Stories From the Sand

It had been a long time since she had given herself a good look in the mirror. She was almost afraid to see how old she had become. But there she was. Her blue eyes had faded over the years, her hair was fully white with bits of dark metallic gray strands. It hung below her shoulders. She could not recall the last time she had visited a beauty salon. There had been no reason. The laugh lines around her eyes were many and deep. She found it be ironic because there had not been much laughter from her these past few years. The lines at her mouth looked like parenthesis, containing the words she had no one to give. She was alone and weary.

With a sigh, she turned away from the mirror and thought about how growing old was a bitch, especially alone. He had been gone now for ten years. At first, the grief had been unbearable. She felt as if she were an actress in a movie. Every cliché one sees on film of losing your soulmate had happened to her. Days when she could not remove herself from their bed. She lost weight because she would not eat. At times she thought she would forget how to breathe. This was how much they had been part of each other’s souls. The grief shocked her. She had always been a strong, independent woman. She was able to handle every situation in her life. Until he died.

She knew why she was so vulnerable that first year after his passing. Yes, she was strong-willed and capable. She always felt that if needed, she could take on the world! That was because her entire life, he had been there. Quietly behind her, supporting her in everything she did. Rooting her on into determinations and holding her when she failed.

She was three years old when they first met. Seeing him walking down the sidewalk was her earliest memory. She could not recall a moment of time before that day.

He was seven. Not the age a boy pays attention to little girls. His family had recently moved into the neighborhood. Grudgingly he went with his mother to meet the new neighbors. His mom suggested he bring along a kickball. In case they met any other young boys, then he could ask if they would like to play with it. “Open a door to a new friendship,” she said. He went along with her, down the street pouting with every step.

Outside was a young woman with a little girl. No boys in sight. He was not happy when his mother began a conversation with her. He knew they would be there for a while because his mother could talk! Down the drive toddled the child with chubby legs and cheeks. Her arms were outstretched as she asked him for the ball. Having nothing else to do, he agreed to sit on the drive and roll the ball back and forth to her.

It took little effort to make the young girl laugh. That was his focus to pass the time while their mothers talked. Her smile and laughter found its way to his heart. There was something about the way her blue eyes danced when she laughed. It tickled him to see her happy. “Playing with her isn’t that terrible, as long as no guys see me,” he thought.

Their mothers became close friends, and he did go on to find boys on the block who loved a good game of kickball. Through the years their parents had a strong friendship. With the passage of time, he was comfortable going in and out of her house. In those years, he went from the neighborhood boy who kept a watchful eye on her, to loving every bit of her enticing spirit. Once, many years into their marriage, he acknowledged to himself that he loved her from the first moment he saw her. His youthful age had covered the knowledge from him. Which was a good thing. Seven-year-old boys who thought they loved a girl, would have run far away to get the idea out of their heads.

The street they lived on was not far from the ocean. For most children growing up in their small town, life was spent on the sandy beach. Ask anyone who had grown there about their life and it would have centered around the shoreline. The first kiss, collecting seashells, parties, and so on. The two of them were no different. When they were on the brink of becoming teenagers, they would sit on towels in the sun talking about life and all the things they wanted to be or discover and explore as adults. And in their teens, they uncovered the fact that they loved each other. A fact that everyone, including their parents, had seen for several years. Then the talk changed to their future and the discoveries they would make together. They would watch the sun rise or set, families play, ships sail away in the far distance.

One of their favorite activities was to create stories about the people on the ships and where they were heading. Yet as much as the two of them fashioned anecdotes of others and great adventures, neither of them had the desire to leave their small town. This was home. Together they worked in his family store and as time passed, it became their business. They chose not to have children. They thought others viewed them as selfish for the decision. Perhaps it was. Being with just each other was all they wanted. For when one looks at it, that was all they had known. They were happy and content as just the two of them.

They never stopped sitting on the beach and creating their stories of the ships far away. There was a Christmas she gave him a model wooden ship kit. One of the intricate types, with working sails and doors that opened. As he worked through the winter’s nights, they created a tale of the ship and its high sea adventures with its crew. The story became quite elaborate. Night after night as he worked on the ship, she would write the piece in a notebook. As the years passed, the story usually had their focus. Drawings were made of the people, the ship, and their exploits. They would glue onto the pages pieces of driftwood and seashells from the shore. The characters became detailed and kept them company in the winter’s evenings. They kept writing until his end.

She cherished the ship and their book. It was the story that lifted her above the grief. From their words, she was able to create new chapters of her life without him. She and her friends stayed busy. The laughter returned to her. She was proud that she overcame the sorrow on her own. Then the friends passed or moved to be with their children, and she was alone again. It happened slowly until there was no one left to call. At first, she was fine alone. There were projects to keep her busy. Then her body grew tired. Flower beds overgrew, cobwebs collected in corners. She limited her movements throughout the day to slow walks around the yard and occasionally over to the beach. The days became long, lonely, and boring. The book would sit at her bedside for her to read again and again. But no adventures were added. She could never find a way to create the final page.

After looking at herself in the mirror, she was disgusted with the pity party she was having for herself. She was determined to move the time in a better direction. The morning sun was shining promising a beautiful day. Holding her chin up she picked up the book and a folding chair and made her way to the beach. No more sitting on towels in the sand. She was too old to squat down and then pull herself back up. “The fun part of growing old,” she thought as she sighed. She could feel the warmth of the sun on her legs. Her face was shaded by an old straw hat. As she had done many times before, she opened the book and began to read the story. Though she had every page memorized, these characters were now her only friends. She easily fell into the tale of their quests. Reading the story also brought him back to her. She recalled the nights as their creativity spun the tale. She found contentment in the pages and the memories.

For a moment, she stopped and gazed at the horizon. A ship was traveling the blue line of water. It was far but not too far to make out the details. Something about it made her stare longer. She squinted to help the details come into focus. There was nothing modern about this ship. It was not made of metal with mechanical motors. It was wooden, with sails that rippled in the wind. It was a thing of beauty. She had never seen such a boat upon the ocean. It reminded her of the winter nights and the intricate ship he had built. Oh, how she wished he could see this magnificent sight. It glided along slowly, not seeming to be in a hurry. She pictured the people from their story on board. They were waving to her! Acknowledging her existence. As if to say, “Yes we are here! The story is alive!” She watched as long as she could until the ship became just a dot, and her eyes grew tired and closed from weariness. She fell asleep with a satisfied smile of seeing the people of their imaginations come to life. She was happy.

It was late in the evening when a young couple who had been on the beach, falling in love, realized that the older woman not far from them may be in need of assistance. They had noticed she had not moved for some time. As they approached her, the couple could see a colorful book open in her lap and a smile on her face. But she was not there. For you see, her husband did see the ship. And just before she closed her eyes, his hand rested on her shoulder. “Awe, you too see the boat,” He said. “Join me and we can go aboard and create new chapters with our own adventures.” She covered his hand with hers, and together they were gone.