far away.
It sure has been quiet around here without you. I am getting “empty nest” pangs and I am the daughter! I can only imagine what Momma must be feeling. I feel guilty about going off to college. I know I should not, but I cannot help it. You are lucky to have gotten out first, leaving me to deal with the mess!
I am just kidding! (Do not dare give me that look.)
Things are good here. Earlier this week Paul and I made a day trip to the beach. “Burn and return” he called it. We left around seven and got there a little after ten, just as the sun was getting hot and the fog was burning off. Since it was a weekday, the beach was not crowded. We parked in the public lot down from the pier and staked our claim like one of those “freeloader families” we used to complain about. I told Paul about our name for day visitors and he said “The ocean is free.” And I said “Yes, but the beach is not.” He looked around at all the empty space and said “Looks like today it is.” And he was right. As familiar as that stretch of beach is to me, it felt very different somehow. Maybe it was just because it was earlier in the season than when we would come. Maybe it was Paul, or the strange blanket he had brought (some old brown raspy thing!). I had packed our umbrella, the teal-blue one, so at least that was the same. It just felt different.
Then a little later in the morning I turned from reading my book and saw Paul lying there with his eyes closed, his Popular Mechanics magazine open on his chest. And I had the strangest vision, that we were carried forward in time and Paul and I were married and lying on the beach waiting for our kids, a boy and a girl, to return from whatever mischief they were trying to get into. And as I saw this vision, part of me thought “You should be glad to have this.” But a deeper part of me knew I was not glad, that the vision scared the heck out of me. Maybe it is because I was reading Anne Tyler or maybe the whole graduation milestone syndrome has me running scared. But I am not ready to settle down, Brooke. There is a whole world out there I have not seen, and I want to see as much of it as I can before settling down.
I know, you are probably thinking “Chill out, Leah. You just graduated from high school. It is too early to be worrying about settling down.” But everything that has happened the last few months makes me think my life has peaked. In principle that is not a bad thing. Momma and Father have a great marriage. And kids and families are all I have ever known. But maybe that is exactly the problem. It is all I have ever known. I think I want to know something else, Brooke. I just do not know yet what it is, and I suppose I am afraid me or the world or my handicap will push me into something safe and predictable.
So I decided to blame it all on Paul. And to correct the situation, I quietly took a cup out of our picnic basket, tiptoed to the ocean and scooped out some very cold water, then went back to the blanket and poured it over a certain vulnerable spot on his body that is off limits to my hands but not to cold seawater. Well, that woke him up! He was on his feet in a flash and though I had an instant’s head start, he caught me within seconds and threw me over his shoulder and before you knew it we were both in that freezing water. But I was secretly glad for the shock. And though we have a prohibition against public touch, and there were several other families within sight (and probably watching our shenanigans), I said the hell with it and wrapped my arms and legs around him and kissed him all over the face. He liked that. I could tell because despite the cold water a certain part of him down there (well hid by the water) grew and nudged a certain part of me down there, the two parts separated by only our bathing suits and that did not seem like much impediment. I could have let go and swum away. He would have understood. But I did not want to. I think I even pushed back. I cannot say for sure. My eyes were closed. Our lips were together. And it was, for just a few seconds, a delicious eternal stillness—no future, no past, no commitments, no loss, just the two of us locked together.
Then I had to open my eyes and separate my hands from behind his head and my feet locked at the ankles behind his thighs and gently push away. I could see he was disappointed. Not that there was any future in that kind of contact in that particular place, but I think he was hoping for some sign from me that there was a future in that kind of contact in some future place, however distant the future or far the place. But I could not give him that hope, or at least not that promise. Do not get me wrong. I love Paul. And maybe somewhere in the future there is a place for THAT with him, and for the marriage, kids, domesticity, a blanket at the beach, a cottage rented and waiting that would follow. But it is not a future I can see right now, or commit to. And if I cannot commit to it, I will not lead Paul on. It is not fair to him. It is not fair to me.
Pretty heavy stuff. What can I say? You leave me alone and that is what happens.
So we swam around awhile, dunked each other a time or two (careful to keep our hands away from each other’s you-know-where), then got out of the water and dried each other off (that contact was O.K., and by then his parts had gone back to pre-swim size) and I unpacked our lunch and we feasted on pimento-cheese sandwiches and iced tea and brownies (all made by yours truly—I may not be ready to settle down but I still like to cook!).
And the rest of the day went fine and we got back to the house around dark maybe a little burned but not too bad. And far as I know Paul was none the wiser for all my inner turmoil. We kissed in the car and then he opened my door (I always wait—he is such a gentleman!) and then we kissed again at the side door after he helped carry the basket and cooler to the side stoop and I watched and waved from there as he drove off. It all was quite normal, just like the day before, just like the day to follow.
But I was not the same. I had seen something there at the beach, Brooke. Maybe it has been there all along and I just happened to notice it while lying there on the blanket. I do not know. What I do know for sure is now that I know about it, I cannot ignore it. But neither do I know what to do with it. It all seems such a blur. I want to go back to that moment of stillness in the water. But even that is unclear. Was that stillness linked to Paul? To our parts touching? Or was it free of Paul and those parts? Or was it those parts but not Paul?
What is happening to me, Brooke? I feel so confused, but I do not really feel scared. I want to get on with my life, but I do not want to leave what I have known. I love what I have, but I want more. Is that crazy? Is that even possible? If it is, then how? If it is not, then which should I choose?
See what happens when you leave me alone? I look forward to seeing you next month. Send me the dates so I can start counting down the days, the hours, the minutes.
With love,
Leah
P.S. Reading back over those last paragraphs, it sounds worse than it is. I am O.K. There have been a lot of changes in a short time, with more to come. And your absence is one of the bigger challenges, and more than just not having someone to turn to. It is like a part of me is missing. But we have to grow up, right? I will figure it out. We will figure it out. We always have.
July 5
Dear Leah—
Whoa, Girl! I leave for a few weeks and my stable and orderly sister goes mental? What am I going to do with you?
A guy flew out here for the long weekend and invited me for a ride in his vintage biplane. And no that’s not sister-speak for other possible carnal contact. Josh (that’s his name) is practically old enough to be my father, at least thirty or thirty-five. And though he maybe thought I was cute in my waitress’s outfit (that’s where I met him, at the restaurant), he treated me more like a daughter or a younger sister than a love interest. O.K., well maybe there were a few lingering looks at my body, but just a few. Now that I think about it that was kind of weird. Was I the daughter or the younger sister or something else or both (ewwww!)? But it didn’t seem weird at the time, and he never did touch me more than a hand to help me into and later out of the plane’s back seat—not that I would’ve minded if he had touched me a little more. Maybe I’m the weird one then.
But I started to tell you about the plane ride. We
flew on a beautiful clear morning that was hot as Hades on the ground but cool a thousand feet up with the wind blowing past. He took me for a loop around the island. It’s amazing how unspoiled and natural the north end looks from above, just miles of a thin strip of dunes and beach with the ocean pushing in from all sides. And the village looked so small and quaint, like some fairyland inside a diorama or a snow globe minus the snow. Even though I could recognize all the places I’ve come to know so well, and even waved to a few people, what I saw from up there looked very different from what I know down here.
Then Josh flew across a narrow strait to a little island south of Shawnituck called Windsor’s Cove. It used to be a thriving fishing village but was abandoned decades ago when it was deemed too expensive to bring electricity in. Everybody left and most of the buildings were destroyed by Hazel. But a big brick manor house, “Windsor’s Castle,” is still standing and looks quite impressive from the air. But unlike Shawnituck, nobody lives there and it looked very empty and lonely. Greta has mentioned several times that we should take a daytrip out there. A hired boat from Shawnituck can make it in about an hour. But we