Day 5

I think it's day five. The sun and salt water have washed away most of what I wrote on the side of the boat. But  I'll write down what I remember in this notebook. I had forgotten about it. It was in a big bag, in my backpack, tied down behind me. I normally don't bring much out on the water, but this wasn't one of my ordinary early morning two-hour outings.

 I will attempt to tell you the short version of my my story, but know that I'll probably start to add too many details. I know that I will, but I also know that I'll catch myself and then once again attempt to be really concise and abbreviate as much as possible. There is one chapter, actually more than that which has been omitted at the character's request. So that should make things considerably shorter than it might have been, so you're already a little ahead of the game. OK, here goes:

Twelve years ago there was someone who turned my life upside down. . Let's call her Marilyn.
I tend to describe her as the one who brought me back to life and nearly killed me at the same time.
It's not a very original story-
An old guy, just separated after nineteen years of marriage falls for a beautiful young woman, half his age.
She hadn't meant to do any damage. In fact it was her exceptionally sweet and empathetic nature, and her desire to remain friends later and help him feel better which made matters worse.

But the ones who really did him in and rendered him hopeless were two who came along later. You can learn more about them in Low Tide Desparados. That story also includes a number of birds with broken wings who somehow sensed that they'd be safe around him, for quite a long time. One party would of course eventually fall for the other. The order never seemed to matter because the other never felt the same way, at least not until those first flames had died down nothing but embers. There are a number of repetitious chapters about a depressing combination of true love and bad timing. His history seemed to keep repeating itself, but this story is entirely different. This story begins after the cumulative effects of these serialized heartbreaks have left their mark upon him.

In spite of the fact that he wasn't "Looking" (for even the most casual of encounters) he was capable of being a big flirt, and could become carelessly playful if or when the right or wrong person engaged him. He normally did not initiate these adventures. It was almost always a kind of automatic reaction.
Most of the time he was very careful, and yes, professional in his dealing with nearly all women,
young and old, unless they somehow engaged his play response.

Inwardly, he was rather serious and not inclined to emotional or physical flights of fancy.
He never expected anything from any one of them,
not even the most overtly and obviously willing potential partners.
He feared, No, He knew
that eventually they'd come to their senses
and realize that they'd grown tired of him-
That his true nature was not exciting or sexy at all-
That in fact he was rather boring. Wanting to listen to TED Talks or watch YouTube videos on preparing to live off the grid or something equally ridiculous.
He didn't have any faith that anyone would want to be with him for any extended period of time.
Being the partner of a writer who usually wants to be left alone is not that much fun for most people.
And he suspected that most of them would cease to captivate his attention after a while as well,
and then he'd really want to be left alone.

It might come as a surprise after hearing the previous lines
that there were several women out there in the world whom he thought of quite fondly-
with some he would even use the word love,
without any reservation or need to qualify or explain.
That was unusual because he often wanted to qualify or explain something.
But not true with love. Love just flowed. It was there or it wasn't.
In his case though, it just didn't flow in both directions a the same time.
But once in a while, not often,  but in a few very rare, now and then instances it had-
A time or two, when he'd least expected it. That's the short version of the story.

Memory of Night One

I had paddled out further than usual, trying to prolong the sunset. I stopped when the sun sank beyond my view. I remember being still for a long time, I watched peacefully as the light slowly faded away. Before long, I realized that I was being pushed back toward the shore and would have to start paddling soon. I noted the positions of the first few stars and headed in the direction of Catalina Island.

After a while I forgot about the stars and simply paddled straight into the swells. It was comforting to take them properly- each rise and fall a small victory. Even though it was dark, I could still sense the oncoming waves and deal with them. I had hoped to be more calm, but I was a little uneasy. I had been out here I think about four hours and was getting tired. I rested as fully as possible between each ascent. Aside from the ache of fatigue, I could also feel the tension which had built up in my shoulders. I couldn't turn back and head for the shore. I needed to face the waves. Having my back to them would not work. I'd be swamped in no time, or at least that's how it felt. The sea had now taken control of my fate.



Copyright 2010 Craig Parks