"Whispers On The Tide"
Author: Samantha
Email: sammer77@aol.com
I watch in silence as the sun’s rays change from purple to a deep orange-red and close my eyes against the warmth as the dwindling light disappears below the horizon. I have always loved the dusk, the sunset. It always seems to speak of promises for the upcoming night. Promises that never seem to be realized.
But I am undeterred. I still allow myself to believe in the sincerity of those softly uttered promises as the golden-tipped tongue of the day dwindles into darkness. I have to. It’s one of the few things I have left to believe in.
The feel of the sand between my toes is like nothing else in the world and I dig them in further to maximize contact. My eyes stare ahead of me, squinting into the deepening darkness, fixed on the flow of the incoming tide.
The tide brings more promises.
I begin to walk, slowly moving along the beach, witnessing the way the water rolls up onto the shore and over my footprints, watching curiously as they first are filled with water, forming little pools, and then are erased completely by the next wave.
Nothing ever stays the same.
The story of my life.
The story of us all.
Inhaling deeply, I smile widely as the cool night air, tinged with salt, fills my lungs. I can almost taste the possibilities that are borne from the setting sun and ride to the shore with the tide.
The possibilities are endless.
The gentle lapping of the water as it creeps along the rocks fills my ears and calms my fears. Fears that have been growing for years. Fears that have become as much a part of me as my limbs. Fears that I cannot escape.
For I have so much to lose.
So many things.
The only other things I believe in.
I realize I have stopped walking and find myself focusing my gaze on the darkened ocean, its choppy surface reflecting the silver-white light of the rising moon. The breeze has picked up, bringing a slight chill to the otherwise balmy summer evening, and I absently rub my hands over my arms.
The hope I felt as I watched the sunset is slowly replaced by a more serene melancholy brought on by the rising moon. It always happens that way.
It’s a very reliable metamorphosis.
The tide rolls in again, flowing over my feet and up my ankles, splashing up my legs. The shower forces my feet into motion and I begin once again to walk along the shoreline, my hands in my pockets.
The tiny lights of electric lanterns line the pier, twinkling in the darkness, signifying the toils of amateur fishermen as they pass the night away in anticipation of a new day.
We all find ways to fight through the darkness.
I take a walk.
The path I follow is always the same, my destination never changes, but the journey is always different. I listen to the waves and the winds. They speak to me. They share their secrets with me.
They never lie to me.
The truth I hear in their whispers reassures me. Reassures me that the path I’m taking is the right one. That my destination is the place I am supposed to be, where I belong.
The lighthouse in the distance beckons to the ships, calls them home, guides them safely to shore. Just as the warm yellow glow pouring from the windows of the house on the hill to my left call to me and guide me safely home.
My home. Not 200 yards away lies everything that is important to me in this world and I stop for a moment to just take it all in, closing my eyes to get a clearer picture of what is waiting for me upon my return.
The world waits for me up on that hill.
I take a deep breath, tasting the tang of the salt on my tongue, and turn once again to gaze out into the ocean. I remove my hands from my pockets and run them over my face, pushing the stray strands of hair blown by the breeze out of my eyes. Resting my hands on my hips for a moment, I eventually let them fall to my sides, idle.
I am startled from my thoughts by the sensation of warm fingers tangling with mine and I look down and into the eyes that have always reflected my very soul. And I feel a smile spread slowly across my face.
It seems the world has tired of waiting and has decided to come to me.
"Hello, darling," I say softly to the tiny blonde standing beside me, squeezing her hand before bringing it to my lips.
She smiles back at me and rests her head against my shoulder. I hear her sigh into the wind and feel her fingers absently snake up my arm, finally stopping to wrap around my bicep. Her touch always makes me shiver.
"It’s beautiful tonight," she whispers as she gazes out into the ocean, snuggling closer to me.
I lean down and place a soft kiss on the top of her head, lingering there to inhale the distinct scent of her hair. I lift my head slightly to gaze down at her, studying the way the moonlight dances along her skin. "Yes, it is."
A contented silence passes between us as she watches the tide and I watch her. She is so beautiful.
I love her more than words can express.
And she loves me. I am certain of that.
The tide whispers that truth to me.
"Oh, Riley," she whispers after a moment. "Promise me you’ll never leave me."
Her words catch me by surprise and I turn to look her in the eye. But then I smile, realizing that her words are simply the products of one of her many fleeting moments of insecurity. Moments that seem to have increased in frequency these last few months.
So I do what I always do—take both her hands in mine, look into her eyes, and say simply, "I will never leave you."
And I watch as her eyes well up with unshed tears, as they often have of late, and a smile stretches across her beautiful face. The crisp breeze blows between us, whipping her dress around her legs and making a few tendrils of hair come free from her loose ponytail.
"I love you," she tells me, her words whisked away on the breeze. "We both do," she adds, smoothing her hand over the firm roundness of her belly.
Covering her hand with my own, I lean down to kiss her, savoring the saltiness of her lips. We stand there, lips pressed together softly, for a long moment before I pull away and look into her soft hazel eyes. "I love you too, Buffy. Both of you. Never doubt that."
The touch of her hand on the back of my neck makes me shiver again and I smile against her cheek and put my arm around her. "Let’s go home," I say to her, straightening and beginning to lead her up the hill.
"Alright." Her voice calls to me above the breeze, above the rolling tide, above the whispers of the night.
Her voice is my way home.
And she is my home.
The End