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This conversation was going down in history as my worst.
“Are we done here?” She tilted her head to the side, lifting her chin just enough for the sun to catch a glimmer of life in her eyes. They were stunning and reminded me of crushed amber gems.
“Yeah, I guess so. Looks like I need to go change my shirt,” I joked uncomfortably.
When she didn’t reply or make the slightest movement, I strolled away, shaking my head. Shot down by the same woman twice in one day. Not the record I was going for.
My sister would give me so much crap if she saw this go down. Evie was only six when I moved out, so I tried to visit as often as possible between tours, but the last time I had been gone for almost a year. The age difference between us was shocking to everyone, but my mom had me when she was fifteen. My dad’s father made him do right by my mom, so she moved in with his family and they married when they turned eighteen. The story never got old to hear. My parents said it was love at first sight, and they wouldn’t change a thing.
My parents had set the bar so high, it’s probably the reason I hadn’t settled down with someone yet. After my first heartbreak in high school, I bounced from girl to girl. Once anyone would get too close or I started to feel even the slightest emotional connection to them, I would bail. It wasn’t that the girls weren’t nice and attractive, I just hadn’t found that connection like my parents had. Like I said, the bar was high. And my first heartbreak sucked. I wasn’t in a rush to experience that again. Not unless I met the right person, then I would risk getting my heart decimated again. I would even go as far as saying I would risk it all. Hanging out with different girls was fun, but recently I had been reevaluating a lot, including my relationships and I wanted more. From everything. And what I was feeling for this woman I hadn’t even officially met, was more.
Charlee
Thus far, my stay at Beach Break Campground had been predictable. Every day I woke up, went to the café for a few hours, watched the waves crash on the beach from my little porch until lunch, then read a book in the afternoon, took a few walks with Midnight to clean up trash on the shoreline, then dinner, a movie or more reading, and then finally bed. The routine worked for me. It helped keep my mind focused on something other than the pain that overwhelmed me when it was given too much downtime, and I needed the routine more than ever right now.
I had to continually remind myself every little thing I did gave me purpose, because when fate crushed me with a sledgehammer, nothing afterward had mattered anymore. Who cared if my yard looked good, or if I cleaned my house every week, or if my laundry piled up, and my sink was full of dishes? What did it matter if I picked up the phone to talk to a friend? Sharing my sadness and small triumphs, like getting out of bed or washing my hair, held no merit anymore.
Nothing matters.
Everything seemed so insignificant now and I was barely hanging on. Broken, bruised, crushed. There was barely anything left of me. I often wondered how far I could be stretched before I finally ripped apart.
It should have been me.
My therapist called it survivor’s guilt. I called it a sick joke. After the funeral, I packed up some things and hit the road to fulfill the bucket list Bridger and I had made before he got sick. The Beach Break Campground was the last on our list and I often wondered if it would be my last stop as well. I didn’t know how long this feeling of hopelessness would last, if fate would step in and be my saving grace or if she would take me six feet under. All I knew was everything hurt. Even my bones were sore.
And I was exhausted. The struggle to make it just one more day, one more minute, for my family, my friends, myself, had become too much and the numbness, nothingness,overpowered my will to survive. The moments were suffocating me.
I can’t breathe anymore.
There was no sun to break through the thick clouds that took up every inch of space in my head. I had been truly lost this time and there was no clear path to lead me back. The trail had been covered by past mistakes, insurmountable guilt, and devastating thoughts created by too many personal tragedies.
My eyes focused on Coffee Guy, who had yet to introduce himself even after insulting my dog. He was lingering near the water’s edge with a man who looked to be a bit older than me. Was it his dad, I wondered? The older man seemed to be one of those adventurous types, mounting his surfboard and swimming out into the ocean as Coffee Guy looked on. The older man waved him in, but he brushed him off with a shrug. I wondered if he surfed, too.
Midnight licked my hand, pulling my attention away from the men. I had done nothing but people-watch since I made the campground my temporary home, but never interacted. Maybe it was because no one had made the effort. I couldn’t blame them really. With my slightly graying dark hair pulled up into a messy bun, no makeup covering the dark circles and sallow skin, and the sweats hanging loosely on my hips, I looked more like a hobo than a beach goer. At least I didn’t smell.
“Right, baby? Momma doesn’t smell.” Midnight’s ears perked up, and she sat back on her hind legs like a prairie dog. Instinctively, I lifted an arm and took a quick whiff of my armpit.
“Alright, alright. You want to go for a walk?” Her tail wagged in response.
I placed her on the ground, grabbed some gloves and a trash bag so I could pick up trash, and let her lead me straight down to the water, her leash dragging behind her, a requirement by the city, not because she would run off. Once afraid of the water as a puppy, she was now brave, and even happy. She barked as the waves broke at her paws and hopped happily through them. Her struggle with the ocean was trust, much like my struggle with life. Although, its repeated betrayal had led me in the opposite direction as Midnight.
“Cute dog,” the older man on the surfboard commented as he trudged out of the water with his board hugging his side.
It wasn’t unusual for me to lose myself in my head, so much so that the world around me ceased to exist, so it took me a moment to realize he was talking to me.
“Oh, thanks.” At least he didn’t call her a rat like his friend. I called for Midnight to follow me and started down the beach away from the campground.
“How long are you camped here?” he asked a little louder, as I had already taken several steps away from him.
Pulling up my sweats to my knees, I paused and thought about it for a moment, and then tipped my head over my shoulder just enough to be polite and replied truthfully, “I don’t know.” I dipped my chin and continued down to the safety of isolation where people rarely ventured to. With cliff rocks to manage between small stretches of beach, it made this a less desirable place to walk, but it made a perfect trap for the trash people so flagrantly discarded. Midnight’s small size didn’t keep her from navigating over the rocks easily. She had become an expert climber. As long as the tide was low, this made an ideal stroll for someone like me.
A hopeless person.
It was odd that I had gone so long without talking to anyone out here besides the exchange of occasional pleasantries with Beverly, and yet these two men had decided I was worth their time.
Oh crap!
Losing my footing on a slippery rock and tumbling over, I slammed my hand hard into the cliff rocks. My ankle twisted and a shooting pain immediately snaked around it.
