“The sea, the snotgreen sea, the scrotumtightening sea.”
(Ulysses, James Joyce 1922)
He just sat there as she parked the car. It was always nice to find a spot close to the beach. There was no challenge from the vacant lot. This day the entire area was stark and quiet. Not a soul could be seen or heard or even imagined. The bright of the dawn gave way to the warm summer heat and the glare of morning began to fade as the sun rose higher in the sky. The world laid out before them. The Sand seemed to go on forever, travelled by many but appreciated by few. He went with her as she left the safety of the automobile. They moved together, methodically, from asphalt to sand. They stopped at the very same spot every time. It was just past the lifeguard station, next to the warning sign and well before the rocky part of the shoreline. They came here so many times you could almost see their resting place heavy in the sand. This was their station, their space, this was where they rested. The same blanket they always used had been seized from the cargo space and fiercely shaken before spread out on the ocean side. They dropped down together, unmovable together, onto a silly old throw sitting down by the sea.
The sky grew over as they stayed in their mooring. For hours they sat there, facing the water and dreaming. Dreaming of a time when everything was going to be okay. Dreaming of a time when it almost was. Memories moved like the waves before them, tides of emotion, tide to this moment. It had been difficult. It was the most difficult thing to face. The ride to their spot was quiet and awkwardly serene. She steered, leaving him to himself in the passenger seat. On approach, the ocean called out like it always did. The sun shone and the wind cooled and the sand grew warm and uncomfortable. They spent almost the entire day together sitting by the sea. It was a lovely way to say goodbye. As dusk moved in and the shadows started to form by night, she rose and took him to the shore with her. She opened it, breathed in deeply and poured him into the bay. Now he will always be part of this place. Now she could come here and somehow always be near him. On common days like this, you can find her sitting alone, watching the waves, watching the birds, watching the sand. He is there with her, he always will be. She is content to find him carried by the sea.
“The heart of man is very much like the sea, it has its storms,
it has its tides and in its depths it has its pearls too.”
(The Letters of Vincent van Gogh, Vincent van Gogh 1914)
At twelve years of age, he was wonderstruck by it all. He had never been to the ocean before. He had never felt it, heard it or tasted it. Today was a day he would remember. He had always wanted to see the sea. The brisk New Brunswick morning caught heavy waves crashing against the shore. Debris floated randomly, harbingers of the danger out upon the reef. You could hear the undertow roaring like some beast. The water was dirty and brown from the turned up bottom and the waves crested rather foamy, also victims of the wind. A chill danced about the child, a cool breeze from out upon the waves. The scene was ugly and it was beautiful and it was all his for the taking. Everyone else had scrambled to find a place to play but the boy just stood there, mouth dropping more with each passing moment. He was bewildered and mesmerized by the motion of the ocean. For the longest time, he found himself enchanted at the idea of it. He was posed and ready, eager to face the fury. Adults always seem to get in the way at the most inconvenient of times. He was forbidden to enter the water. Only his feet would ever know the cold Atlantic flow, at least at this time and in this place. He searched the shoreline for even the smallest of adventure. He had not come so far to just give in to nature. Disappointment was abandoned the moment he started his walk by the sea.
Having been instructed to not leave the line of sight, he wandered down the coast like a vagabond. He examined every stick, every shell, every morsel tossed out of the murky and rampaging swell. He walked and he talked to himself. He even looked for God among all the majesty and seemingly endless beachfront. Every flat stone he came across was used to skip. Some of them scattered aimlessly while others bounced and tripped out into the rough. They all came out of nowhere. He was grossed out by the first one. He was intrigued by the second and then the third. As he carried on forward, more seemed to appear out of thin air. Some floated towards the shore, others rested on the beach. You could see them dangling in the surge, pushing back into the water deep. There appeared to be hundreds of them, most fading on the rocks and the unwelcoming sand. Most were dead, he supposed. He had never seen such a thing before. He was surprised, overwhelmed and fascinated. He would never forget poking some with a stick just to see if there was motion. All those countless creatures sprawled out on the shore, lost to the wind and lost to the tide. Of all the countless beaches he discovered over the years, few seem as memorable as the day he spent playing with all those jellyfish. Some of them surely died. Some may even have lived. Each one stamped in his mind, the little wonders that he saw that day, walking on the sand, exploring this world, down by the sea.
“My soul is full of longing
for the secret of the sea,
and the heart of the great ocean
sends a thrilling pulse through me.”
(The Secret of the Sea, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 1893)
There was great beauty between them. People noticed them, men especially. It wasn’t a secret but if those men really knew. They had met five years before, drawn together at the funeral of a common friend. They were almost inseparable, right from the start. Any life they had known fell behind them and the future appeared to be full of promise. They loved each other, that much was clear. You only had to look at them looking at each other, to see the resemblance. The beach house was part of a divorce settlement. Unlike hundreds of other cottages in the area, the private lagoon was large and elegant. The sand bounced back the light and the light became free. It was a beautiful, serene and charming spot, all nestled in and cozy by the sea. No matter the circumstance, no matter the schedule, no matter the matter, every evening they wandered down to the water to say goodnight. The timing would occasionally shift, sometimes people are called away but that’s just life flexing its muscle. If they were both home, they would saunter down and sit beneath the stars and the moon. Even in the rain they found their umbrella, and their place, and sat together on the sand. It was always the most romantic daily event, something to look forward to. You could find them resting on the shoreline, together, sitting by the sea.
Life can be a complicated mess. We get so tide (get it?) down that we forget the things that really matter. First, it was a death in the family, then all that flooding caught them completely by surprise. Sick children, a fire at work, and all that paperwork, oh the paperwork; complications build great walls. One day things just changed. It really wasn’t anyone’s fault, not really. Time does this to everyone. Suddenly, you get caught up in the way things are and you forget the way things should be. When you’re hit with one thing after another, any routine you had tends to suffer. Sometimes love suffers. As time passed, the lovely ladies settled into their life together. Between the daily grind and the daily struggle, those moments on the beach faded like shifting sands. The monotony of it all, the drain of it all, left little but dreams and hard cold dry land. She walked by the sea, alone and pensive. She had escaped only for a moment but the moment was bittersweet. It didn’t matter if she was alone. The moon cracked the water’s surface with a glimmer, a jubilation; you had to stop to notice it. She stood listening to the crashing waves, clutching the letter that she knew would eventually come. There had been a distance too far to conquer. Even love could not fill the void. She let the whisper of the wind caress her and she squished wet sand between her toes. She lingered down near the water, crushed between this new reality and their place by the sea.
“I am longing to be with you, and by the sea, where we can talk together freely and build our castles in the air.” (Dracula, Bram Stoker 1897)
I grew up swimming in freshwater lakes. Southern Ontario , Canada Toronto , Lake Ontario Lake Huron was a chilly escape. Every summer my partner and I relax on the beach in Port Burwell, a cottage community on the north shore of Lake Erie Lake Superior are not frequent destinations, they are a mere drive away from my civilization. People drink the Great Lakes everyday. I have swam in the midst of each. There is nothing like swimming in the ocean. The buoyancy against my body has been a rush since the first time I swam in the Atlantic . One of my favourite places in all of this world is Big Sur. I consider the place the most beautiful destination along the Pacific coastline. I love the feel of the ocean. I love the taste of the ocean. I crave the constant thrill I experience as I swim out into the deep. I am ever wondering what creature may come up and bite me on the ass. There is something romantic in it all. Memories of soothing ripples and purple sands keep me California dreaming. It’s like an otherland, of sorts. Of all the time I have spent in the water, there is nothing more surreal than diving under and watching a shark or a dolphin pass by. Don’t get me wrong, the Great Lakes basin is one of the most stunning areas on the planet, and the Great Lakes are themselves something to behold, but I would rather be by the sea.
“I have been feeling very clearheaded lately and what I want to write about today is the sea. It contains so many colors. Silver at dawn, green at noon, dark blue in the evening. Sometimes it looks almost red. Or it will turn the color of old coins. Right now the shadows of clouds are dragging across it, and patches of sunlight are touching down everywhere. White strings of gulls drag over it like beads. It is my favourite thing, I think, that I have ever seen. Sometimes I catch myself staring at it and forget my duties. It seems big enough to contain everything anyone could ever feel.”
(All the Light We Cannot See, Anthony Doerr, 2014)
Photos
https://fineartamerica.com/featured/dune-fence-on-the-beach-at-sunset-elizabeth-spencer.html
https://www.pinterest.com/pin/62839357275747640/
https://archiveofourown.org/works/9370856
