Until that moment, I hadn’t looked at him. I had avoided all eye contact. I didn’t want to see him. But now my eyes lock on him completely and his image burns against my brain. His dark hair, cut short, appears to have a tendency to curl. His eyes search mine sleepily like it takes too much strength for him to keep his eyelids at bay. I shiver and grip the railing until my knuckles ache.
I wonder what will come out of my mouth if I open it. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Annalise watching me. It’s almost like she knows what I’m thinking. She sees the plot forming in my head, the thoughts I’m turning over slowly so I grow accustomed to them. Jack’s eyes are half closed and even though I know it’s from the alcohol and pot, it looks like he’s just woken up from a nap.
“I’ll be back in an hour.” I announce as I turn toward the steps again. I feel his eyes on me as I walk around the front of my old pickup truck, as I open the driver side door and climb in, as I turn the keys in the ignition. His eyes burn through me until I feel fire in my fingertips. I don’t know why it feels this way or why he keeps watching me. But when I glance up at the deck from the road, he is turned on the seat strumming his guitar, his eyes fixed on me.
I roll down the window as I drive up the coastal highway toward Jenner. Sometimes I try to remember why Dave and I settled on Bodega Bay. Why we decided we could deal with tourists and people who visited the ocean once a week or once a month. We were young then, only twenty-four, and I had money. We had driven up the coast from San Jose where we lived in a tiny apartment that lacked character; we left Annalise with Dave’s sister and we drove to Bodega Bay to look at the house.
The owner and realtor both gave us permission to stay the night on the floor to see how well we liked it. They were desperate to get rid of the house. At any cost, it seemed, so we camped out on the floor with candles and a small AM radio and we made love on the living room floor while Dean Martin’s voice crackled through the room. When we woke up in the morning and walked out the front door, we saw the ocean as colorless as I had ever seen it and the lonesome air wrapped around us and we knew we had to buy the house.
The ocean is colorless again and the sun is hidden behind a marine layer thick and violent in appearance. I watch the water as I drive, watch as it pounds against the shore relentlessly. I feel its hammer in my chest, feel its power churning around me and for a brief moment, it’s like I’m stuck in the waves, caught in the undertow, being pulled out to depths from which I will never escape.
I find a place to pull over north of Jenner and sit on the guardrail even though it doesn’t look entirely safe. I kick pebbles down the cliff face and watch them until I lose them in the tumbling of other small rocks. My thoughts drift to Dave and how alike we once were. I remember his blue eyes standing out against sunburned cheeks, his dirty blonde hair hanging in his eyes. I remember everything about how he used to be. I never remember the man he became. My only memory of the man who left me is his silhouette in the doorway just before he closed the door behind him.
Despite all this, it’s surprise that registers when I lick my lips and taste salt. Not from the ocean but from my tears. I wipe at my cheeks with the back of my hand and stare down at the waves rolling into jagged rocks tens of feet below me. I calculate how long it will take me to fall and how many of my bones will break on first contact with the rocks. The thought of falling causes me to shiver but I don’t climb back over the guardrail for the safety of my truck.
An hour or more passes before I think I can handle being around people. I get in my truck, light a cigarette, and smoke it before turning the key. As I pull back onto the highway, my back tires spin and kick gravel into the air. I smile, feeling somewhat satisfied and hardened by living so near something so powerful for so long.
(c) 2003 jkl/rjm
