How long have I been staring into the dark motion of the winter sea? Not as long as I spent with the police earlier today, perhaps, but I feel the same drag of the clock in the tides that I did earlier in that interview room. Why didn’t I report his disappearance earlier? Do I know anyone who might wish him harm? I should have told them they may as well scream their questions at the shoreline as my heart does now. He won’t be here, I know, but still I see the violent shadows of his cheekbones in the curl of the waves and hear his voice as they crash against the pebbles. There is something of the pent up energy of his limbs in the pull of the tide, I think, but he isn’t here.
It’s cold, of course it is. The Christmas lights have just been taken down, leaving behind a clean darkness which brings me comfort. I need to move. As I walk, I skirt the battered plastic barriers erected to protect visitors against the eroded pier, decimated earlier in the year by a storm carrying record waves and left to rot as a lesson to teach us all our smallness in the world. We are all small; he is small and lost somewhere beyond my sight but he drags his traces like the wash bubbling along the shore. My air puffs white out of my mouth and I think of the winding trails of his cigarette smoke, the calculations he looked to make with each exhalation.
I must navigate my way through this loss as a sailor might, accepting the power of the sea as both enemy and friend, vigilant to danger and thrilled by the possibilities of an empty horizon and full sails. I must find him; the police may be the instruments I need as a captain checks his compass but I know that I must guide myself by more eternal instincts and trust in the stars even when they hide beneath the clouds. He did not leave me because he chose to. A storm had been brewing in him, I know, but he kept himself anchored to me - to us - in his tender silences, in the gentle way he worked on every aspect of the old ruin of a house we shared. A rumble of thunder would not make him run from me, but a bolt of lightning could blind us both and shatter something that he could not fix with any amount of patience. I must learn that patience.
I will think of him as taken by the sea, I will think of him dragged by an invisible undertow, raising his pale head in a defiance of breath against the vast walls of water which threaten to engulf us both or dash us against sharp-flinted rocks. I turn to walk home. Until I can find out where he has gone, the sea may have him, preserve him in the bitter salt of my memories.
You create great images (cheekbones in the curl of the weaves, etc), capture a real sense of emotion and write in such a lovely lyrical way. I mean, if I didn't know any better, I'd maybe guess you wrote poetry or something...;-)
ReplyDeleteI really enjoyed how you keep returning to the sea as a central image/metaphor and how you explore its various aspects and characteristics throughout the piece. The sea drifts in and out of the passage, the way it ebbs and flows against the shore (I'm sure that was intentional). I'll email you a couple of suggested edits, just thoughts that might help to improve the flow a little where it might be a little "description heavy" at present.
ReplyDeleteIt is an atmospheric piece which uses nautical/sea metaphors to good effect. I like the way you contrast the smallness of people compared to nature/the sea.
The final paragraph is a little confusing as it seems to contradict the urgency shown earlier in the piece to find him with a sort of resignation that he's gone until he turns up.
This is beautiful and filled with interesting images - the one that stands out to me is the cigarette smoke/calculations in his exhalations. This is a complicated relationship that draws the reader to indefinite conclusions about what has happened - your central character's uncertainty of emotion is intriguing and misleading. As is the situation - the police suggests either extreme denial from your main character or a more serious situation than a simple 'ending' that can be explained, so the expected endings of relationships (one party or the other leaving) contrast effectively with the other myriad possibilities. I'm intrigued to know more! And Alison is right, your turns of phrase are also very lyrical... the sentence for which i love the image but which i think needs to be broken up differently is the one about the eroded pier - i feel the sentence is too long and this powerful image loses its power. But what a fabulous image, this really drew me in.
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