The Beach “The Reunion”

“I am coughing in the dark, sitting as the old fan steadily buffets me. It is dark, and I am alone, but I am not truly alone. Not really. She is in the other room on the bed. It's a bed older than both of us and I can't stop coughing, and she can't cough anymore. There is nothing I can do except keep it from getting worse. Keep it from getting outside the house.

I have to burn everything.

I have to burn it all.”

Feels like so long ago. Going to that old beach house. The broken concrete and rebar acting as the shoreline. The water, far too cold for the season. It was over a year ago. A good, solid, happy memory. And every time we talk about going back, it simply doesn't end up happening.

We were going to go this weekend, Margaret and I. She wasn't feeling up to it and insisted I go by myself. No reason for us to both stay at home. I tried explaining it to her.

Didn't want to go if it wasn't going to be with her.

I relented.

She was right. It would have been a waste of a day.

The weather was better than it was last time. It was hotter. The gloomy chill was gone and I even saw a few families while I was walking the beach.

But it didn't feel the same. I wanted it to feel the same so badly.

It wasn't though.

You can't replicate an experience. You can only make a new experience.

I guess we shouldn't go back. It is just the chasing of echoes.

Last few days I have been staying in a hotel. I won't say where. I haven't even told Margaret. Tell her I am fine.

She is worried. Need to get my head on straight.

I saw The Surgeon.

Saw him in the water at the the beach...looking right at me.

I rushed into the water, trying to track him down. But he was gone. I dove down...deep into the sea weed. Got tangled twice, but got out before it was too late.

Emerged from the water. Sun in my eyes. Water running down my face. Splash of warmth on my skin. I looked out across the water and there he was. By the old beach house. Drying off. He was wearing an old-fashioned stripped bathing suit. Like the 1900's. He was drying his hair...the stubble of his hair. The Surgeon looked across the water at me and nodded. I thought he was smiling. Couldn't have been smiling. He can't smile.

His mouth doesn't move like that.

He headed down the beach towards the water. There was something in his hand...and I swam away as fast as I could.

All this damn searching, just to run away from him.

I couldn't help it. I had nothing to defend myself.

Went to the concrete outcroppings. The coarse surface of the old concrete cut into my hand a little. And I waited.

I watched.

He never came. Must have given up.

Or he wanted me to come to him, but on my terms. To find him.

Like he found me.

Not ready. Still not ready.

Hotel has an old pool. Never liked swimming pools. Feels too unnatural.

Should have brought Margaret along.

Safer without me. Maybe safer with me. But I doubt it.

He is looking for me, not her.

He's done working on her.

He is trying to find me. I can feel it. Everywhere I walk, it feels like I am being watched. It's possible that I am not being watched. Just feels like it. Maybe I am paranoid.

But I just have to be right once for it to matter.

He wants to find me...and wants me to find him.