Solitude

The house clung on the edge of the cliff, steadfast against the howling frigid winds and creeping icy fingers of fog that constantly rolled in from distant oceans. Sometimes the mist skulked amongst the gnarled cypress trees and slinked between the feather reeds that bordered the house, sometimes it was a screaming gale ripping at the shingles on the roof, pelting the walls with rain and begging to be let in. Inside the house was completely quiet and still.

She lived in solitude, not out of a love for the crashing waves that thundered the base of the cliff far below, but because of the hope that the waters would return him to her. His disappearance on the ocean years prior had broken her, shattered everything inside her, smashed all that was precious into dust. Her waking moments were now spent walking the cliffs, ignoring the way the cold, chilling wind had creased her youthful face with weathered skin of an old crone, or pacing the inside of her home.

The house was a gift from him, a surprise after they returned from their overseas honeymoon. Small but cozy, its concrete walls were built to withstand inclement weather. Inside there was but a small kitchen, a living room with a fireplace and single bedroom. To many it would have seemed cramped and tiny, possibly a place to visit and rent for coastal views, but never for long-term residence. She had had her own doubts when he had carried her across the threshold the first time and said, in a voice full of warmth and satisfaction, “We’re home”.

He had filled the small cottage with items from his life prior to her, for he had been a worldly man and traveled well. The walls he adorned with tapestries, paintings, mosaics – some that would glitter in the light of their nightly fire, winking at her with a secret knowledge borne from faraway lands, others that would soak up the beams, radiating warmth in their rich wooden finishes. A fine glazed pot would adorn one corner while a mandolin he had acquired propped up in another. Each piece came with a story, a fantastic tale of an adventure, or misadventure, or some life experience she would never know but would feel involved with from his animated storytelling, the way he would lightly touch her arm and wink, sending a jolt of electric fascination past her shoulders and into the small of her back.

He had been full of what many people would say “life”, but to her was something else, something much grander and larger, a force and passion she had never seen in anyone else. She had always been an isolated soul, living in the town below with her mother as her only companion until her passing. Humans were confusing to her, conversations were downright terrifying. Most of the townsfolk had learned to ignore her until they almost seemed to not even be aware of her presence, to her relief. His attraction to her had been a bit of a spectacle for the town – the loud, mischievous prodigal son of the town falling for the plain, quiet recluse.

Their life together has been a wonder to her – the life he seemed to breathe into her very core, awakening feelings she didn’t know existed within her. Their courtship had been brief, and then he had proposed to her in short order, which she had jumped in with an earnest "yes!". Their few years of marriage in their tiny dwelling on the cliff had been full of fire and tenderness. Her life had overflowed with everything she had wished and hoped for.

And then came the trip to sea, one last adventure he had longed to take. The ship was chartering out of a seaport just down the coast, and the captain, a lifelong friend of his, had promised him a cabin. She had begged in vain for him to stay, panic and terror constricting her chest, crushing the wind inside of her to the point of gasping. He had laughed at her concern, stroking her hair and trying to calm her, saying it was his last voyage of his adventuring career, and that he could not wait to share the new tales with her.

She had pleaded. He had gone anyway.

When the report had come back to town that the ship was lost at sea, the town had mourned together. Several agencies’ coordinated efforts hadn’t turned up a single piece of the ship, no distress calls, no flotsam, no sightings of the ship. Disappeared on a calm, flat sea. Rumors of what had happened ran rampart in town leading to the memorial service, none of which had any evidence to support them. She had refused to attend, denied any possibility of his fire being extinguished. The town had ceremonies for their lost – brothers, fathers, friends – all but her beloved. She knew, deep inside her, in a spot she held her greatest hopes and love, that he would one day return to her.

And so she locked herself in their humble home, rarely venturing outside. To many, the house would have resembled a tomb. No longer did fires crackle with glee, alighting the interior and glowing warm and yellow out of the windows, fighting against the blackness of the ocean night. The house now sat in perpetual dusk, cold and dark. His worldly treasures adorning the walls that had once prompted him into spontaneous tales of grand adventure while she sat in rapt attention with her back to the fire, absorbing his descriptions into her very being, now hung sadly on the wall, collecting dust like an unkept museum collection.

Her days were spent pacing through the house in soft slippers. The house, once full of laughter and thick with love and devotion, now remained quiet, and the slippers would glide silently across the carpet, now wearing thin in the pattern of her steps, like a game trail through the grass behind their house. She preferred silence. Any sound seemed alien and abrasive without the music from his voice.

Round and round the house, endlessly, she would slowly walk the house they shared, thinking of him, wringing her hands so tightly it pained her, twirling the locks of her hair around her fingers until they threatened to pull out completely. Her breathing came in shallow gaps, it was hard to draw a full breath, and the sound of inhaling a deep breath would startle her, making her cringe.

During the strongest storms when Poseidon would hurl himself at the cliff base far below, she could feel the house tremble silently alongside her, as if it too ached for its master to return to her side. Still, she preferred the isolated quietness of her prison, overlooking the sea he had set sail on. It was the closest point to him and wherever he may be that she could physically be a part of and to touch.

To the people residing in the small ocean town far below the cliffs she lived on, she was something of a sad curiosity, the frail wisp of a women, forever pacing silently in her cliff house. She no longer had an interest in the town, nor its people, or anything else but the endless horizon that stretched in front of her or the melancholy feeling that strode beside her, the constant companion at her side.

From time to time, she would pause at the fireplace mantle, picking up one of the few framed photos of the two of them, reliving the moment.

She stopped her pacing and held the photo of their first date, where he had led her, blindfolded, to the cliffside their house now was anchored upon. He had promised to show her something wonderful, something that would change her life. She had begged to take the blindfold off, but he had laughed and made her keep it on.

“It’s time,” he had said, mischief in his voice, uncovering her eyes. There she had looked out, over the sea that stretched in front of them, churning, dancing, and the moonlight splashed across its surface beckoning her towards the infinite horizon. He had looked into her eyes, earnest, squeezing her shoulders, and promised her they would make their lives, their own little world, right here on this cliff. Years later the house was built and they had moved into their little paradise.

She replaced the photo and paced again, trailing her fingers against the cold stone wall, tracing paths through the dust that had collected on his artifacts and prized possessions.

Not much time passed before she had another frame in her hand, a memory of the two of them in the airport before a flight to a tropical paradise. She had been deathly afraid of the thought of flying, had resisted going and begged to stay home where it was safe, but he had charmed her into taking a leap into the unknown.

“It’s time,” he’d said, reassuringly, squeezing her hand and leading her toward the gangway. Her first trip away from the town she’d grown up in. Her first trip anywhere. She had gripped his hand and the inside of this shirt with sweaty palms, her face flush with trepidation and fear, but not wanting to leave his side, wanting to be with him regardless of the fear. It had been the trip of a lifetime, and where he had proposed to her, promising to protect and love her until the end of his days. Accepting his proposal had filled her with a warm joy and peace she had never felt.

The ocean was hammering the shore below. She could feel it under her feet as she replaced the photo and began another lap of her house. Strange to her that a force so strong could move the house and the very earth beneath her yet be unable to break the noiseless canopy that hung throughout her home. She strode for a long time before stopping once more, gently pulling up another well-worn frame – their wedding day photo.

She hadn’t wanted a wedding, but he had insisted. She knew no one in town, had no family. Her only need for the day was him. He had still, despite her protests, rented the town hall and invited anyone who wanted to show. From the back room she had heard the music, laughter, people talking and celebrating. How odd it had been for her, none of them knew her, cared about her. They had come to see the gregarious man they adored, drink the free alcohol and have a meal, and maybe to wonder at the curiosity he was marrying, the ghost woman they heard about but didn’t know. She had been frozen to the chair she sat upon, clinging on for dear life, not wanting to leave the shelter of the room, wanting to stay hidden. They had started the wedding march song twice and she had not been able to move a muscle. She could hear the concerned murmuring, the occasional bark of laughter, cementing her further to her perch.

And then he had opened the door, his big frame silhouetted by the lights behind him. She had thought he would be mad, embarrassed by his bride-to-be’s reluctance to advance their union. Instead, he had smiled at her, and raised his hand to gently caress her face. He reached for her trembling hand, and once hers was in his, she could feel the fear melting away.

“It’s time,” he said quietly, and pulled her slowly to her feet. He had looked into her eyes, and promised that forever would begin in just a few short moments, and they had strode through the door to the altar.

She sighed and replaced the photo on the mantle with a trembling hand. Her shoulders began to shake noiselessly, and she wondered where he might be, why he had to leave her alone in this place, no longer a home but a prison for her memories of him. She slowly began her silent march again when the dark sky flickered brightly through the window, a flash strong enough for her to cover her eyes. She peered out into the darkness at the void over the ocean. Something was out there, she could feel it. She hesitated a moment, then opened the door and stepped outside.

The wind tore at the robe she wore, and the soft belt ripped off and took flight inland. A few steps around the house and she was facing the angry sea. The sky was boiling, white clouds swirling against the inkiness of night. As she stepped, her slippers whipped away to join the belt, and she continued, barefoot, feeling her feet sink into the moist ground of the cliffside.

Her foot snagged a tree root and she stumbled forward, and then gasped as she teetered near the cliff’s edge. She hadn’t realized how close she was to toppling over and down. The black angry rock teeth of the ocean stabbed through the surging waves far below, eager for her to fall into the greedy mouth. A certain death, and an end to her painful solace.

And there he was, floating, impossibly, in front of her. Mist encircled him, blurring the edges from where he began and it ended. He faded in and out of her view, solid for a fleeting moment before dissolving into a gentle sheet of droplets and air, only to take form an instant later.

He gazed down upon her, his eyes reflecting sorrow. Or was it the glittering diamond of two stars in the night sky, winking through the swirling fog and clouds? She couldn’t be sure whether what she was seeing was reality or a fantastical dream, something she desperately wanted to see, but wasn’t there. She was so tired, confused.

“Is…. is it you?” she rasped through a dry throat. She felt foolish, talking to the wind, but a feeling of warmth comforted her against the whipping breeze. The apparition melted away, and reformed. Eyes shined, cold and deep, and arms formed, reaching towards her, beckoning her to him. Her toes gripped into the edge of earth, digging into the razor edge that separated land and space. Her heart thudded in her chest as she spoke again.

“It’s you, isn’t it? You left me, and I’ve waited…all this time,” she sobbed, hot tears sailing off in the wind. “I’ve waited for you.”

Arms disappeared and reformed. He stretched towards her, wispy, beautiful, comforting. The wind no longer filled her ear, and the toiling of the sea god below did not resonate in her feet. She lifted her head, and reached for him.

“It’s time,” he said, voice deep and powerful, his body wafting, rising, curling, flowing in front of her.

She smiled, a feeling of certainty overcoming her, stepped away from the silent house and into the mist.