One Inside the Other

        They had been apart for some time and had only recently resumed an old and dear friendship. Admittedly, there had been moments where he had wondered if he would ever see her again, and supposed that she, likewise, had entertained similar thoughts. It was nice to know a good friendship still existed after all this time, and they each breathed a quiet sigh of relief –

though neither would ever admit it.

        Over the past six months, they had been through thick and thin together, having given emotional support to each other during some trying times – her painful divorce, and the unexpected death of his father. And now that the whirlwind of events was finally over for each of them, the extended holiday weekend would hopefully supply some desperately needed time to relax and recuperate. The fact that they would be spending the time together was an added pleasure, two friends finally taking time to stop and smell the roses, and giving each of them a chance to say, “Thank you for being there when I needed you.”

        They had eagerly awaited the arrival of their mutual escape from reality in much the same way a young child awaited Santa’s arrival at Christmas. The idea of going to Block Island had initially been hers, but one which he had readily agreed with, and the pair soon found themselves on a ferry bound for New Harbor, the fragrance of sea and shore heavy upon a cool morning breeze.

        They huddled by the starboard rail watching Montauk Light disappear in the distance and remembered the last time they had taken this cruise. It had been a one-day trip almost a decade before, when they were still attending college; an all too brief excursion that had prompted them to vow to someday go back for a much longer stay.

        Her mind refocused on the present as she brushed a near-ebony lock back in place and pulled the collar of her jacket tightly about her to shield her from the early morning chill. Innocently, he drew her close for added warmth and she snuggled into him as the brisk, sea breeze continued to blow about them and Laughing Gulls wheeled and cried in the sky above. Within the hour, a hazy silhouette of land began to coalesce on the horizon and, sooner than they had expected, they were docking at a pier in the western marina.

        Locating the historic Old Harbor area and acquiring a room at a nearby bed and breakfast – a quaint old place with brass beds and white tracery latticework – they set off exploring the town proper at an easy pace, making a mental note to rent a pair of mopeds before sundown so as to get an early start in the morning.

        After a leisurely dinner at an old Irish pub, they spent a good portion of the night just walking along the beach, talking about the past: their families, their childhoods, past relationships, life as they once remembered it. They gazed out across the shore, watched as the moon cast its silver coins upon the water and buoys flashed out their warnings to nighttime navigators, and reminisced about days long past.

        The next two days were spent exploring the entire seven-mile expanse of countryside, drinking in the sights, the sounds, the smells that were distinctively Block Island’s. Settler’s Rock. The bluffs beyond Southeast Light, where blackened rocks had been ravaged for ages by a violent sea. The countless number of rustic homesteads that sprung up around every bend of an old country road. They explored the dunes at Sandy Point, where the tide rolled inward along both sides of the narrow peninsula of land – a fascinating, yet unnerving sight to see.

        As their holiday neared its end, they walked along a secluded, almost hidden, strip of beach they had discovered quite by accident at the end of an old nature trail: hushed, save for the unceasing rush of waves, its backdrop a fantasy world of rocky cliffs sculpted by nature. She followed behind him in childlike glee, carefully placing her own steps within his newly created trail of footprints in the wet sand. He smiled, widening his stride in an impish attempt to trip her up, and they both laughed at the other’s determination. They frolicked near the water’s edge like two kids at summer camp, and looked on in fascination as a cormorant dove deep below the ocean’s surface in search of food. Out at sea, local fishermen headed toward shore after a long day of plying their ancient trade.

        Soon, they were enjoying the twilight’s quiet solitude as they watched a shimmering yellow sun slowly descend below the plane of the horizon. Hand in hand, they looked out over the dunes near Chaqum Pond and the old lighthouse, now limned in reds and golds, that stood silhouetted in the distance. Overhead, a pair of Canvasbacks flew inland, returning to the glasslike stillness of a nearby lake.

        He found himself gazing into her hazel-green eyes, the last rays of sunlight glistening upon the gold flecks within, making them look even more alluring than he had remembered. Her lips curved in a half-smile and a sudden, indescribable warmth washed over them both. Delicately, he stroked the perfect curve of her cheek, paused to touch the tender flesh of her lips. He pulled her close and, before either realized the full extent of what was happening, their lips met in the most gentle of unions. She held him tightly, wordlessly, tongue tasting tongue in tactile rush until the world dissolved from view and the star-sprinkled evening sky descended upon them.

* * * * *

        They shared a bed that night. But they shared much more. A gentle touch. A feeling of belonging. Laughter together over silly things. They shared a part of themselves they had never given to each other before. Their hopes. Their dreams.

        On the return trip back to Montauk, they snuggled by the portside rail, her body close to his, her head resting lightly on his shoulder as they leaned against the press of the wind. A whisper of salt breeze took her hair, whipped it about her face. They smiled at an elderly couple’s passing comment about being young again, and watched with mixed emotions as the ferry’s bow angled in toward the twin stone jetties near Gossman’s Dock.

        Before heading homeward, they took one last walk along the beach, shared one last sunset. For a long while, they walked in silence – a friendly sort of silence – and thought about days long past and the promise of the future.

* * * * *

        As time passed, they saw less and less of each other. Admittedly, there had been moments where he had wondered if he would ever see her again, and supposed that she, likewise, had entertained similar thoughts. They had been through thick and thin together, having given emotional support to each other during some trying times. And now that the whirlwind of events was finally over for each of them, they drifted apart; an old and dear friendship falling by the wayside. A romance long gone. The memories of a holiday weekend soon became just that – memories. But memories that would last a lifetime. Hazy-vignetted recollections of times long passed. Of two friends finally taking time to stop and smell the roses. And a sandy beach far away where two trails of footprints led off into the distance, one inside the other.

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