Upwards

It was like this.  A make or break holiday by the seaside.  You and me in a car, stop starting down the narrow, verdant lanes. The near hollow ways of south Devon.

I remember the long shadows caused by the hedgerows and the sudden, blinding flashes of sunshine as we turned corners and halted to let another car pass.  At those moments, I’d sit up straighter in the passenger seat so I could see the tiny, bright flowers growing in the green.  Dogwood, harebells, traveller’s joy, bastard balm.

We weren’t talking much and it would be good to remember the quiet as companionable, but I’m not sure it was.  I remember I felt bored and we were definitely aimless in our decision to drive until we found something to interest us.  We’d been driving a long time.

Every so often, I’d look at the profile of your face.  You had your neutral, driving expression on.  Years ago, I used to ask you what you were thinking, but this had become something I asked less and less.  Besides, I knew what your answer would be. “I’m thinking about a myriad of things.” An impenetrable, isolating response.

The road had widened slightly and suddenly the air through the half opened window transformed.  It became sharper and animated with ozone as we neared the sea.  It’s funny how you can often sense the sea before you see it – like the vast expanse of water calls to the water in our own bodies.

Over a rise in the road, we saw it.  And do we ever fail to gasp at the sea’s ancient, blue loneliness?

The sky had become overcast and heavy.  We parked in the car park at the top of the cliffs and I sorted jumpers and scarves while you went to the toilet.  I was hoping for the mysterious look of the French lieutenant’s woman, but I’m sure I missed it with my hair catching in my sunglasses and my shabby shawl.  Or at least, you didn’t look like you’d noticed anything about what I was wearing.

We stood at the top of the path, leading down to the beach, me leeward of you so the breeze didn’t buffet me.  You still had your uses.

Children and dogs were playing on the sand with that child/animal immersion in the moment that we can lose as we get older. That we’d lost.

Then it happened.  I was looking at the horizon, the disappearing line where sky and water mingle. Everything was slightly golden grey in the sun breaking through the clouds.  The wind was becoming stronger, prompting my vision to seem as though everything was frenetic dancing.  I heard the drone of an aeroplane and noticed the glint of the metal on its wing as the plane appeared on the horizon and the sun caught it.

Then I heard the drone sound break its consistency and I saw the plane dive fast and disappear in to the sea.  After that, I saw nothing but the cresting white of the waves and heard only the disinterested barks of dogs and the wild screams of children.

***

No, it wasn’t like that at all.  There was no make or break; we were solid, not a question of that.  Not a doubt.

I can’t tell you how pleased I was to be able to spend some time with you.  We didn’t need to talk, we just thought the same things.  Words seemed redundant when we were together on a deep, heart level.

We’d chosen Devon because of its meandering roads and the sense that you could drive without the need to get anywhere.  Just you and me, for as long as we wanted in the car.

I wish you’d asked me what I was thinking, I would have told you.  I was thinking of you. As it always was when I was with you, you had the capacity to sweep every thought from my mind. Wipe it clean, apart from your lips, your smell, your eyes.

When we’d stopped the car to look at the sea, you were so beautiful.  You never looked studied or obvious, just always natural in the moment.  And that’s something I didn’t think we’d lost – that ability to live in the moment.

I’d stood by you to protect you from the wind and I wish I could have protected you too from seeing the plane fall into the sea.  You shouldn’t have had to see it.

In the silence after the plane disappeared. I saw nothing but the sadness and surprise on your face when I turned away from the horizon to look at you.

***

Afterwards, as emergency vehicles gathered and the sand below bustled with people and activity, I only saw the gap where the plane had been.  A gap in the sea and a gap in the sky.  An absence that something should have occupied.

I remember looking as far out to sea as I could and feeling its vastness and its threat.  I thought of smooth, grey pebbles on the shore and how everything becomes eroded eventually. About the gaps in us, where I used to be. The space I used to occupy.

***

Afterwards, as emergency vehicles gathered, I saw how quickly life continues.  How it moves to fill a gap and I’d looked out to sea and saw its reassuring, rhythmic nature. The certainty of its tides.

I thought of sea grasses and how secure they are, held by the strength of their roots in the sand. And I thought of us and how even the horror of what we’d just seen would bind us tighter.  How all experiences would eradicate any gaps and make us one.

***

Back in the car, I put on the CD to break the silence.  It was a blast from the past – Blue Oyster Cult’s ‘Don’t Fear the Reaper’ – and the words sang out.

Come on baby... Don't fear the reaper
Baby take my hand... Don't fear the reaper
We'll be able to fly... Don't fear the reaper
Baby I'm your man...

I looked over at you, saw you were smiling and just for a moment, I wondered if we were listening to the same song.

***

Back in the car, you put on the CD to get us in the mood for driving back home.  It was a blast from the past - Blue Oyster Cult’s ‘Don’t Fear the Reaper’ – and the words sang out.

Come on baby... Don't fear the reaper
Baby take my hand... Don't fear the reaper
We'll be able to fly... Don't fear the reaper
Baby I'm your man...

I looked over at you, saw you were crying and just for a moment, I wondered if we were listening to the same song.

***