The Sea

The sea is grey and flat and there is no-one else here. You stand at the water's lapping edge, your feet half-drowned and your legs half frozen as the wind tries to undress you, tearing at your hair and your clothes with unseemly haste while your toes curl round pebbles and your left trouser-leg slips a little. Rearrange it or ignore it? Perhaps you should skim a stone as a child might, or maybe you could run along the shore and feel free, share a moment of trite liberation with no-one but nature and me. You could wade forth into the sea, ungainly but unbowed, caring not a jot for the trousers or the woollen jumper or your watch; maybe, at chest depth, you will discard them with an unconscious flourish, and swim out with no care for the return journey.

Or you could take a few steps back, dry your feet with your socks, pick up your shoes and tramp back to the car, turning just once to look at the flat unending sea reflecting a slate sky laden with black puffs of cloud, bizarrely threatening as cotton wool rolled in soot. You could open the door, pull on your shoes and swing yourself into position just as the rain came down, closing the door, turning the key, flicking on the lights and the wipers in one swift movement, forgetting the sea as you look over your shoulder to reverse out of the gravel car-park.

Your mousy hair is criss-crossing your eyes when the rain starts and the sky cracks above you. You pull your arms around you and feel the drag of wet wool on the skin of your upper arms. Laugh just a little as your sinking trouser-leg completed its descent and plops gracelessly into the water. Your legs are sharppained now as you shake with laughter and drops sting your cheeks. Have you ever swum back stroke with the rain on your face? Let’s. You turn and walk backwards into the sea; you can just see the car, there, through the downpour. Stumbling a little, you wade back until the water is at your waste, your breasts, your neck, then roll your head back, bring your legs up, try to wipe the hair from your face, close your eyes, and start to swim. Open your eyes from time to time, it’s hard in the rain but it’s worth it. Keep a steady pace, stay with me. Don’t rush, you’ll tire and find yourself stranded in sight of land. Breathe. Gentle. Rest your arms and legs each as needs be; if you’re tired we can stop and float a while. It should have stopped raining by now, eased off a little. The water’s still so calm. Can you feel me? My hand, there. Stay. Hold my hand and we’ll float awhile. Don’t look back, don’t. What are we doing? Like stupid rubber ducks. I wonder how deep it is here. Is the wool too itchy? Are you too cold? Let’s go again, stay close. It’s letting up a little, you should be able to keep your eyes open. Don’t look back, please, it will make this so much harder. Come here. You do the legs and I’ll do the arms, keep your head on my belly. Your hair tickles, don’t laugh, I love you, don’t look back, I love you, keep kicking.