Waves

He crossed the street and went down onto the sand, far enough that the fingers of yellowish light from the tall poles lining the street petered out before they could reach him where the last of the waves peaked and ebbed.

__

He sat far up on the dune cradling the bottle, the breeze had stilled and the evening was cool, the quiet of the darkness broken each time the large waves crashed and surged up the beach, the night returning to silence as the water pulled back unseen.

He looked up at the cliff above, as dark as the night that had claimed it and marked only by the glow of the streetlights fanning along the road on the crest. The house he had built was up there somewhere, just in behind the glow.

He thought of Elisabeth and saw how her eyes burned that afternoon with so much anger she had waited to voice, how her long thin body seemed to turn in upon itself until it became pure hard steel. She was so strong, he could feel her pushing against him then, and he thought of her mother. He had always wanted to be the strength and had thought for all that time he was. And now he knew he was wrong.

He was suddenly so cold sitting there and got up, walked down the beach a little, patting the sand away from the backs of his legs. He juggled the bottle from hand to hand; a little of the whisky spilled on his wrist and he felt the liquid burn his skin and then go so cold so quickly.

He wanted to feel the water he still could not make out and he flicked his shoes off, pushing the heels down in turn with the other foot and then flicking his toes so the shoes flew away into the dark. He thought he must have drunk a fair bit, wondered if he’d be able to find them again, didn’t even care.

The next wave was so much closer now and Ben stopped still, and waited. There was nothing to see until the roar seemed almost upon him, then the dull white glow of the foaming mass ran in and over his feet, surging so that the water raced up his legs and he felt the bite of the cold water. The wave surged out again and he wobbled about, the bottle held tightly to his chest.

He looked up the cliff face again and could make out the houses that seemed to teeter at the top edge, looking down. He wondered what Elisabeth had told her mum when she got home, what she was doing now. He imagined her sitting in the café with Michelle and tried to picture himself there too, the three of them, and couldn’t do it.

He thought of Michelle, she would be home now, wondering where he was; his phone was in his pocket and he didn’t want to check it. She had already called a couple of times.

A wave came again and he was so far down the beach now that it ran up to his thighs and he had to bend against the surge of the water as it ran out down the slope and tried to take him with it. He took a long drink from the bottle, and then threw it out into the darkness of the water drawing away, his teeth already chattering.

He thought of his mum.

He looked back along the beach, the line of light blurred by the salt that rose and hung in the air, the fire station down there somewhere beyond the last of the dunes.

A long, rolling boom announced the next wave as it came and he threw his head back and roared a reply, a long note swamped as the torrent pounded the sand and swallowed him up. The heaving mass of water bore him down into the sand and kept coming, he felt the strength of his father, pushing him down on the lawn.

He surfaced in a rush as the wave ran away, his clothes so heavy; he was facing back to the beach and he could see his house now he was sure.

She would be okay, he was sure.

He turned as the next wave rolled over him in a huge roiling mass, he was silent this time. And it pushed him so far down, holding him, taunting him, ‘is that enough? Are you scared? Do you want me to let you up now? Do you need someone to understand?’

And he opened his mouth wide, screaming that he was not. He was not scared, he would not rise, and he would not be pushed back. He did not need anyone to understand.

Another wave came and roared into the silence. And it was an end. And it didn’t hurt. Anyone.

He was sure.