When I left the house this morning, the sky was blue, and the clouds were full of hope. But nature is a dynamic beast, like the illusion of the dolphin I saw in the clouds on my walk to the beach.
As I step onto the path, a man is standing in front of me gazing out to sea. He casts a small and warped shadow on the rocks, and it only takes me a minute to recognise him. He's a little thinner on top and bulkier of frame, but after twenty years his unassuming presence is still the same.
His shoulders are relaxed, and hands tucked casually into his pockets as if he doesn't have a care in the world. But not me, my heart is beating fast, too fast, as I watch his every move for fear of him turning around to face me.
If I could run away, I would. But my instinct is to freeze.
His shoulders twitch, and I stumble a little.
I wrap my arms across my body to spare him the sight of me should he turn around. The shame. To be seen dressed in trackpants and a sloppy shirt, and hair as brittle as my age.
The dolphin in the cloud has changed. Now I see a shark, mouth wide open trailing its prey.
Imagine if the tables were turned and he was standing behind me. I'd be sixteen, sitting on the shark look-out tower, watching out across the ocean, blissfully unaware of his presence, the sun shimmering on my tanned legs as I swing them childlike, and the gentle breeze flirting with my cheesecloth dress.
I'd watch the red and white ship on the horizon rise and fall to the rhythm of the ocean.
I'd gasp in awe at the blow of a dolphin's spray and watch its silhouette glide through the waves. And I'd climb down the ladder from the tower and dip my toes in the ocean despite it being chilly.
He'd come up behind me on the beach, calling my name as school friends do. I'd turn and smile, invite him to join me.
We'd skim stones, jump, and splash in the whitewash, and twist our feet until pipis bubbled to the surface. Then we'd flop on the soft dry sand, gazing up at the clouds.
But imagine if he moved too close and took off his sunglasses, and the playful blue in his eyes turned dark and cold, until I felt as exposed as the rocks jutting out of the ocean on a low tide.
The treacherous sea would swell and beat against the rocks, over and over, and over, until the amplified sound eroded every other sound.
If only I could run, instead of freeze.
The cloud shark has gone, dissipated without so much as a trace of existence. All that's left now is low-lying indistinguishable fluff that seems to stretch on forever.
I could yell and scream at him. Right here and now. Call out his name. But my voice has been silent for so many years it would be a mere whisper on the wind and no competition for the crashing waves.
I could throw a rock, at his head, perhaps? Make him turn and see me. But then he would see me. Me, with lines on my face that run as deep as the ocean, which has, by the way, threatened to drown me too many times.
Or I could do what I always do.
I drag a hip flask from my denim jacket and take a swig.
He sits, pulls off his sneakers, sheds his jacket, and trousers and walks almost naked to the edge of the ocean.
He wades in without flinching at the cold which I suspect bites at his ankles, calves, thighs, and chest.
He dives under for what seems like a long time, then comes up spluttering. He does it again and again.
I look to the sky. The white clouds have turned grey and they're rolling in as fast as the waves in the ocean.
He disappears.
My heart thuds until it reverberates in my ears, then I hear myself yell, "Run!"
I run to the water's edge leaving a trail of clothes on the beach.
I don't feel the shock of water or the waves pounding my head as I dive and swim to the place where he last appeared.
I tread water, turning frantically, looking around for any sign of him.
I call his name. I see his head bob above the surface, vulnerable, and at the mercy of the ocean.
I swim closer, but he grabs at me, dragging me down with him. I slap his face and tell him to stop. With the crook of my arm, I clamp around his neck and begin to sidestroke and kick for my life.
The ocean and the sky swirl. The two of us. In a vortex.
When we reach the shore. I collapse beside his limp body before thumping his chest.
Soon he regurgitates sea water. His eyes slowly meet mine; they're bloodshot, and likely mine are too.
When I find my land legs, I stand over him.
He looks at me and speaks in a raspy voice.
"What's your name?"
I clear my throat. But there are no words.
I turn away and trudge through the sand, gathering my clothes with what little energy I have left.
I'm done.
Nothing more to carry.
