Bring Her Back to Me
A work of short fiction
I open my eyes. I sigh and turn to the side. Matt is still here, in our bed; usually he goes to bed later than I do, but last night he insisted on staying with me until I fell asleep. I smile, and for a moment, I feel something I have missed. I feel happy, I think — a little at least. It’s for a moment. It’s for a fleeting moment, and the feeling dies away with it.
The early morning’s soft pink color tints the bedroom to make it seem as warm and as comfortable as my mother’s womb — and that is where I have been yearning to return. No, I have been yearning to go even further. I see the waves outside our facing window as they crash on the shore, and although I’m not sure where they travel from, I wish I could go there. Maybe I could meet my sister on the way; only then, I’d come back to the coast with her.
Matt and I are rented out this beach house for two weeks. We arrived here yesterday. It’s a beautiful place to stay when everyday realities become impossible to live in. Frustratingly, however, even the most magnificent marvels don’t seem capable of keeping my melancholy at a further distance than that of my liking.
I step in the sun. My bare feet burn on the hot sand though the pain doesn’t alter my pace. It’s a splendid day, of course. But I cannot feel its light. I haven’t fished for a month — since the day my sister went into the sea — yet having my rod and my tackle box on me gives me the impression it’s been a lifetime since I last baited.
There’s an open cabin nearby and a boat in it. Normally I board one, but the last time I did rendered the mere sight of it far from normal. So, I walk on. The waves gasp and run to me. They kiss my feet in a cacophony of sobs, apologizing for what happened several weeks ago, assuring me there was nothing they could have done and begging me not to abandon them. I’ve missed the sea; I believe I can promise I won’t.
My fishing line croaks as it stretches to splash into the water. I wait for the bait to lure any small fish. Being at sea I used to anticipate larger, but size has never mattered to me anyways. Typically, as I wait, my mind is not one to wander. The steady pulse of the glowing sea and the clouds’ leisurely stride across the crimson horizon tend to help me focus. Then again, today is not typical. Time passes though, and I do catch a few fish.
“How’re the waves treating you?” Matt asks, and I jump.
I glance at him. He frowns in distress upon noticing my reaction — I’m not focused, I’m not here. Fishing grounds me; it makes me alert — or at least it should. He squeezes my shoulder, aware of the flood that has broken in my mind, but he doesn’t speak a word. I know Matt communicates better by touch. I also know he’s waiting for me to talk. I always have a lot to say, no matter how much I try to empty my head.
“I’m not sure,” I barely move my mouth. “Whenever I feel a pull, I get the urge to call out to Demi, as if she’s tugging on the hook, playing with me. Whenever a wave rises slightly higher than the others, I look out for the emergence of her face, as if in my depths I believe the sea is doing its best to bring her back to me.”
Matt sighs — he is speechless, of course, and it’s okay. I barely notice his silence as the water smacks my shins. In the distance, I see it ripple and sparkle under the soft breeze that’s arisen. The sea air is clean — it reminds me of the scent of my sister’s hair, diffusing into my face after I shampooed and dried it, though the fish never really left her golden ringlets. My heart flutters; I gasp. Have I just felt her pass me by?
© Andrée Khoury 2020. All Rights Reserved.
If you liked this piece, you might also enjoy my previous posts:
