Breakwater – flash fiction/letter/reality

I never knew that the breakdown would come in tiny pieces, and not an abject collapse. I expected the earthquakes and the lapping of the continual tide would one day topple the challenge and send it crashing, but no. It didn’t come like that. And it’s only the beginning, only the start of a barrier bound to break. The walls are coming down, but that doesn’t mean I’m breaking. Just the mortar around my harder edges, being licked continually by this gentle tide. I have my share of rough edges.

I stood on the edge of the breakwater for a time last night, listening to the rain come, the impending storm on the horizon – flashes of lightning illuminated my careful dark. The rain didn’t bother me. I had my hands in my pockets, and my feet were kicking careless pebbles that had been cared to the top of the wall by the tide and then left there, abandoned. I liked the sound they made when they finally fell into the water. And then there was a rumble. I closed my eyes and inhaled There was extra salt on the air, and the wind was heavy with dew. It was like breathing underwater, standing still here in this place, just waiting. It was thick with anticipation, with lingering wonder. I stood here and played the “what if” game a lot, thinking of set plans for a year and a half from now, thinking of road trips and airport games. I thought of dancing in a specific setting, at a specific time. I thought of catching your eye from across a room and knowing it was real, that it was us – and that it was really happening. My balance was not precarious on this rock wall of pasts any longer. I was dancing on it, waiting for you to come and knock it over. I didn’t know you had other plans.

You were coming on the waves. They started low, maybe 10 feet below my careful placement, the tips roving the rock surface like a careful exploration. The tide was coming in, and you were riding it like a rogue wave – that one you never see coming when you’re surfing – it’s the one that catches you by surprise with all the intensity of hope, and the ability to throw you from your careful footing. And the wall was trembling beneath my feet, a dichotomy of arguments and questions resonating between my ears like the conversation back and forth between the crack of lighting and the rumble of thunder in return. But you didn’t knock it over. Instead, far in the distance (this wall stretches from this to that – a barrier of lingering will from one shore to the next, which is why so many have failed to cross. Failed to even approach it evenly – it’s a daunting challenge, one that most lack the courage to attempt, let alone try for success). I worried briefly that my resolute stubbornness might be a match for yours. That, finding it more solid than not, you may taste it’s promises but decide the climb up and over or the destruction of it’s boundaries may be too much. Too much work, for too little reward, for the unknown of the other side. I had swayed so many others from my cautious perch, watching the waves come but meeting the outward time at the same time they tried to approach – even the tricky ones. Even the ones I had a minor hope would make it. I had more than a minor hope for you. The truth is, this approaching was all I was staking my hope on, and I wanted to shout for you. Wanted to call for you in the stillness, to lift my voice on the wind with the rise and fall of thunder, and the illumination of everything within me, lit up like a lightning bolt dancing across the water. But when I opened my mouth, the only sound that came up was a slight whimper. It was a plea of sorts. A hopeful noise that I didn’t know you would catch over the way the wind was howling. I had become windy in the wonder and the receding tide was starting to match and meet your incoming waters. This was the point of contention. The one where most swimmers made a break for home, for calmer waters with less resistance. I wasn’t resisting you.

I took my hands out of my pockets slowly, clutching a rock in my left fist as I slowly raised my arms skyward, every movement a silent but far-reaching plea. Please. I don’t need you to find me here, but I want you. I know how to stand on my own, but I’d like your hand to hold because the terrain is tricky and your candle light smile lights up the whole world when I’m encased in shadow. And if anyone was going to make it through these rapids, out of anyone who has come close then retreated, I am open enough to show you…I want it to be you.

I want it to be you

The tide was licking farther up the wall now, approaching my feet. 3 feet below, and climbing higher. The wind picked up its howling as I realized I might be dashed by the rocks if you make it any higher and thrown into the unknown chances of your waves. Although I had taught myself to swim by watching the careful strokes of others, near and far, your water was different. Thicker. Pulsing, like lifeblood and charting a course nearer and nearer to the unknown. The unknown made my legs shake, like you do when we tumble together in a different field of ocean. It may be. It could be. It is. But the wondering played tricks with me, and sent chaotic lightning down, deep into your waves. I was afraid, in that moment, lit up like a candle in the dark that would be the push that caused you to turn back towards calmer seas. That you would think I was fighting you – no, not you – never you…my mind plays tricks on me, see, and tells me that previous encounters could repeat themselves, despite the differences in the landscape. Not this time. I started breathing deeper, easier. And gradually, the lightning stopped. The wind ceased howling. And my outgoing tide became less of a push against your approaching, and more of a beckoning. A quiet request. Less than a foot to go. My toes curled, barefoot on the rocks, knowing they may no longer have a sure footing, momentarily. Knowing that I may have to learn to sink or swim in only a matter of moments. Wondering if the breakwater would collapse beneath my feet, or if I would simply be swept away from the relative safety I had hid behind for so long – so many years. I felt like I was drawing my last breaths – or had the possibility to be learning a new way to breathe. A new way to acclimate to this climate, to the fluidity of your touch and the calm and gentle pulsing of your rhythm. And it didn’t come in a crack – a crash, or a desolation. I heard a noise behind me, almost indiscernible against the backdrop of peace. A slow, gentle breath. And behind me – 15-20 feet, a safe enough distance, your waves had breached the wall, but it didn’t disappear. A smaller rock tumbled graciously off into the waves, leaving not a gaping hole but a shining hope. And I turned from the vastness of the ocean, towards your approach from the rear, watching the water come closer and closer, resolute in my determination to not jump to safety. This was safety, now. And your waves rose and cascaded over my feet. It tickled. It was a playful touch, full of promise. And then you were passing, rushing over me in a pulsing melody. I had let you come close enough to cross me, to discover what uncharted land lay beyond that I was even unsure of. You laughed as you scooped me up in your arms like a wayward child and whispered to me in the dark, as my body still shook, residually.

”its okay, love…you can be windy. You can be stormy. I can handle it. Sometimes, I get windy, too…”

I don’t know what it will be like to be swept into that ocean, to learn to swim, but I know I will…I know its coming…and I know I’ll succeed. She did, and I’m too stubborn to not match her will in matters such as these. It’s too important, to real and far too beautiful not to.

“I found a way to let you in, but I never really had a doubt… I feel like I’ve been awakened, every rule I had you breaking – its the risk that I’m taking, I aint never gonna shut you out.”