Dear Girl at The Ocean
There’s something about a slum that makes it quaint.
Maybe not the fact that it’s dirty or trashy, but that it’s “home”. At least that’s what I think. You begin to overlook the putrid smells of urine and fried eggs rolls and it becomes like a pleasant cologne or the way a lover’s pillow smells. Not clean, but familiar. And the slum were I live is reminiscent of Hell’s Kitchen. Plenty of good food if you’re a townie and know how not to get stabbed on the way to some sketch Thai food. And the bars are always cranked full of people looking to get a cheap buzz or shack up for the evening.
“No cover!”
“Five dollarYou-Call-Its!”
“FREEEEEEE drinks for the ladies!”
“Two-dollah jello shots!”
I love it here. And I’ve never left. What more could the world offer me when I have everything I want right here?
But this was all before the day a friend introduced me to Jack.
Jack and I met at a bar where I was trying to land some proper church girls. Nothing screams “checkmate” like an insecure church girl searching for a man to fill the hole in her soul. I’ll be your Jesus, baby. Deep down I figured they knew I was the devil in disguise, and even Jack knew exactly what I was up to. He didn’t approve, but he didn’t mind my delinquent behavior the way church folk snub their nose at you.
Jack was somewhat of a local celebrity and people either loved or hated him when you brought up his name. Some people claimed he was a phantom like the Great Gatsby. They’d heard of him but had never seen him, so they assumed he was just a local folk legend. I had heard he loved spending time in the slums (which makes sense why I met him there), but affluent, white, upper-class yacht owners claimed they rubbed shoulders with him all the time too. I guess since he owned this insanely elaborate beach house nearby that made sense.
Oddly enough, the night I met him, he invited me to his beach house. The friend I was with had visited his house and apparently IT. WAS. AWESOME. To be honest, though, the thought of a complete stranger inviting people he just met to his giant house kinda screamed “slasher horror flick.” I’d heard the local folklore too about him being a cult-like leader, and when people go to his house they never show up again. Maybe they just kept partying there. I didn’t know, so I erred on the side of caution and declined the initial invitation.
A week later I met Jack at a different bar, and he offered to buy me a drink. Still skeptical, I declined. What if this dude tried to slip a roofie in my drink?
Our relationship developed like this for weeks until one day I felt comfortable enough to take him up on his offer to spend the weekend at his beach house. He invited a few other people too, so I didn’t feel like I was gonna get shanked in the shower Pyscho-style if we all went. The drive to the house was incredible and even though it was 90 degrees outside I left the windows open so I could breathe in the saltwater rolling off the wind. There’s these little moments in your life where you catch this “glimpse”. I guess that’s what I call it. But the “glimpse” is this moment when everything in the world is right. The music playing on your car stereo. The way the wind smells. The sun caressing your skin. And in those spaces in-between you catch this “glimpse” of infinite joy. But it only lasts for a few seconds, and after it’s gone, you keep trying to chase that feeling again. Invite it back. Beg it not to leave. But it’s gone, and you settle back into your seat and keep moving on with the rhythm of life. Driving to Jack’s house and walking inside his elegant beach home with new friends I’ll admit I caught that “glimpse” a few times. I guess that’s how I knew something about Jack was special.
We spent the weekend laughing till, at one point, a snot bubble formed and popped in front of everyone which only made us laugh harder. I spent half a day body surfing and got my own personal version of a Neti-Pot with the amount of saltwater forcing its way up my nose when I would get dragged by the undertow. The other half of the day Jack and I would lay on the beach catching rays and talk life, girls, and careers. When I fell asleep, he started coals on the grill and cooked up a feast. It was easily the best weekend ever.
But the slum was home and when the weekend ended we all picked up and left. Jack’s home and the weekend away from the slum seemed almost like a dream sequence from a movie. Plus I was more interested in one of the girls I had met there and followed her back to the slums. We ended up getting involved, but it didn’t last long, and before long I was back at the bars looking for another conquest.
Jack and I continued to hang out and over time, lunches, and weekend trips to his home we quickly became best friends. However, we would always lose touch once I started dating a new girl. That might have been my fault, though. I think he got tired of hearing me say, “Jack! I’m telling you bro! This girl’s different! I think she’s the one!” He would do that frozen smile people do when they’re uncomfortable and don’t know what to say. Like how Mike Myers did when Kanye West said, “George Bush hates black people” after Hurricane Katrina on national television.
One night after exclaiming the same sentiments to Jack I got black-out drunk and ended up in a fight with my girlfriend. The next morning I rolled over in my bed and caught a glimpse of something unfamiliar, yet familiar, aIl at once. It was a smell. Saltwater drifting over the wind. Jack had taken me to his place after my embarrassing debacle and had left some aspirin and a note saying, “Meet me at the beach when you wake up. Breakfast is waiting.” I found the swim trunks I kept at Jack’s house and slipped into them, drained a bottle of water and four aspirin, and made my way to the beach.
Jack had a fire going and grinned when I came up.
“Jack, it’s a little early for breakfast man, and are you cooking fish???”
“Mahi-Mahi. Fish tacos I figured. Your favorite.”
“For breakfast?”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m hungover.”
“This should do the trick then!”
Jack was right. Upon the first bite, I thought I was going to vomit, but after getting some food in my stomach, I felt better.
“I want to talk to you about something.”
“hmmmmmm….waz thadt?” I asked Jack between bites.
“Are you happy? Like, are you happy dating the girls you meet in the slums? Or even the girls you meet here at the beach?”
I stop eating, setting my plate down slowly, and finish swallowing. This was a new question Jack and I had never broached.
“I mean….I dunno. I guess. They’re fun. And dating leads to marriage, so I guess you could say I’m trying to find the girl I’m going to marry one day. Hell! You can be my best man, Jack!”
“You’re avoiding the question….” he says while cocking his head slightly to the side.
“Well…..hmmmm…” I paused for a bit to weigh my words, “If we’re gonna be honest…..not really. I know the relationships will go well for a while, but I know I got issues too, and usually the girls do also. It’s just hard to be content in relationships or even friendships that aren’t fresh. Eventually, someone is going to hurt someone. So maybe I date around as a defense mechanism. Other times I do it and surround myself with people because I get lonely. I think all of us are afraid of dying lonely or unmarried or without friends. But….the weird part is that even in my relationships I often end up lonely. The world is a lonely place. I get introspective. I tend to think people hate or just tolerate me. Sometimes even you, Jack.”
The pain in his eyes after hearing my thoughts cut me to the core. I had said the one thing that could hurt him in this world even with all his wealth and influence.
“You know that’s not true. We’re best friends. Nothing will ever change that.”
“I know, Jack. But it doesn’t change the way I feel at times.”
After a long silence where I awkwardly poke at my food, Jack finally pipes up. “What if you lived here and stopped worrying about girls and crappy friends for a time period? What if I proved to you we’ll always be best friends? You know, until you actually feel it?”
“Youdth leth me live ath the beacftch houth???” My mouth full of mahi tacos again.
“Definitely!”
I swallow my food and exclaim, “Beach parties every day, son! I’m in!” Jack chuckles, slaps my shoulder and says, “Sure.”
For a year I’m happy living at Jack’s and Jack is the best roommate I’ve ever had. The food is great. The beach is incredible. But……..
One night I hear the siren’s call luring me to shipwreck. And it’s so overwhelming and intoxicating. I’ve been tossing around in bed, thinking, dwelling…you know…being introspective and lonely. So I throw the covers off and listen to the siren’s song on the balcony. The more I listen to the song the more it gets louder, and louder, and louder. The song just so happens to originate in the slum, and I will stare at those old and familiar city light’s for a long time before exclaiming, “Screw it,” and tossing on clothes to head back to my old home. Jack is there that night, but I avoid him. I meet a girl. We start dating. And the city slum becomes home again.
Until my relationship fails.
Until I’m lonely again.
Until I hurt.
Until I snub Jack (even though he keeps my room open).
Until…
Until…
Until…
I have no intention of going back to Jack’s but one evening I find myself back at the beach gazing at a bonfire. I’m not sure why I came here, but I remember the way it felt like home for that year. Maybe it’s something about the flames and orange hue that seems inviting and reminiscent of the good times, so I walk towards it. As I get closer, the fire gets larger until I’m sure astronauts in space can see the roaring fire on the beach. Once I’m a few steps away, I can see that Jack is standing next to the fire tossing more logs on.
“Hi, Jack…” I mumble sheepishly.
“Take a seat. Not too close. It’ll melt your face.”
Jack opens the cooler and hands me a drink while we sit in the sand and stare at the ocean. The waves are peaceful and gentle while they lap at the beach. It reminds me of all the things I loved about living here.
“Was it worth it?”
I stare silently at the ocean wishing it would drown me instead of having to tell him the truth.
“………..no.”
Jack stands. “Follow me. I want to show you something.”
We begin hiking up a cliff overlooking the ocean until we reach its peak. From the peak, you can see the vastness of the ocean, Jack’s beach home, and the city lights of the slum. Jack stands quietly at the edge of the cliff while the wind whistles around him. It’s a good five minutes before he says anything but then he begins:
“A lot of men and women have set out on adventures to conquer these waters. For centuries they’ve got in ships and explored the unknown. Some finding treasures and new worlds, others pirating and stealing gold. Some of their very lives and memories lay at the bottom of Davy Jone’s Locker. The sea can turn some men into weathered veterans, while others who sought adventure the sea claims. But each one sought adventure at the very expense of their life. But the slum? The slum is even more dangerous. Because it’s safe to you. It’s familiar. And just like the sea, it can snatch your life one dark alley on a wrong night. For everyone living in the slum or who wants to explore the sea, fear will always keep them shore bound or safe in the familiar if they don’t face it. Those that choose to embrace the unknown even at the expense of their life; they actually find life. You’re afraid of being lonely. That you’ll never meet someone. And you bounce from relationship to relationship. Friend. Girlfriend. Doesn’t matter. And you accept the slum as home or begin to miss it because you can’t possibly fathom an adventure here at the beach, or sailing this very sea because it just might kill you.”
Tears well in my eyes and I say, “Jack……I never meant to hurt you….I’m sorry I keep making our relationship all about me. And you’re right that I’m scared. I’m scared I’ll end up alone and bitter.”
Jack turns, gently smiles and then hugs me. “Hey, it’s cool. We’re best friends, remember? And listen, from now on when you’re lonely just come wake me up, or go downstairs and make some coffee and we’ll talk. I’m here for you. Don’t forget that.”
We stare at the sea a little more, and I think about those that have sailed out for adventure leaving behind friends, family, or even loved ones.
“Hey, Jack?”
“Yeah, bud?”
“You think I’ll ever meet someone? Like for real?”
Jack has a stupid grin on his face. “Yeah, buddy….I think you will. You might just even meet her here on this beach.”
“You think so???”
“Yeah, but I think you need to let that go. Do whatever you have to or it will always be the thing that haunts you and keeps you from adventure because you’ll always be chasing that instead of real life.”
I take Jack’s advice. The next day I write a letter, put it in a bottle, and toss it into the sea. It reads:
Dear Girl at the Ocean,
I don’t know if I’m ever going to meet you, but I hope you’re out there. Maybe one day we can walk on this beach together. Holding hands. But for now, just know I’m going on an adventure with Jack. He thinks we’ll meet someday, and I hope that’s true, but Jack’s crafty and smooth with his words and wisdom. Anyway, I love you. Just want you to know that.
I spend three years sailing the ocean with Jack, going on adventures, laughing, exploring, surfing, catching waves and rays, and I love every moment. But sometimes that tinge of loneliness and the siren’s call will keep me up on the deck at night. I take Jack’s advice and wake him up whenever it happens, and we talk through it. Sometimes for weeks on end. But through it all, I continue to sail with Jack until one day we show back up at his beach house for a break before our next adventure.
“Someone else is coming with us this go-round,” Jack says. “Can you go down to the beach and wait for them?”
“Sure,” I tell him. “Who is it?”
Jack just grins and says, “Just go to the beach, alright?”
It’s sunset, and I find myself kicking sand and running through the waves. I wonder who it is? I tell myself. As a million thoughts are racing through my head something catches the fading light and reflects in the surf. I waltz over to the shiny object and see it’s a bottle. With a letter in it. Is this my letter? I can’t help but think it is until I pop the cork and read:
Dear Boy at the Ocean,
I don’t know if I’m ever going to meet you, but Jack says I will…….
My eyes race back and forth over the letter wondering who, how, when, WHERE? But that thought process is quickly interrupted when I see a silhouette in the distance walking towards me. The fading sunlight turns her auburn hair a fiery bronze red, and she’s holding something in her hand. As she get’s closer my eyes stretch to see what she’s holding until she gets close enough for me to read, “Dear Girl at the Ocean.” I grin from ear to ear as I let the letter I’m holding catch the wind and get blown into the sea, and then I walk forward and reach for her hand……
“It would seem that Our Lord finds our desires not too strong, but too weak. We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased.”
-C.S. Lewis
Originally published on heartsupport.com on June 20, 2014.
Ben Sledge is storyteller who enjoys writing fiction and non-fiction. He is a wounded combat veteran, father, and C.S. Lewis enthusiast. He often travels around the country speaking on a variety of topics. His past speaking engagements have ranged from schools, organizations, businesses, to even the United States Joint Special Operations Command (JSOC) . If you are interested in having him speak at your event please contact Barrett Cordero at BigSpeak Speakers Bureau — (BarrettC@bigspeak.com).
