I was carrying the bucket of shells when I spotted you. Brazen. Golden. Your arms had the look to them that told me you could whisk me off my feet in a moment.
I hated that.
My chest hurt. It wasn't your fault you looked like him.
I knew the gulls were weary of the change in my mood; perhaps they sensed inside me a raging storm was building to drown out the hurt. Perhaps, perhaps they had feared what would come next.
But oh how I hated the waves and the salty smell. I especially hated your hair, how it moved in the breeze. Like his.
Pain is no friend of mine, but a shadow that follows me.
I could have been a mother.
A lover.
A wife.
Then the sea claimed him. I don't even know why I stayed so long by the sea.
That day, I remember it well, etched inside that place behind my eyes. I just walked up to you, all sunlit coated and fierce in your grace.
I walked up and told you to move.
You seemed surprised.
"Move?" You'd said all perplexed, and I told you again to move, to get off the beach, to leave here, and your voice was so unsure when you spoke the word, "Why?"
I had asked myself that moment why it was I hated you so. Why I needed you to get off my beach. I didn't have a good answer and I know I looked like a fool standing there with a bucket of shells.
You peered in and asked, "Searching for pearls?"
"No." I looked across the waves, "Just trying to hold onto something that means nothing anymore."
"I liked my suggestion better." You'd said. I think I glared at you then and the gulls swirled above us and the waves still rolled in.
I never liked someone who would disagree.
But he did.
And I hated you more.
But that day changed it all, didn't it? I'd walked off and thrown the bucket, shells and all into the waves where it rolled into the sand. I stomped as much as sand allowed and headed the opposite direction and never wanted to see you there again.
Funny, how you'd shown up at my door. I could have killed you then, I think. Could have stuck you with the poker from the fireplace. Nearly, did, too.
I often reflect on why you brought the bucket back filled with only clam shells that day. I reflect on why you shoved it into my arms and told me to find the pearls.
I had screamed that there are never pearls. And that the sea claims it all.
And then, then you took the air from my lungs.
"My brother was on the boat, too."
It all came back like a wet blanket on my shoulders. The light seeking the edge of the water, the boat never coming into sight, the lightening, the wind, the stinging rain and my hoarse voice begging the sea to bring him home.
I'd looked at you then. Really looked at you.
Your eyes were green, not blue.
And your lips had a pout that his never did.
I took the bucket and set it on the small table in the kitchen right by the dead flowers in the center. At the time I couldn't bear to throw them away, so they had sat there, dead, forlorn, and a horrible reminder.
The rusted bucket looked right next to the jar. But the giver of the gift was wrong.
You'd left then, of course.
And you stayed away.
I fretted about three days later when I still hadn't run into you.
I'll never know why I kept going back, not for him, but for you.
I finally emptied the bucket, and sure enough, I'd found one pearl in all the clams. It was such a sad little thing, but it was something.
I'll never forget that morning I took it into the jewelers and told them to make it into something beautiful. I didn't care what. They gave it a sad look, but I came back to one earring. Just one.
The jeweler said he'd make another if I brought one more. I remember walking into the cloudy afternoon with one pearl in my ear when I spotted you.
The bench you sat on was such an old thing, all faded, battered and worn, but you made it beautiful.
I'd walked right up to you and said the first word I could think of, "Sorry."
"For what?" You'd asked, and I told you for the way I acted and I'll never forget the look on your face when you spotted my earlobe and the earring.
"You found one."
"Just one."
You had smiled then, "Guess the sea gave you something back."
And I had replied, "The sea had help. Thank you."
I wonder at times what would have happened if you hadn't gone through all that trouble. I wonder where I'd be. I might have let the sea claim me.
The pain is still there at times, but I'm ok now, thanks to you.
Your arms still wrap around me each night, and when I see you standing on the beach, I think of a pearl.
~elizabeth
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