Page 3 of Chasing Waves

But did I care if I scared him away? Did I care if his focused interest turned into pitying stares? No, I didn’t. But I also didn’t care to answer him either.

“No story,” I said and walked past him without a care of what he thought.

It was a lie, of course. Everyone has a story. We all begin and end the same, but the middle, the arc of the story, if drawn on paper would be an unreadable mess full of knots and tangles. No two stories alike. My story, like most, is filled with calm seas and disastrous tornadoes. Lots of predictability with some unbelievable surprises tossed in. I hated surprises. The thought of them made my stomach muscles tighten and my heart race uncomfortably. On the other hand, I also became restless in the mundane. Some days were up, while others were down. Sometimes I thought my mind was a bigger mess than my “story”, as the coffee guy labeled it. He hadn’t bothered to introduce himself before asking me a fully loaded question so he would be forever branded with the name Coffee Guy.

Heading into forty, I thought it was just a number, another Hallmark milestone. That’s what everyone said, at least. You’re only as old as you think you are.

Forty wasn’t just a number for me, though. Arthritis wrapped around my hands, my hair had started to thin, and fat hugged me in places it had never before. Forty-one wasn't treating me much better, although the years of suffering had melted some fat off my hips.

When Coffee Guy called after me with a confused apology, I didn’t look back. Acknowledgment would be an invitation of another exchange. Instead, my bare feet kept their steady pace over the sandy covered asphalt, through the partially visible path flanked on both sides by dead brush, and down to the beach. I walked up the berm to my modest little aqua retro trailer that I had purchased off a young woman whose mom had just passed, the trailer no longer a use to her family.

Every morning I walked to the Beach Break Café and sat for hours in the far corner watching the tide slowly swallow the beach and fill the nearby tidepools. The café was quietest in the early hours after the dawn patrol headed out to surf, and their coffee was better than the coffee I made in the trailer. This morning had been interrupted by Coffee Guy, maybe a decade younger than me. I had seen him come in every day for the last several mornings to grab a to-go coffee. He lingered in the waiting area longer than seemed necessary and, occasionally, I would catch him staring at me, which was slightly unsettling. He was good looking, garnering my attention, but what fascinated me more was his sudden decision to make conversation with me today as I left the café. I was average and looked to be quite a bit older than him. Young, handsome men didn’t seem to take notice of women like me. At least not for long. My beauty had faded with Bridger, and I didn’t care much about getting it back. And yet, I had somehow captured his attention even though I was hidden in a corner, and it made me slightly uncomfortable. Him engaging me in words was even less appealing.

After a small climb, I reached my makeshift porch of my campsite facing the ocean and plopped into my chair. Trailers were lined up along the frontage road and kids ran freely on the narrow strip of exposed beach as their parents looked on. It was a familiar scene I used to enjoy. Before worse becameworst.Grief was something no one could possibly become accustomed to. Numbness was mistaken for acceptance that seeped into the broken parts of your soul and filled the void so you had a reason to wake up every morning.

Wash.

Rinse.

Repeat.

I knew the only way to heal would be to leave the past behind me. My house. My friends. My life. A fragile and stagnant existence that was drifting in the middle of an ocean waiting for the winds to decide which way it should go. I was still waiting for that deciding wind, one year, eleven months, and twelve days later.

My phone vibrated on the little side table next to the book I was reading. It was my neighbor from back home.

“Hi,” I answered.

“Hi,” she exclaimed.

The silence stretched out longer than warranted, so I knew what was coming next.

“Are you coming home soon?” The concern in her voice was evident.

“I…” I didn’t know how to answer that.

“I’m sorry. I know I keep asking you, but I miss you around here.”

Kim was such a good friend. I missed her, but going home seemed impossible.

“Please don’t apologize.” I paused. “I’m just not ready yet,” I sighed and held back tears that were pushing against the lump that had formed in my throat again.

“I understand. I worry about you, is all.”

A tear had escaped, and I wiped it away quickly, sucking in a quiet breath.

“I know. Thank you for that.”

“Of course. I love you.”

“Love you, too. I have to go. Talk with you soon. Bye.” I pinched my eyes shut, tears escaping around my fingers.

Get it together,Charlee.

Midnight barked from inside the trailer, perfectly distracting me from becoming a mess for everyone on the beach to witness.

I popped my head inside. “Did you miss me?” I scratched her little head, scooped her up, and brought her outside with me.

“Maybe I’ll get to finish my book today,” I teased as I situated her on my lap. She stretched out and immediately closed her eyes. She was the perfect size to nap on my thighs.

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