Tide Passes

They lie together on the grey and white striped beach chaise and stare at the ocean. He leans against the back of the chaise, legs sprawled in front of him, his tousled, dark hair drying in the sun. 

           Her back is against his bare chest with her legs stretched out between his. He folds his arms around her and she clasps her hands in his.  

           It's late afternoon, and the tide is coming in. With each breaking wave, water swirls around the base of the chaise and races out again to leave small gullies at the aluminum supports and pockmarks in the sand.

           She sighs and takes a deep breath. "This is the life."    

           "Sure is, hon," he says.

           "Luck. It's all luck," she says. "Life is luck. You're lucky or you're not."

           "I guess we're the lucky ones," he says. 

           "I'm the lucky one. If I listened to you I never woulda bought the first ticket. If I listened to you we wouldn't be here now. But I believed. I always believed. You gotta be in it ta win it."

           "But the chances. So slim," he says. "And it's so hard ta earn a coupla bucks. I kept figgerin' up all the money I thought you were just throwin' away all the years I was breakin' my ass in that truck. But you were right. Easy street from now on." 

           He closes his eyes. "All the years. Lonely, so lonely. Chewin' up the road. Rackin' up the miles.  Havin' crazy conversations in my mind with you. All I could think about was comin' home. I figgered we needed to save every penny if we could ever buy a house, have a coupla kids."

           He kisses the top of her head, platinum blonde hair damp and smelling of the sea. "Well, it's different now."

           She turns her head sideways, tilts her chin up and looks at him. "Sure is," she says.

           He smiles down at her. "We're rich,"  We can do whatever we want. We can buy a big house, have those kids we was always planning."

           "Yeah, it's different." She turns her eyes back to the ocean. "'I can do whatever I want, go wherever I want. Paris. I always dreamed about goin' ta Paris."

           He is startled. "But you never mentioned Paris."

           The tide is coming further in now, swirling around the back legs of the chaise and reaching for the seat.

           She sits up and swings her feet down onto the wet sand. As the tide rushes out, she watches the water run over and around her feet.

           "Why would I mention Paris?" she says. "It was only a dream. All day, takin' orders." In an affected voice, mimicking, "Scramble two? Yes, sir! More coffee? Right away, ma'am!" There is bitterness in her voice. "Comin' home smellin' like bacon grease and fries with my feet killin' me. Well, it's not a dream anymore."

           "And... after Paris?" he asks with hesitation in his voice, as if he dreads the answer.

           "Who knows? London...Rome...all them pretty little islands with palm trees."

           "Babe, sure it's a lottta money ta us but it ain't that much," he argues. It can go pretty fast. We should think about spendin' it on things that'll change our lives. Things that last."

           "Hmmph," she says. "I ain't never been outta Ashtabula till this week. That sure changed my life."

           "But..but it's our home," he says now confused, distressed. "It's where we're from. We got roots there. I thought we wuz gonna live there the rest of our lives "

           She points at him with her index finger. "Your life, maybe." She points to herself. "Not mine."

           "Listen," he says. The words tumble out more quickly. "Take a trip. Get it out of your system. Hell, I'll go with you. We'll both go to them places you just said. Then we'll come back, buy that house, I'll get my own rig, or...or maybe just start a little business in town and I can come home every night."

           She shakes her head. "Not my dream anymore. Besides, it's me that won the money. You were always against it. So I figger it's me that says how ta spend it. And I say I'm never goin' back ta Ashtabula. I got nuthin' in Ashtabula."

           He looks at her with questioning eyes. "You got me."

           As if she doesn't hear him, "And now I got somethin'."

           "Money ain't everything."

           "It's freedom. Money makes me free."

           "What about us?"

           "Us? What about us?"

           "What about our dreams? Our life together?"

           "Aw, we ain't together but half a week every two weeks. What kinda together is that?"

           "But I thought we loved each other."

           "Sure, I love you. But I got a new love."

           "What's that?"

           Patiently, slowly, she repeats, "Like I said, it's freedom."

           She stands and stretches, suppressing a yawn. "Sleepin' all day if I want. Givin' orders, not takin' em." In what she imagines is high-class speech, "Waiter! Another bottle of your best champagne!" In a deferential tone, " Certainly, madam. Right away!"

           He rests his head in his hands. "I don't know who you are anymore."

           "That was always me inside. Now it's me outside."

           He looks up and his eyes search her face as if looking for a doorway to her mind, one that he thought he had opened long ago. Now he realizes that he had seen a false front, like a piece of scenery on a stage set with a door inviting you into a beautiful house that opens to an empty place.

           The waves are coming in to wash further up on the beach. The water no longer recedes back into the ocean but makes ankle-deep pools in the sand. The sun disappears behind a cloud.

           She looks up, hugs herself, and shivers. She grabs the towel that hangs on the aluminum support end of the chaise and wraps it around herself.

           He gets up and brushes sand from his now-dry khaki swim trunks.  He pulls on a white t-shirt, slips into flip-flops, folds up the chaise and carries it under one arm. He turns to her, waiting.

           She ties a red-flowered sarong around her yellow bikini bottom and pulls the towel closer around her shoulders. She wiggles into sandals and starts back up the beach.

           He walks beside her. They are not holding hands.

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