The Sea is Calling

            Standing in my hallway with my body facing the collage of pictures and their frames, I wonder if it would be right to just walk away from it all. I am looking at one picture in particular. It is the last picture I have of him. It’s nothing special, just a picture of the two of us sitting together on the porch out front. In the picture, our fingers are intertwined together as I am sitting upon the edge of his knees and his head is rested upon my right shoulder. I can still feel his touches when I close my eyes and think about it all. His kisses still linger on my bottom lip, like the coconut lip balm I wear every day, sweet smelling and soft like cotton. His eyes are all that I see when I close mine. I hesitate when I turn to walk away from the collage of pictures, but I do so, slowly. My feet act as if they have been glued to the hardwood floor and I have to use most of the little energy I have left to even begin to think of walking away from this spot.

            I notice the morning sun is just peeking out over its clouds as I take the first steps out my front door. I’ve always loved sunrises. I love the way the splashes of orange and yellow and bits of deep pink explode across the globe and fills the world with its color. He and I used to sit on the edge of our roof top and watch the sun rise, just like in the movies. That was a while ago though. My chest aches as I think of those days. I push the hurt away with an act of stretching my arms over my head and closing my eyes as I take in the deepest of breaths as if my exhales were pushing my hurt out of my body and into the surrounding air. I shut the door behind me with a loud click that sounds its shut, followed by my jogging to the sidewalk.

            I take in all the scenes happening around me as I stretch the limbs on my body every which way, standing along the sidewalk just outside my house. There are two little girls playing hop scotch across the street, a little to my left. I can see the abnormally, uneven purple chalk boxes that have been drawn against the coarseness of the sidewalk from where I stand, numbers written in each box as if to label them. I find myself watching these girls for a few straight minutes as the only sounds are their tiny giggles echoing throughout the neighborhood followed by the barking of a stray dog as it begins to patter up the street to them. One of the little girls, she has bouncy brunette curls and tiny, delicate fingers, hops down to her knees the same moment the stray dog decides to jump up to her. His puppy paws hit her chest and they both fall over as the dogs slightly-curled tail waves back and forth almost violent, and the little, curly haired girl giggles at the same pace of this wagging. This girl has so much life in her eyes and it makes a small smirk appear in the corner of my lips as I watch her play.

            I am running now. My legs stretch me forward, faster and faster the more I run. There are blurs of life around me and I adore them as they pass me by. The muscles in my thighs pull each other as they are building strength up within themselves and it endures me to run even faster than I already am. I have reached a town that sits just beyond our home, about five or so minutes away by car, and there seem to be more people about now. I turn and begin running down the next street up on my right. There are more stores surrounding me now as if I had just stepped into the world of the metropolitan.

            I am passing the book store that I happen to spend most of my time at every day since I have lived here. The windows are covered in a tiny layer of dust and the wood of the frame surrounding these windows look to be a tad too old as the forest green pain is chipped from the roof store down to the ground. The veins in the paint have me picturing things in my head. They kind of remind me of the human body in a way. The cracks in the different layers of paint act as the blood veins of this store, varying in sizes and changing in color as they reach the different places of the wall. They give the body character, however, and I smile as I think of the peacefulness of the wood itself.

            A coffee shop sits just next to the bookstore, and as I pass it, I notice the differences in the two. The modernized look of this tiny shop makes the bookstore I call a second home seem like a place of trash. The metal looks as if it has just been shaped just today and the glass tables that sit just outside the doors have the sun reflecting in them as this given light is just shining overhead. There is a noticeable population difference from the coffee shop compared to my bookstore. People struggling to make it to the tables outside as they pay for their frappes and chi teas compared the old man taking his time with his shopping and ease is a noticeable difference. I recognize this old man as well; he is probably in there more than I am. The veins pop out along the back of his hand in the most beautiful of ways.

            I realize I must’ve stopped my running as I am currently standing in front of the two shops, staring at the life that fills them both. The old man happens to be staring back at me. He isn’t trying to be a creepy guy and I can see this as he is smiling a tiny smile because the sight of me seems to be filling him with warmth as if he has just stumbled upon a long, lost friend. I don’t know why the sight of this man seems so familiar and I don’t know why the sight of him makes me feel like crying, so I cringe as I see him staring at me in this way. I turn away to change my view, eyes closed and my breaths meditating themselves to ease my tense shoulders.

            The tightness in my throat is tighter now as I try my hardest to recall why this old man seems so familiar so I start up my running again. I don’t know where I am going until my ears catch up the familiar sound of the ocean. The mist from the salt water is hitting my face and I am hit with the reality of how close to the water I am. My feet are smacking themselves against the wooden dock that happens to mark the end of this tiny town. I never come to realization of how heavy my breath seems to be at the moment until the railing at the very far end of this dock hits my stomach, acting as a bumper and I am the defective car.

I remember the last time I was here and it makes the tears I’ve held back for so long instantly run down my cheeks. My stomach turns to knots. I don’t usually run this far away from my home. I usually stop at the pizza place a couple blocks down from our book store and eat lunch there. Then, I would usually run to this book store after I am satisfied with my meal and spend the day there with that weird, old man staring at me like he did today when I was mesmerizing myself with the store’s beauty of simplicity. I guess that is the great thing about running. Once I start, I begin to think about life and all its challenges and other aspects, and the physical part doesn’t seem so physically challenging anymore. I wish life were really like that. Whenever something bad turns terrible, I wish life wouldn’t feel so physically challenging like it feels for me today.

The last time I was on this dock is not a day I like to remember, but that is also the thing about life. I can’t just forget something once it happens. I have to learn to live with it, but sometimes that is easier said than done. I had woken up to find that he wasn’t asleep next to me like he usually is every morning. And when he is out of bed he is usually down stairs making me breakfast or trimming weeds in the garden out front. I remember I woke up and jolted out of bed in a bit of a shock at the emptiness around me. This made my eyes fill with black and I have to grip the dresser along the wall until I could see straight, tiny, blue dots filling my sight back up again in the process. The dots continued to fill up my vision as I started to make things out in the room. I could see straight after a couple minutes of gathering myself straight.

“Hello?” I had said to anyone who could answer me, knowing that no one probably would, but hoping that someone could prove me wrong.

No one answered me. Where is he? When I walked down the stairs he wasn’t their either. Everything was as it was the night before, dishes in the sink from our dinner last night and blankets sprawled over the side of the couch from where we were watching TV together. When I yelled out his name, he did not answer and all I got back in return was my own echo. I’m used to him making my breakfast, but I can manage on my own so I made myself some scrambled eggs, my favorite, and I sat down at the kitchen table that overlooks the whole neighborhood. I was just about to take a bite of my eggs, only to have the house phone ring its shrilling ring throughout the whole house, its echoes following it soon after, and I knowing something was wrong the second I answered it.

“Hello,” I said, wondering what was happening on the other end. The voice greeted me back and asked my name, with the sounds of someone crying their eyes out in the distance on the other end.

“Yes, this is she.” I said this in answer to the stranger on the other line as well as a tad confused as to what they had wanted.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, wanting to get straight to the point and skip all the foreplay of “hello” and “how are you” as the seconds continued to tick by. The voice on the other end continued, knowing that I felt this way, and he told me what was wrong that second. I probably didn’t hear the man right when he was talking. I wished that were the case when he had told me what he did. It wasn’t. It never is.

“That can’t be right. I was with him just last night.” The voice reassured me that his facts were correct. I didn’t want them to be correct. My mind never processed that at the time they could have been, and to this day I still haven’t gathered the truth.

“That cannot be right.” I said again, after minutes of silence with me in shock. Not even bothering to hang up the phone, I was running out the front door, letting the suns morning rays hit my face as it was just peeking out over the clouds. I didn’t really have a plan as to where I was running to at the time. I just knew I had to get some air. I just ran until I couldn’t run anymore because the barriers of the dock prevented me from doing so. I remember hitting the end of the dock as if I had no breaks and I could feel the waves crashing the poles of the wood that were the only things holding me up. By now I was crying with nothing coming from my eyes because I had already cried everything out of me, but I continued to cry harder anyways.

I cried because he was gone and I was never going to see him again. I was never going to see my one true love again, and it was my entire fault. If I had of woken up the morning when he left, then I could have stopped him, even if I didn’t know what was going to happen once he left. I turned back around to look at the land because all of this was too much for my mind to handle right now, and I found a man looking at me with concern in his eye. He was kind of old, and was running an ice cream stand. When he saw me he grabbed a cone and, with hesitation but concerning eyes, walked over in my direction, handing me the cone from a distance as if I looked like I wanted to kick something, and at the time I can say that it did cross my mind a couple times. Just the thought of breaking something made me want to do it even more. I wanted something to break other than my heart, but I never got that need.

“You ok, Miss?” The old man had said to me. The voice seemed almost too real to be just my memory and I felt confused as to which these words could be. There is nothing I can do to stop my impulsive crying and when this old man’s delicate fingers brush my arm, I am sure I am back in reality. The floods of this memory or rushing through my head and I feel as if my organs are on the verge of exploding with hurt. My eyes gaze at the hand on my shoulder now and the veins that stick out on the back due to his old age assures me that this is the same old man that happened to be staring at me while he was in the book store. I remember this old man now and why it hurt to even look at him now because this was the same old man from my memory of that day.

I can remember an old me coming up to me that day and asking me if I were ok or not. Of course, I wasn’t at the time. I’m still not fine to this day, but there are things that I have to do to keep living so I guess I just pushed the horrid memory away until now.

“He’s gone.” That was all I could say, just a whisper loud enough for him to hear.

“He’s gone.” I repeated, as if to come to terms with the fact in my mind. Instead of asking me another question he knew I wouldn’t be able to answer, he opened his fragile arms out to me, and I just filled the gap between us not ever thinking that it would be weird to hug a man whose name I didn’t even remember. He wrapped his arms around me and I burst into loud tears as he did what he could with this hug.

“He’s gone.” I cried out yet again, this time a bit louder. My crying is so heavy now in the midst of our hugging that we both fall to our knees on the dock and as I sit here continuing to crying.

“Has it been a year already?” He asks, more to himself than to me. I am still crying but he knows I won’t answer his questions. I never do, so I just lay my head on his shoulder and just let the tears fall without me worrying about them. His arm goes around my shoulders as his was of comforting. I realize now why this day feels so empty. It has been exactly one year since I have been with my other half. I don’t really know how I’m supposed to react to all of this. How am I supposed to act after losing my only reason for living?

I don’t feel like eating lunch or reading at the library today, I have the rest of my life to do this. I am spending the rest of my day out on this dock, staring out at the line that separates the sky from the ocean as I listen to the wave’s crash along the wooden poles underneath us. Sooner or later I will have to run back home, but for now I will just sit here. It’s been a year since the last time I stepped a foot onto this dock and every day I am going to spend the days I am given running in the hopes I can run these feelings away, but even though I try to do so, I know that they never will. And he is never coming back.

Author's Note

I am really bad at spotting my grammical mistakes so any help with that would be very helpful right now. Thanks to all! :D

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

You put a lot into this story. Left some mystery and unknown. I had to read a second time. I like the set-up of situation and location of the story. You could feel the loneliness and questions in the story. Thank you for sharing the outstanding story.
Coyote

[SomeoneSomewhere]

Wow, great use of imagery and fantastic pacing. I thoroughly enjoyed it!

[RachelReaper]

Very descriptive, very well done!

[Cole Hayley]

Besides some grammar issues the piece is very striking! I love the contex of it all, espically the ending. Very eye opening and emotional, great piece :)

[Starr Mist]

This brought tears to my eyes... I was wishing there was something more about the guy. You never told us what happened, but I got the idea that he died. Also at the same time, when you said, "chose her instead of me", then it made me think that he was cheating on her.

Very good! A favorite for sure! :)

Starr Mist

[Samantha Lynn]

Omg, I am glad that you said that! I totally forgot about that. See, I had this story line all planned out but then I ended up changing it later and I put that line in there for the first story line. Thank you for mentioning that. lol

[Starr Mist]

Not a problem, anything I can help with editing!

[jdarling]

Hi!

I would review/edit overall for grammatical structure/run-ons/misspellings, etc, stuff that breaks up the flow, but overall, a very emotional, beautiful read!

I love this analogy in the opening paragraph - "Life kind of works in that way. It explodes on everything it touches." So true! (I think that should be "onto" though?).

The story brought up some great imagery; so sad and real. Loved it! (my rating is only due to the grammatical, etc type stuff I mentioned, which made the flow of the story choppy).