The Runaway

I wasn’t thinking straight, but I didn’t much care. I had been up all night and was beyond exhausted. My body craved for sleep as I boarded the early morning train. As much as my body yearned - no, ached - for slumber, I dared not give in to it. For then, yesterday would come back to haunt me. That was a nightmare I wasn’t willing to have, at least not yet. My muscles, my joints screamed at me, begging me to utilize one of the vacant seats. But I stood. Every bump on the train stabbed me in the back. Every sharp turn nearly yanked my arm out of the socket.  In a strange way, the physical pain was cathartic, as it diverted my attention. Fifty-five minutes. That’s how long I had to endure the train ride. I could do it.

As soon as I got off the train, I stood for a moment and took a deep breath. Fresh air. I needed to breath in the fresh air, away from the city smog. Then, in my wearied state, I ran. Not fast…I wasn’t exactly in a track suit. I didn’t know if I was running toward something or away from something. But my legs were driven to run, as if pulled by some magnetic force.

It felt good to move, and not to think. I ran. And I ran. Barefoot. Tiny pebbles that lay on the road tore into the naked flesh of my feet. But I couldn’t stop. I’m not sure when I lost my shoes, but I don’t think they made it onto the train with me. Oh well. My feet would just have to deal with the pain. Why should they be different than the rest of me?

If anyone had seen me, they would have been stunned. I didn’t belong on the street, let alone running the way I was. I must have looked like a crazed lunatic. 

Hide your children. I’m coming through!

Crazy thoughts raced through my head. I chuckled, picturing what any ordinary observer would think, as I turned off the main drag onto some side streets. I would think the same.

But I wasn’t crazy. At least I didn’t think so. I knew where I was going. I had a goal. A small one - it was the only thing I could come up with at the time. Tomorrow, I knew I would have to look at the big picture, but for today, one trivial goal was all I could handle. Baby steps into my future.

The sun was just starting to rise - I had to get to the beach at the end of the road. That was my goal. To leave civilization behind me and see the sun’s reawakening in all its magnificence. I felt I really might go mad if I missed the nascent sun, radiating both light and hope in the new day. A tiny thread of stability that only nature could provide. The sun rose each day and set each evening. Clockwork. No matter what chaos ensued in the interim. I needed to see that normalcy still existed in the universe. I was that delicate. The sun’s rise was my rebirth.

There wasn’t a sole in sight. It was too early for even the office minions to head to work. I was glad for the solitude, as I raced toward the mounds of sand which met the asphalt. Finally, I arrived, and climbed to the top of the sand dune piled up at the street’s end.

Eureka! I smiled at my small victory. 

Little successes . . . that’s what life is – a compilation of little successes. But to what end?

I was having a conversation with myself. A debate, of sorts. Maybe it was already too late, and I had gone completely mad, despite the rejuvenation a new day brought. As a religious person, I prayed for divine intervention. Something to help me in my journey.

Do not forsake me, oh Lord.

Looking at the sand and the water beyond, I steeled myself against the despondency that was creeping into my thoughts. I gave myself a bit of a pep talk.

Stop it! Don’t beat yourself up. You did what you had to. No turning back.

UGH-I really am going mad. Gathering strength from deep in the pit of my stomach, I shrugged the demons away.

Who cares?

My feet were starting to throb. The ocean, wild and expansive, beckoned me. The water would ease that pain. I felt free as I climbed down the backside of the dunes looking at the stretch of sand and ocean before me. As if on cue, a cool breeze picked up.  It felt good on my sweaty neck. I took the remaining bobby pins out of my hair and shook the strands free. Symbolic, but it made me feel better. 

I stood there without moving for a few minutes, awed by nature’s wonders. The ascending sun set the sky ablaze with every imaginable shade of red and orange. I closed my eyes and the vivid colors remained, etched internally. Even in my mind’s eye, it was magnificent. I wanted the picture to be indelibly engraved in my memory. Let the good overtake the bad, the beauty defeat the ugly.

I opened my eyes again and saw the reds and oranges bouncing off the glassy surface of the ocean. I could barely breath, taking in all that was nature’s masterpiece. Tears of joy streaked my face, covering earlier streaks of mascara.

I started walking towards the water.  The sun hadn’t been up long enough to heat the sand, so the grains didn’t burn my already injured feet. Later in the day, with the sun shining in full glory, the sand would be too hot to traverse. 

As I walked, I listened to the ocean’s rhythm. The sound of the waves was hypnotic, like a symphony carried across the sand to my ears. I timed my steps to the cadence of the ocean waves. As I moved across the sand, my heart seemed to beat in the same tempo. I felt at one with the ocean.

Ever since I walked out on my old life, I was looking for a heavenly sign. Something to let me know I was doing the right thing. Escaping. Running away. Leaving it all behind me. Here, walking on the beach, I felt at peace. . .finally. This is where I needed to be. This peace was the omen I had been seeking.

Almost in a trance, I hardly noticed the flock of seagulls off to the side. When I neared, dozens of gulls soared into the air with a cacophony of squawks that jolted me out of my reverie. I laughed out loud, knowing I had been romanticizing this moment a tad too much. 

Charles would never have approved of any of this. Then again, he didn’t approve of much. I was never his love. It was just an arrangement.  Most people don’t think arrangements like that happen anymore. Little do they know.

Well, I disarranged that, didn’t I, Charles? And now, in my new reality, I refuse to think of you ever again. 

I walked into the water just over my ankles. At first, it felt cold, but as I got used to it, the cool ocean soothed my wounded feet. Healing. I didn’t care that the bottom of my dress was getting wet in the surf. It didn’t matter. I was going to toss the thing anyway. I decided to walk down the beach in the shallow water for a bit. It felt good. 

Around the bend, I spotted him in the distance. One lone man, with waders on, standing thigh deep in the surf. I could see the rod in his hands, as he flung it back and forth, pretending to fish. I say pretending, because he never caught anything in the better part of an hour that it took me to approach him. As a matter of fact, even though he was going through the motions, I don’t think he was fishing as much as he was watching me.

*****

“And that’s how we met,” I exclaimed happily. Paul was smiling from ear to ear, nodding his head at our unusual story.

Paul had invited his friends in the neighborhood over to meet me. We were hosting a backyard barbeque. He was sure his friends would roll out the welcome mat, like he did, once they met me.

His friends, however, were less than accepting. Their consternation was apparent.

“So, you just walked up to him on the beach?” asked the one named Dottie, sneering. “Three weeks ago?”

“And now you are living here-living in his house?” her husband completed her thought.

Paul spoke up. “Yes. It was love at first sight. Seeing this angel, in a wedding dress no less, walking in the surf. She was heaven sent!”

There was silence in their backyard. Smirks and furrowed brows all around.

Finally, Paul broke the silence, his tone more serious now. “Plus, she had nowhere to stay, having just run away from an untenable situation. So she stayed here, with me, and we spent the time getting to know each other.”

“Yes. Paul is my savior. It was divine intervention, to be sure.” 

Paul’s friends were stunned. Their mouths agape, with one simultaneous gasp, as if on cue. Dottie’s head shook as she stood up to leave. The others followed like good little sheep.

“Well, you met in a most unusual way, that is for certain. Paul, we do hope you know what you are doing. Um, I guess all I can say is good luck to you. . .you may need it. We have got to get going now.”

*****

Age has the most pernicious effect on our bodies. Once strong and supple, now, at eighty-eight years old, I need a cane to stand. I am unsteady on my feet. Paul had been my rock, all these years. In more ways than one, he saved my life. Now, my rock has gone. I never thought he would go before me.

His friends had abandoned him years ago. It was he and I against the world - my fault, I knew. I felt guilty about it. I still do, even here at his funeral. 

After my disastrous introduction to his neighbors, we didn’t receive a single reciprocal invitation – not one. As the years passed, we were never invited to backyard barbeques, children’s graduations, or weddings. Everyone was nice, polite even, when we bumped into them around the neighborhood. But polite didn’t mean friendly. Suspicions ruled the streets. Dottie and her ilk kept looking for cracks in our relationship – something to prove I was a gold digger, maybe a runaway felon, or worse. The entire lot steered clear of us.

Paul never blamed me. I told him that I would understand if he regretted the way things turned out. He would smile, and tell me things worked out the way they were supposed to. Kismet. He would say that all he needed was me, his angel, who appeared to him one morning in the surf wearing a wedding dress. Then we would laugh about the way we met, and the reaction that followed from his so-called friends.

We spent our years going for long walks on the beach, early in the morning. The beach was our private sanctuary. After we walked, I’d watch the sun rise while Paul fished. In all our years together, he never caught anything. At first, I didn’t understand why he kept trying, why he didn’t get frustrated. But he explained it was the fishing, standing in the water, being on the beach that was important to him. Not the catching. Fishing became our morning ritual, and I grew to like it as much as he did. We truly just enjoyed being together. We were happy.

Shakey, I was resolute as I walked the few steps to where Paul lay in repose. I hated to say good-bye. My hand trembled, from age and nerves, as I place the solitary rose on Paul’s coffin. Tears were forming but I fought them. I was determined not to cry. Not to let them see me cry. I bit the inside of my cheek. It had been years since I used physical pain as a salve against the other kind.

Dottie and the neighbors were all there. Paul’s “friends.” We had lived in close proximity for over fifty years, yet they were virtually strangers to me. They came to pay their respects to Paul, I suppose.  For me, judgement was still written on their respective faces. Nothing had changed in half a century.

As I turned to face the guests, the sun was just setting. I had planned for the service to be in the evening, so Paul could be sent on his journey with the magnificent reds, oranges, and yellows that nature provided. Full circle. I smiled and closed my eyes, remembering that day long ago. 

A calm entered my soul and I knew I would be okay. Paul would watch over me. I didn’t need anything else. 

Why did they come? Was it an obligation? To ease their collective conscience? What they suspected for all these years, didn’t exist. 

I needed to clear the air in order to let go. With Paul lying here beside me, even in repose, he gave me strength. Time to talk. I looked into the disapproving eyes of the strangers who were facing me.

“Is nobody going to say it?”