GoT Writings

Undying--She

She
Paul looked out over the ocean to let the tears stream down his face in the privacy of this cove. He had been wrestling with the loss of his beloved Jenny for a long time. She had been a fighter and light in the darkness that dominated his life. And then a drunk driver stole her from him. He could not even grieve properly with a closed casket funeral. He wrapped his heart around those memories. He actively chose not to put his heart at risk again. He did not want to replace the memories with another. He needed to keep Jenny close to his heart.
He had been watching the eddies and pools at this spot for hours, praying for some guidance on how to move on when his heart was broken beyond mending. The sounds of the fisherman coming to the shore for their daily catch filtered through his trance. It was time to go.
There they were. Several crab fisherman lined up a respectful distance apart, casting their nets in the shallow pools, waiting a few moments, and the pulling in couple crabs at a time. They worked in steady rhythm, casting the nets, pulling in the nets, disengaging the crabs, popping them in a bucket and then repeating the process. The cast, pull, plop, cast pull, plop -- over and over in measured cadence. The sureness and consistent rhythm offered some comfort.

Paul strolled down the line, looking in the buckets and complementing the fishermen on their catch, and receiving a grunt acknowledging his observation. Paul had been moving down the line and did a double take, and just stared at the fisherman.
“Cat got your tongue, boy?”
“No, sorry, I – it’s just that you look – I mean, my mom -- see, there’s this picture called Old Man in the Sea – at least that’s what I think it’s called, anyway, you look just like the guy in that picture.”
The old man looked at Paul with piercing blue eyes without losing the cast-pull-plop rhythm. “That so.”
“If that came off as insulting, I’m sorry.”
“Hmpf.” All the fishermen seemed to have a grunt code to replace yes and no.
“Mind if I look at your catch?”
“Suit yourself.”
Paul looked in his five-gallon bucket that held five or six crabs of varying sizes. Paul stood fascinated that one of his crabs from the bucket was climbing on top of the rest to escape. “Go little fella.”
The fisherman turned to examine Paul. He has had a raspy voice and did not waste time on words or small talk, “How’s that?”
“That little guy, he wants to get away. He’s climbing on top of the others. See? He’s trying to reach for the top to pull himself out to get free!”
“Keep watching.” The fisherman returned to his task, cast, pull, plop.
Paul did not know what the fisherman meant, but he stayed planted in his spot watching and waiting for the moment the crab would be free and head back to the water. Just as the go-getter started to pull himself out of the bucket, all the other crabs latched on and pulled him back down to the bottom.
Paul watched the little guy keep trying until he exhausted himself and refused the climb. He even let the others climb on top of him. When the other crab reached for freedom, and started the pull, the little guy grabbed on, pulling the contender back to the bottom. It kept happening. Over and over, each contender being pulled down by the dead weight of those who would not work together.
Paul smiled for the first time in a long time, he could live again, he just needed to remove the dead weight clutching at his heart.
Paul ran up to the boardwalk to make his way back to the parking area. He needed to be …
He stopped running. Where did he need to be? Paul paused a moment and leaned all his weight against the railing as he gazed out at sea wondering what to do next. He had not been living, not actually, for these past few years. He had a few friends, he had a job, he had a stark apartment, a degree, and that’s it. He left Vegas after he lost Jenny. His employer hoped that San Francisco would pull Paul out of the funk, but Paul just kept pulling further inward. Now, all he had was a minimum wage job so that he did not have to think beyond “push button-make part”. He did not go anywhere, no family functions, no friend gatherings, and his lack of effort showed
He pushed off the railing, jammed his hands in his pockets and made his way along the boardwalk, stepping aside occasionally to allow young romantics to pass without breaking their side by side embrace.
He let his mind drift back to Jenny, sweet, sweet, Jenny. He should really move on. Let her memory fade like the morning moon. How could he? With face raised to demand of unseen deity, “Why?!” So many faces were staring back, including one ghost. Her eyes were large and round and her face pale, but the memory slammed into the forefront of his mind. “Jenny!”
Before he knew it, the crowd fell back in place and Jenny was gone. He pushed his way through the people scanning the crowds. She was here. She had to be. He would find her again if it were the last thing he did.
[w.c.923]




~~Image #4000 Sharing Restricted~~