Almost

Out the window of his car he reached out his arm to make the motion of an ocean wave. The salty wind flew fast raising the hairs on his arm, as the other hand held a firm grip on the ‘2’ of the steering wheel. The sky was tinted pale blue as we drove up the coast, the sun too shy to greet the day. It had been some time since we last saw each other so I had kind of forgotten who he was, but his kind words always had a way of reminding me, the same words that also reminded me why I had let so much time go by without calling him.

For the most part we sat in silence. Time had a way of never touching what we had; recalibration was never necessary. We drove like this for a few hours, no destination, nowhere to be. As I lied back in the passenger seat with my eyes closed I could feel his eyes on me with his mouth in a crooked half smile.

He parked the car facing west as the sun set. The ocean water was still, reflecting the colors of the warm orange sky. I didn’t know where we were but I knew we were far from anywhere I had been before. He retracted his left arm from the window and the life in his eyes grew empty as he looked at me and said, “I’m afraid of the ocean.” He said this so simply, then sat for a while, in silence and repose. The gentle lull of the waves, the gravel beneath the tires, the birds conversing: it was verse, verse, chorus, repeat. This carried time as we watched the sky change and as I watched him change.
"You know how to swim," I said, and turned to look out the window.

His now blank stare fixed on the road as we drove toward familiarity. I never felt his eyes on me again but I had known him well enough to know he never meant what he said and always meant what he implied. We had been here before, many times before. Not to this place, but to this idea that lulled us back and forth, like the ocean.

That was the last day I spent with him.

It’s been 6 months now and I’m not sure what holds me still. Maybe it was the way he saw me. I think that’s the kind of thing that holds anyone so long after the fact. Maybe it was that I had never felt as beautiful as when I would catch him looking at me. Or maybe on the other hand, it was that I knew he would never make an honest woman out of me. Maybe wanting him scared me more than not wanting him. Maybe I liked the pain, the ambivalence. Maybe I had always wished I were enough for him, enough for myself. Maybe I loved the romance of an almost love. Maybe I was afraid of the ocean too. Maybe it was all of those things.

Sometimes when I’m alone, I drive up the coast, roll down the window and let the wind guide my arm like rolling hills, like he used to. Just to feel it again; the sense of home I found in him that I’d never be able to return to. I look at the steady sway of my arm, the only constant I have left. I let the warm breeze flow through my hair and skim my face, breathe in what once was and let it linger, just for a moment. I hear the sounds of life again, ocean, gravel, birds- verse, verse, chorus. It’s almost as if he’s in the seat beside me.

-S

*flash fiction piece for my creative writing class*