Thoughts of Home

It was nearly sunset when I pulled myself out of the water and onto the dock. I hadn't thought to bring a towel, so I stretched myself out on the planks, arms crossed, eyes closed, and let the failing light do what it could. 

I had never been one to swim alone—especially in the sea—but today was a Thursday—one of those middle of road Thursdays of extreme mediocrity—and after dreaming my way through half the day in the red heat, I had finally given in and dived off the end of the dock. It was fine for everyone else to stay in the house, but I had had enough of the house and everywhere else there was only the torrid heat and the sun. 

The water had been green and warm, but at the bottom there were cold spots. I had spent most of my time drifting through these cold spots, blowing the air out of my lungs until they were empty and then I had waited in the still-silence of the water until my body had sunk down into the sand. I had worn a pair of diver’s goggles as well so that at least I would know before a shark tried to make off with one of my legs. But there had not been any sharks—there never were, really—and my only friends had been the snappers and damselfish. 

The salt water left my throat feeling raw after the swim, and so I left the dock and the dark spot my wet body had made on the wood to find some water in the house. Inside, the air was cool and the tiled floor felt slick and cold beneath my feet. There was a note on the table; Dad and Mom had gone to dinner and I saw that the girls were shut up in their own rooms. I might as well have been home alone. 

And that was fine with me. 

I grabbed a glass of water and made my way back out to the dock. My phone was on the table beside the door and at first I passed it—I was nearly through, with only one foot in the house—but then I doubled back and took it. 

For the first few minutes, I managed to sit on the dock and watch the water. It was enough, but only for a time. Then I felt that oh-so-familiar itch to reach in my pocket and check what the time was or what the weather was—just for the sake of it. 

My shorts were still soaked and I had set the phone a yard to my right. 

Still, I tried to watch the water a while longer, and think about the depth and breadth of the ocean and how great the sunset was—vacation thoughts, the stuff you are supposed to mull over after your family breaks the bank to get away—but instead all I could think of was what must be going on at home, about work and how it felt after a long night to walk back in the summer air, and again and again of a girl—The Girl—and how sick I was of it all.

“I ought to toss you in the water,” I said to the phone conversationally. “You’re the root of all evil. You know that, right.” 

But it was never really true. There was always a guy. And there was always a girl. And more often than not the numbers became confused so that the math didn’t add up right. Then there were several others on the sidelines and try as you might it was awfully hard to come out of the game without someone feeling as though they had been shorted. 

It worked for a while, trying to find these vacation thoughts so that I would feel freed from everything. But it was tough work and more akin to conjuration than anything else. There was no payoff. I sat on the dock and watched the sunset, but every time I felt as though, perhaps, just maybe, I was getting somewhere, the at-home thoughts came back and then there was the gnawing pain in my stomach and a tightening sensation in my head. If only I could smell the salt in the air and wait—like so many others—for that green flash sunset…. “If you can catch a green flash then surely nothing was wasted. It was a good vacation.” 

There really was no forcing it. 

I shot the phone another glance and had the insane notion to kick it into the water, as though that would solve anything. I went with the safer option instead, and, leaning over, picked up the phone.

It was nearly dark now and I lay back against the dock and scrolled through my feed. 

What are we up to today, Taylor?

Dinner date and a ball game, apparently. 

“That’s a lot of pictures.”

And it was that way everyday. There was always something to be done. 

I tried to convince myself that I had only chanced on the pictures. Someone had texted me, and so I said my “I’m doing well,” and “how are you?” lines back and then I found some videos—these are why I am here—and for a few moments it was as though it wasn’t all about her. 

Then the phone died and that was that. I set it down beside me and watched the night sky. There was no use in pretending anymore. It was fully dark now and the stars were out. Back home you could often see them well enough. Sometimes they were clear and bright, but even then there weren’t so many. There were far more stars here. 

I tried at having vacation thoughts about the stars for a change, but by now I had lost the rhythm of it—even if before I had only had the faintest semblance of one. Instead, I lay on the dock and felt hollow. It was an odd sensation, feeling empty, because as awful as I felt, in the bitterness of the moment I was intensely aware of my own self, as though I had reached some kind of broken clarity. 

What shall I feel tomorrow, I wondered. 

It was Friday tomorrow, and we would drive back up to Miami on Saturday and stay in a hotel until Sunday morning. Then it was a short hop north—two or three hours, less so surely on the way back—until I could have my at-home thoughts without the guilt of being on vacation. 

“That will be nice, won't it?” I said, and then I thought, it is the easiest thing to be a pessimist. 

A short while later I heard the car pull up to the front of the house. I stayed on the dock and listened until the sound of the tires digging through the gravel faded. I knew that if I looked back at the house I would see Mom and Dad come in through the door and the girls would come out to see them. Then Mom would come outside and call, “Will, are you here?” and I would walk back up to the house and then everything would seem normal and just as it was supposed to be. 

But I didn’t turn and instead I lay and watched the stars, feeding on that hollow space in the pit of my stomach and wondering all the while why I loved this pain so much.