For Lana
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I met her in the sea.
I had had a thoughtful day and decided to go swimming. The ocean has always been good for that, for me. So I scooped up a towel and some sandwiches and a coke and went. “Why the hell not?” I thought.
I spent an amazingly relaxing day there, mostly on the sand dunes thinking about life. I dug my feet into the hot sand down to the damp sand beneath and then back out again. Again and again, just to feel the burning and then the moist cool on my skin. It reminded me of life and how we go up and down, up and down, hot and cool. I liked that.
I spent some time exploring the rocks nearby as well, but a rock stubbed my toe. I swore at it’s audaciousness and cursed, but I didn’t go climbing any further.
Instead, I went for a swim. The water was excellent and I got my heart pumping swimming laps from the shore to the breaker rocks. At the end of one of my trips out, I saw her. She was a wave crashing and swelling in front of the rest, small and light. The others tried to catch her and pull her back to them, but she was too much for them to tame.
I must admit I was entranced. I stared. She was beautiful. Something in her eyes burned and when she smiled her teeth shone like the embers of a fire late late at night, long after everyone else has went to sleep. At some point she must have took note of my audacity and, smirking, she flowed towards me. She questioned me and I made excuses. She frowned at me and I made jokes, albeit not very funny ones. Humor has never been my forte. But she smiled in all the right places all the same just to make me feel better and I gained courage.
And then we talked. We talked about the meaning of life and we talked about the stars. We talked about our families and their foibles then we talked some more. I spent the better part of that day with her, and part of the night too. There was a connection there, a parity of kindred souls and I felt drawn to her. I felt like I needed her more deeply in my life.
I questioned that. Why should I want a wave of my own? And this wave, of all waves? There are certainly stronger waves, bigger ones and more graceful ones too. I rationalized that there were plenty of better waves even though I never really believed it.
More bothersome still, why did I feel I needed anything at all? Things had been going well, I didn’t need a woman in my life. I was relaxed most days. I went out and enjoyed myself after work. At work I took care of business and insured uninterrupted prosperity. At home I fixed the plumbing. I mowed the lawn. I helped the neighbors with their roofing. I was the new kind of warrior.
But this wave made me crave reawakened something deep inside me, something that always wanted to go out, to look, to see, to delve and just…more…something that had died in me somewhere between adolescence and adulthood and had long since been forgotten. So instead of turning away, I picked her up and told her to come home with me. And she said she would, but not now, she had other engagements, friends from far away to see. She said that if I came to this very spot that she’d come back to see me. I didn’t like this at all, but it was not my place to demand anything else. Or even ask anything more. Reluctantly I said my goodbyes and we parted ways.
I didn’t go back the next day. I was annoyed at the seeming rejection and was making a stand. If you don’t have to come back, then neither do I damnit!
But the day after that my false bravado broke down and I went down to the beach and waited for her. She didn’t come that day. But it was still nice experience and an altogether pleasant beach, so I came back the next day as well. That night she snuck out to the rocks of the breaker line and came to me. She told me she was still busy and that she missed talking to me. I told her much the same, telling her that it was good luck that we saw each other this day because, I lied, I hadn’t been coming out here very often. I didn’t want to seem too interested, not to her and certainly not to myself. I hate being captured like that. She told me that yes, it was good luck, and to come back in a few days.
A few days later she returned and we talked and laughed. Then we did the next night too. And the next. I couldn’t drink in enough of her.
In the next month I showed her my home and introduced her to my friends. That went as well as it could have. What a ridiculous couple, a man and a wave. But we didn’t care.
Sometimes at night we lay together on my bed and we talk. We talk and talk, personally, candidly, especially about ourselves and each other. In the dark it’s easier to talk about our hopes for the future and what we wish for. For the two of us. She talks to me and she touches me, she slowly soaks my bed with herself. This surely takes some getting used to, sleeping on damp sheets with a wet pillow, but let me assure you it is not as bad as it seems. One just gets used to it, I suppose. At night as I lay with beside her, my ear cocked close to listen to her quiet murmurs as she drifts closer and closer to sleep, I feel the warm wetness of her all around me, enveloping me through the sheets and caressing onto me gently like a glove. She’s always holding me…always. Even when she sleeps and all that’s left of her is the rising and falling of her swells as she breathes into me.
I think I might love her.
But I can’t let myself dwell on that. What would her family say? They tell her you can’t trust men, there’s always something wrong with them. Always some ulterior motive. They preach to her that there’s something wrong with me and with our situation. They keep looking at the situation from a distance, watching for how this pesky man has ensnared their prodigal daughter.
I wish I could go out to the sea and meet with them. I would let them into my life as she has so that they could see that I’m just a man, that all men have faults but that this one is truthful and honest. I want to show them that I would never willfully steer her wrong and that my intentions are crystal-pure. Would they believe me? What would their demands be? I worry that even if they believe me that they might demand children, tell me we could never have any and insult my manhood. A wave and a man have never had children before, at least not that I have heard of. I have no answers and no ideas. I wouldn’t be good enough for them, no. Not good enough for her.
Sometimes I agree with them.
And then what would my own family feel? They say you can’t love a wave, you can’t trust them. They’re unreliable. That all waves want to do is go from here to there, to play and dance and have fun and make music.
When I ask what is wrong with that I get a stern look and they tell me, speaking extra slowly as if to a child, about the seriousness of life and the importance of work and a good, strong back. I ask them what’s wrong with her back, it’s shapely and beautiful, like all the rest of her, they just scowl.
So I go about my life trying not to think of her and to focus on the work ahead of me. I focus on preparing for the future and the importance of money, stability. Every morning after my shower I make sure to take special care of my back in the our full length bathroom mirror. These things are important everyone tells me.
I do ok living like this for a while, too. I get things done and I barely think of her. I become simple and hard and edged like a man is supposed to be. I bark orders, I point fingers and I take the things I am told I deserve to take. At work I cast about as I look for ways to tighten up slack. My bosses have recently told me that I look good, that I might be going places as they stroked their chins.
“What places?” I want to ask them but I know better now than to ask. They don’t know where any more than anyone else does. I’ve learned that long ago when I was still too young to realize that no one wanted to answer my questions.
Eventually I am home and I cook up some supper. Then, like magic, when I grab a drink of water after slaving over the stove, I remember her. I remember the taste of her on my lips and her slippery touch and I realize only she can quench my desire. She doesn’t care about me ‘going places’ and she has no need for men who do. She loves me for me and the way I make her feel and that’s enough for her.
I call her. To hell with the seriousness of life. To hell with my back, too. I’m hungry for more than that and so is she. This is the root of us.
She meets me outside my apartment in a short skirt and a long jacket. I meet her on the balcony and she asks if she can come up. I throw down to her the key. So soon as she’s inside we’re crashing into each other, bumping into the table and the wall, making our way to the bedroom, our longing for each other having been delayed much too long. She gets on top and rides with no restraint as if she was Sioux in a past life, the rest of her lapping at my chest and my lips. Later, when we’ve switched places and I’m on top of her, she pulls me into her and whispers to me about the secret places of the sea, the depths of the ocean and she fills my soul with longing…and release.
I wish I could put how she makes me feel into words. Every time I try it feels crude and much too simple. I want to make glass airplanes but all I get are little lumps of earthtone-colored clay. Words roll in my head, ideas and feelings and I’m constantly trying to string them together cohesively so that I can write it down for her, or speak them to her.
Even when she’s telling me that, sure, we can be close, sure we can try this, but not to throw myself into it, I want to tell her. But that would be me throwing myself into it, wouldn’t it? I keep my mouth shut. I’m not entirely sure what I should say or should be saying. Even worse, I can’t think it out right. I just can’t capture my emotions the way I want to. Better to keep quiet, at least for now.
I’m not sure how long I can stand it.
I woke up last night in a half dream daze, mind flooded with scattered thoughts going all directions. All I could think of was where she was and the feel of her body. So I got up and wandered into the other bedrooms of the house, looking for her, ready to lay down wherever she was, hold her and go back to sleep. I turned a corner and I banged my knee on the wall and it woke me up a bit more than I was already. That’s when it hit me; she wasn’t here and my longing was so raw and unchecked and my dismay at her absence so complete. The feeling was visceral and it pushed all other feeling out of me in a rush; literal pain over the ache of her absence.
Now, fully awake and lucid, I see how foolish I was. I had no reason to believe her to be there. I just….knew what I wanted. What I needed. Instinctually.
I love her. I know I do. The pain when she’s gone from my bed tells me I do. Even if it’s much too early, even if we’re going much too fast, even if I’ve thrown myself into her so much harder than I ever should have.
I’m going to call her and ask her to come home. I’ll tell her that I’ll be waiting here for her until she’s ready. And maybe….maybe I’ll tell her I love her too.
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