “Not any more, though.” “What happened?” “She hates me!” “Well, that’s a problem,” I said, and we laughed lightly. “She cheated on me. It wasn’t really that—I had my fun. I got home to her and a guy at our house, though. I at least kept all my stuff outside, not in our house.” We let him talk, agreeing about keeping “our house” sacred. At first he said he’d handled it well, given that he’d been unfaithful, too. But his story changed.

“I threw her stuff out the window.” “First story or second?” “Second. All of it. That was our house, you know?” “You got any kids?” Adrian asked. “Yeah, a daughter.” “What’s her name?” He pointed to the second of his three tattoos, which read “R.D.,” placed just under “Out of Control” and above an image of barbed wire, all stacked on his sorry left bicep. “Rachel.” “Is she ‘out of control’?” “Hey! No, she’s a nice young lady.” “She back in Chicago?” “Yeah, with her mom.” He said he saw his daughter sometimes and talked to her often, but his shifting gaze told me he hadn’t for a long time.

The two men continued talking as my heart sank in silence. I pitched in a few words intermittently. He said to Adrian, “Hey! I like her.” He paused bashfully, trying not to be forward. “She’s cute.” “Thanks,” I said quietly. “Yeah, she is,” Adrian said, wrapping his arm around my waist. “What’s your name, man?” “Robert.” Adrian extended his hand to Robert and they shook. “Wanna play a game?” “Yeah!” Robert replied so happily it made me sadder. “Not with her though, she’s too good.” We laughed. “Yeah, she kicked my ass. Let’s play.”

They went down to the water. I sat on the sand, watching the man I loved give joy and validation to a man who’d likely felt neither for a long, long time. I watched this sad stranger smile like a boy at play as Adrian let him win by a point. “It was a good game,” they agreed. I don’t know if I’d ever loved anyone so much. “Well, we gotta go, man. It was nice to meet you, Robert.” We all shook hands, but I wanted to hug them. Adrian and I took off, leaving Robert on the beach.

As we walked into the setting sun, Adrian said, “I like doing that, entertaining crazy people,” making our chat seem lighter than it was. I said, “He just needed somebody to talk to.” “I wonder how he got to be so miserable,” he said, and I understood why he lied to Robert. “He was messed up on all kinds of stuff, but mostly loneliness, I think. I’m glad we talked to him.” “Me too.” One day, I’ll teach my children about life at the beach. I’ll point to the waves and tell them about flux and flow, beauty and danger, time and temporality, and about how no matter how many castles you build or how many times you write your name in the sand, the waves always crash. And sometimes they drag you under or take you out to sea, but somehow they always manage to bring you back to shore.

—Columnist Megan E. McKenzie can be reached at mckenzie@fas.harvard.edu.