Sea

Sea ~ part 1

The overcast sky meets the sea in a defining line at the horizon, and yet she wonders how her eyes can distinguish this, when greyness is all that stretches forwards from the beach. She finds she is glad about the dreariness and damp today and the way the clouds seem to hang low in the air like a sheet of fine water droplets. Her time here, on the coast, has been bright and sunny so far and yet she's taken to skulking around her tiny, rented apartment, attempting to avoid the oppressive sun's rays and the over-peopled beach, only creeping out each evening to walk barefoot on the cooling sand.

       Today is different and somehow reminds her of home, and yet nothing in her feels any longing to be there instead. The beach is empty, and she meanders along the tideline, her feet dipping in and out of the lapping waves. She walks on down the white-gold strand of beach which seems to stretch on as far as the sea and sky. She doesn't analyse how far she has walked, but it is a release to be outdoors and solitary. She pulls her loose cardigan around her, noticing the way it is already covered with a sparkling sheen of drizzle, and aware that her hair is already sticking to her face in bedraggled strands.

       Caught up in her own thoughts, she doesn't notice from which direction the dog approaches, but he sees her and bounds over, tail and rear body wagging in enthusiastic excitement. His playful approach, and something in his sweet, round eyes, tells her she is okay to say hello to him. She misses having her own dog to walk and that daily excuse to pat and fuss other passing dogs. Despite his size, there is something so endearing about his tan eyebrows and cheeks, and she crouches down to his level, talking to him in that silly, high-pitched voice she reserves for dogs, cats and the occasional pony. He butts his silky forehead against her hands and dances in excitement, before jumping with one huge paw on her shoulder. Laughing at his oversized puppy exuberance, she overbalances and finds herself sitting on the damp ground, the dog snuffling at her hair and paws treading her black dress into the sand.

       She's aware of his voice and the thudding of running feet before she sees him, but suddenly he has grabbed the dog's collar and is chastising him.

       "I'm sorry," he says, "he doesn't know his own strength. I'm so sorry."

       "Don't worry," she replies, still giggling slightly from her own clumsiness and the dog's tickling breath in her hair. "Really, it's fine."

       An outstretched hand reaches down to her. As she takes it instinctively, allowing him to pull her up to standing, she notices the tell-tale tattoos: lettering and symbols so devastatingly familiar to her that, for a moment, the whole day seems to halt and the sea-mist swirls, and all she can hear is her own pulse thudding in her ears.

       "Are you okay?" he asks, and her eyes meet his face, black bucket hat pulled down over his eyes, but a look of genuine concern on his unmistakable, beautiful lips.

       "I'm completely fine," she stammers, and then words seem to gush out of her in a stream of nervous energy. "He's so sweet... I was the one who said hello to him and got him giddy... he's lovely... it was so nice to make a fuss over him... really, I'm okay..." and she pats the dog's head again, lowering her eyes. Realising she is rambling, she glances up again and sees he is smiling with a hint of amusement on his lips. Her voice trails off.

       "Why are you out here," he asks, "when it's like this?" He gestures vaguely at the sea-sky greyness and the hanging drizzle.

       "Because the beach was empty," she says, "and I needed to be outdoors; and, anyway, the sea is no colder on a dull day." She shrugs, gesturing at her bare feet, wet and covered with clinging sand, her skin starkly pale under her calf-length black dress.

       He laughs, and she is unsure if he is mocking her absurdity or amused by her vague attempt at humour, and he pushes his hat back slightly, uncovering his eyes which fix upon her. "Usually there's nobody else here on days like this," he says. "They all hide, waiting for the sun to come back." His dark eyes seem to be accusing her of breaking an unwritten rule, or else teasing her.

       "But I'm British," she retorts, determined not to be tarred with the same brush as the fair-weather sun-worshippers, "I'm used to this sort of weather, and anyway," she lifts a strand of her rain-frizzed red hair, "with this hair, I'm borderline allergic to direct sun."

       He laughs out loud, his eyes glittering and his nose crinkled, and his beautiful teeth visible between his lips. She feels the surreal enormity of the situation, and yet, at the same time, it seems familiar and comforting. The contrast between these extremes leaves her speechless.

       The dog has run off along the waterline and barks, wanting their attention, and she finds herself walking alongside him. It is as if some unspoken expectation within him has asked her to follow and she is utterly powerless to do otherwise. He throws questions at her as they walk, seemingly curious about her in a boyishly nosey way. She hears her own voice pouring out of her with pointless anecdotes and mishaps about her travelling: places and people and food and plans; and flickers of the life that she left behind, whilst glossing over the darker memories under that surface.

       Pausing, breathless, and turning, she looks back along the beach and sees the line of his deep boot prints, alongside her shallow bare footprints, and he pauses too and follows her gaze. It is as if their prints in the sand are travelling along a parallel path, so overtly different, and yet upon a trajectory towards a point of convergence.

       "What's your name?" he asks her. As she answers him, she realises that she cannot pretend she does not already know his name.

       "I'm..." he starts.

       "I know," she abruptly cuts in. "I could pretend that I don't..." she hesitates, uncertain if she has made the right choice, "... but I'm not very good at fakery. I always trip myself up if I try to lie," she nervously laughs. She expects him to quickly make an excuse, call his dog and leave, but, if anything, he seems more relaxed and at ease with her now; and they sit down on the sand, a little distance apart and throw stones into the shallows for his dog to chase. He talks to her now, giving her snippets of his world, which she already felt she knew, but, realistically, she knows nothing beyond the shallow waters of his life.

       He fixes her with his deep doe-eyes, as if ascertaining if he can trust her with glimmers of his life. Something unspoken seems to pass between them, an understanding of secrecy, wrapped up in the misty air which closes in around them. She knows that this time and this place, with just the two of them and his dog, is sacred, as if bound into a locket around her neck, or sunken into a deep well. He tells her about his beach-house that is now his bolt-hole from all that is chaotic, and her breath catches in her throat at the enormity of him sharing this with her.

       As he talks, the clouds turn greyer and ominous, and the misty drizzle becomes bigger drops of rain which falls like tears upon the surrounding sand and onto her upturned face. They both jump up, and the shower becomes a deluge, as rain heaves down in torrents, running rivulets off his hat and streaming down her face and into her clothes. Breathlessly, she squeals at the shock of being pounded by the rain, and he laughs at her again, grabbing her hand abruptly.

       "Come with us," he breathes, calling his dog and pulling her after him up the beach. Her bare feet slide in the sand, now topped with a layer of dark damp, but dry and soft underneath. She stops and he turns.

       "What are you doing?" she calls over the beating noise of the downpour.

       "Your place is too far," he answers, rain pouring down his face, over his lips and dripping off the silver edge of his lip piercing. She hesitates, mesmerised by this. "If you stay out here, you'll... melt... or dissolve," he continues.

       She laughs out loud at this and realises how tightly he's gripping her hand. "Dissolve? What, am I an insect? Or a melting witch?" she giggles.

       "I don't know what you are," he calls back at her through the sheets of falling water, "but I'm not leaving you out here, so hurry up!"