Updated: Dec. 18, 2015
Originally Published: Sep. 28, 2014
“You can’t just talk things away.”
“I’m not trying to talk anything away. I’m just existing, attempting to—”
It felt futile to return to places once filled with joy, as if the location itself held any sway over her emotions. Yet, she mused, this concept of return was all they had—perhaps a synonym for faith, which she felt she no longer deserved. Still, here she was, pretending. Pretending was the only way to keep her troubling thoughts at bay. So, they walked together. When expectations for significant change faded and reality set back in, what else could one do but feign contentment?
“The beach?” he suggested. “What about that little beach with the broken chairs?”
“Yes.”
They strolled silently for three blocks until they reached the water, relieved to find the chairs absent. They settled on the grass as he launched into a discussion about real estate—how it always circles back to property. “They’ll ruin this place, too,” he lamented. He was passionate, railing against the wealthy, the “looters!” His anger felt as genuine as his longing for money, which always eluded him despite his best efforts. He didn’t shy away from the contradiction, and she admired him for that. To despise what you desired seemed like a natural state of being. Now, he was blaming the missing chairs on the affluent, who sought to ‘improve’ everything, ultimately ruining it.
Though she remained silent and inattentive, the absence of the chairs marked a shift from her last visit, and she was thankful they had vanished, whether due to the wealthy or not.
“It would be nice to break some new chairs and leave them here,” he mused.
Her gaze drifted to the water, the bobbing sailboats, and a floating structure that resembled a doghouse. At least that remained. She almost pointed it out, but feared that acknowledging it might cause it to disappear, or change somehow. An old boat with a shingled roof floated beside the sailboats. She found solace in the absence of the chairs while simultaneously feeling comforted by the presence of the doghouse boat. But that was life. Time was still on their side, even if the odds were growing slimmer. This was a common occurrence; it even happened to her once in her mid-thirties, bringing her relief without a trace of grief. Grief was contextual, as she understood it; “Location, location, location,” she could hear him saying, but his thoughts had shifted to dinner plans.
Did she want him to notice the doghouse boat? Part of her did, while the other part resisted. Was this her issue? A chronic state of conflicting desires? Yes, time remained, but couldn’t one lament what was lost, what this moment could have been? There was something harsh about optimism. The damp grass soaked through her sundress. Later, at the quaint hotel near the yacht club, they would undress, and intimacy would serve as a distraction, a welcome one. She had always appreciated hotel encounters, unburdened by the sheets. She always left a generous tip on the nightstand. Now, it also offered her an outlet for her frustration—not just at him, his incessant chatter, but at a higher power she had scarcely contemplated until now. The idea of a watchful deity resonated with her. The Lord giveth, the Lord taketh away. He seemed just as indecisive. This hollow body.
Later, she would moan loudly enough to startle the innkeepers.
“Not in the mood for fish?” he asked. “How come? Last time—” The boats swayed, and the land cradled the bay like a crooked arm.
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Summary:
The narrative explores themes of nostalgia, disillusionment, and the complexities of yearning for lost happiness. The characters grapple with their desires, the contradictions of their emotions, and the transient nature of joy. As they navigate their surroundings, they confront the reality of change and the weight of optimism, all while seeking fleeting moments of connection.