A collection of memories

Footprints in the sand

The water gently rustled our feet as we teased the ocean to come to us. The weather was sultry and the lack of attendance at the beach made it the most pleasant place to be on a Thursday evening.

As the salty winds rushed on my face, I turned to her and appreciated the efforts she had taken to continue her journey with me. For the last few months , I could remember her cherry red cheeks as she lay beside me, waiting for me to be more productive with my life. And yet, she seemed so cheerful .

She never had much in her life, but she was happy with what she had. She always says that I might be the most laid-back human being on the east side, but she would never trade me for anyone else, unless it was Idris Elba. And I was safe, and I was secure in her arms, in her company, because I knew, no matter what, she would be my pillar of fire.

And so, when I lost my job, she decided to take the responsibilities of the household all on her own. "Stop reminiscing the past," she said, breaking my stupor. Look at Samantha, look at how big she's grown. "She has your eyes," I told her with a long, melancholic breath.

I sat on the sand, with my beloved next to me. "Why? Why did you choose me?," I questioned her decisions. Decisions – something we both sucked at. She chose me, an alcoholic son of a bitch, to spend the rest of her life with. But there was one decision which we took together and we will never regret - Adopting my Samantha.

My beloved was an orphan. Moving from foster homes to boarding schools and back to foster homes, I laid eyes on her at a family function I was attending at my family church. At that time I thought that churches are a waste of time, but because of my parents I had to go that day - another decision I'll never regret. She was sitting with her foster brother, who was luckily a good friend of mine. I had just been placed in Channel Nine, where I hated my job.

Being a journalist isn't as it seems. You get used and abused and you gotta hear it all. And she became the sponge who used to absorb all my worries and my pains. And this included the many nights I came home high and wasted and smelling of booze and puke. Yet, somehow, the next day I would be in fresh clothes and she would be making a special "love potion" which cured my hangover and helped us make love to each other. As I got more mature, I realized it was the love-making that actually cured my hangovers.

As we continued sitting in silence on the sand, the winds got heavier and the waves got stronger. "We should go back," she said. She always knew what to do when. The groceries would be bought on time; the toiletries would be replaced when necessary. She was the engine which pulled the train wreck that I was. And yet, she did it in silence. Which is why when she wanted to go back I knew it was time.

I called my baby Samantha back to me and she said with a sullen smile, "is it time already?" I wish I had to courage to say the words yes, but I could not. I just shook my head, I lifted my baby up and I made my way back to the cabin. As we walked back, I turned my head and with eyes filled with tears, I looked at the footprints in the sand and I only saw one pair of them.

I inherited the cabin from my grandfather when he passed. It was my only possession then and we made it our haven. As we neared the cabin, the storm got more fierce. I rushed back to the cabin, which was now my August retreat spot, and I locked the doors and windows shut. I put my baby to sleep and I went and sat at the spot where I sat and drank my ass off that fateful night.

After I lost my job, I used all the money I had on merriment. I had become selfish, and it was going out of hand. Stella was my pillar of support but she had it with me. so she brought me to the cabin for a weekend of detox, but little did she know about the secret stashed I had hidden in the cabin itself.

That night, when she returned from her grocery run, I was missing. The house was in a mess, there was bottles all around and I had gone to the local bar to continue my drinking. When I returned. I saw her sitting on the rocking chair. I noticed that she had been crying but why would I care. I told her to grow a pair and let me live my life. And then she left, she just left me in my cabin. She walked out, wearing the yellow skirt I had gifted her on Easter and I sprawled on the bed, drunk as fuck, knowing that she would come back. Staring into the dark storm through the window brought back all the memories of that night, faster than the wind speeds which had been blowing that night. Memories stronger than the currents that pulled her in, mistakes worse than the life I had lived.

The post-mortem said she died of drowning. Everyone who knew her from before knew that she was a free spirit and maybe the thrills of the storm could not have stopped her. The report read "ACCIDENTAL DEATH CAUSED BY DROWNING". Little did they know the truth.

She brought me to the cabin that weekend to surprise me. After 2 years of trying, she had finally conceived. It was going to be a beautiful moment. Now, it was the doctors at the morgue who had to give me the news.

I knew it was murder. I knew I had killed her and my baby. The years of trying, the money spent on rehab had almost made us bankrupt. Everything I did had broken her, I broke her, bit by bit. I got up from the chair she once sat on before leaving me forever. I walked out of the house. The storm had died out, and I walked with the packet I got from the city.

I kneeled on the sand and waited for a gush of water to come to me. I took out the bouquet of red and white roses. They were her favourite. It was my first gift to her on our first valentines day together. I will never forget the tears of joy on her face and the hug we shared. I read the note again one last time. It read: "I'm sorry Stella. I'm sorry you ever loved me. Happy Birthday to you." I let the roses into the sea and I slumped on the sand like a sack of rotten potatoes. I felt the same too.

I cried and I cried. I was inconsolable. After a few minutes, I felt a hand on my shoulders. I turned around to see no one. As I faced the never-ending sea, I saw her again. She was standing right there, at arms distance. I called out to her but she couldn't hear. I ran to her but she wasn't there.

"Again," I said to myself as I built the courage and energy to walk back to my cabin. I went in, sat back on the chair, and took out the diary I had found that night, exactly 4 years ago when she left me. And I read the letter she wrote to me,

"My dear Jacob,

Living with you, and loving you, are the two most important things in my life. More than my husband, you are my lover, my best friend, my parents. You are my everything. And soon, we will be sharing this world, our world with a beautiful young being. I know you think our life isn't perfect but it is. I have everything I need but do you? Alcoholism took my dad, and I cant let it take you. So I hope that when you find this letter in the diary that ive kept on top of the hidden stash of alcohol bottles, you will realized that now, I need you to be strong, stronger than ever. You are my shining light, and I, yours. Our light will have to be shared with our new creation, and I hope you can find the love you had for me. you are my one and only, and you always will be the one I want to live for and live with. You have the potential to change things, and I look forward to spending this birthday and every birthday with you my love and with our child.

You are mine, and I am yours, forever.

Love, Stella."