The Beckoning
She
sat apart from the rest of them in her own private cove. She could not see them from where she was but
could hear the excitement of the children: shrieking at the seaweed wrapping
around their legs, hunting for treasures washed in by the tide, dissolving into
giggles as the surf lapped at their toes.
She was suddenly filled with a renewed sense of loss, of emptiness. She was acutely aware of the happy families
only a few feet away, yet they were completely oblivious to her presence.
She dug her toes deeper into the
sun-warmed sand – like ten little crabs scurrying for cover. “Happy as a clam”, she thought. The irony of that statement brought a wry
smile to her lips. The waves gently
caressed the beach in front of her – calmly, serenely. Two nights ago the ocean had shown its other
side. Angry waves crashed violently
against the rocks, tossing aside whatever was in their way as insignificant
compared to the fury it was feeling. Not
today, though. Today the water was calm;
concealing what lurked below the surface.
She felt a sense of kinship with the
ocean. Looking out over its great
expanse she felt she understood its masquerade.
It must appear calm and serene, hide the turmoil below so it did not
frighten the others away. When it appeared
angry and out of control, the children would not come to play, the lovers would
not stroll hand-in-hand on a warm summer evening, and the families would find a
safer place to spend their days. Why had
she not remembered this? Why had she not
maintained control and hid her other identity?
They would all know now that she was an angry, terrified child - not the
strong independent woman she pretended to be.
“They
say drowning is a peaceful way to go”, she reminded herself. “Who are THEY? How would they know?” She tried to imagine it. The cool water enveloping her like a womb,
holding her close. The warmth in her
chest as her lungs began to hunger for oxygen.
Then the warmth turning to a burning as her body demanded that she take
a breath – not understanding what it would mean if she were to obey. Her body would jerk and convulse as the
instinct to survive became ever-more demanding.
Finally, her body would be denied no longer and she would gasp deeply,
trying urgently to find the oxygen she required. All it would find, though, would be the cold,
salty liquid that surrounded her. It would
fill her lungs as her body greedily drank it in, unaware until it was too late
that this is not what it was searching so desperately for. Is this when the peace would come? When the fluid of the pseudo-womb filled her
as completely as it cradled her, would she at last feel the peace and calm that
the ocean seemed to promise her today?
Looking out again at the peaceful
expanse of water in front of her, she felt it beckoning her. The waves like a mother’s arms, outstretched
– wanting to draw her to its bosom. She
stood and slowly made her way to the edge. The coldness shocked her toes, her knees, her
chest, her head. The gentleness of the
water’s embrace reassured her – at last she found peace.
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