The Pier

A Story by Pamela Gold

A woman is strangled with depression and has decided to take matters into her own hands.

Her day was spinning out of control. Not a single thing was going right since the coffee pot broke this morning before taking her first sip.

The kids were fighting. The baby was whining. Her husband couldn't find something. Before she could yell at him to actually move items around to find it, she scooped up her car keys and purse and headed out the door without so much as a word to any of them.

I had to get out of there. I couldn't take it anymore. The guilt is pulling me by the hair in the wrong direction. The anxiety is crippling me. Now what? Where am I going?

She drove with no destination in mind. The car was her chauffeur today.

Let someone else decide for a change.

The depression was unhealthy today. Her head flooded with decaying thoughts. Everything was a trigger and nothing soothed. Her mind and body was exhausted and drained.

I can't do this anymore.

The beach was a short drive from home. She tossed the bottle of water from the cup holder into her purse and exited. It wasn't quite beach weather she realized as she closed the car door. The wind whipped her hair and her skin was instantly chilled.

I should have brought a sweater.

Then she remembered the blue blanket in the trunk.

Wrapped tight in blue fleece she reached for her purse and left her shoes behind.

I'll take a walk out on the pier. Clear my head.

She took her first step into the cool sand and shivered. There was a storm on the way and the temperature had dropped by at least fifteen degrees since this morning.

The pier was deserted. It was usually packed with eager fishermen. Walking past the abandoned Ferris wheel she reached the end of the pier. She glanced toward the beach and noticed the sand was littered with red flags.

Riptide warning.

She dug in her purse for her phone. It was next to the prescription bottle of sleeping pills.

Thirteen missed calls.

She scanned the photos stored in the phone of her family.

An hour later, her legs gave out and she plunged into the nearby bench. She hardly noticed the wind or the cold surrounding her anymore. Still staring at the photos on the screen, she reached back into her purse and grabbed the bottle.

She placed the phone in her lap never taking her eyes away. Using both hands, she opened the orange container. It took three handfuls to swallow the contents.

Within fifteen minutes her eyes grew heavy and her stomach tied in knots. Into the phone she typed out a message: Hold them close. Please forgive me. She pressed 'send' on the phone, kissed the photo branded onto the screen, and stood up.

She climbed the wood railing of the pier trying to keep her balance. With arms stretched overhead the wind seized the blanket.

"You win," she whispered.

Her arms lowered and she dove into the frosty ocean.

There was no struggle. She simply went to sleep and allowed the riptide to swallow her.

Water gives life. It also takes it away.