Seasight

The taxi dropped me in front of the iron gate, like a package. The road is too broken for me to go there, he blurted, before running away. So here I am, with the bags full of all that I have and an eternity of climbing, alone with my thoughts. I already see the sad eyes hinding behind the door when I’ll reach the top. People always say they’re like mine. Like my mother’s.

Before I start the long walk, I stop to hydrate ; like my mother said. I still can’t see it, but I can feel the ocean from here : the long dance of the waves, carrying bottles never to be opened, never to be read, crashing onto the cliff, erasing it bit by bit, hit by hit ; the shrieks of the gulls navigating the skies, free, free to go wherever, choosing to stay here for the view, or for the truth ; the quiet whispers of the children enjoying the last days of vacations, innocent, they don’t know next year will be different.

This year is gonna be different, I hope. “It’s all I have left now”, I sigh before I get up again, praying that the clouds will soon stain the harshness of the sun.

They didn’t, and I fell, and a rock pierced through one of the bags. Trusting the sound of it, nothing’s broken inside. I turn around : nothing’s broken inside, there’s just the sand, and the brushes, and the headlamp, and the sieves, and the measuring tapes. Not much, I’ll get back to that later, when I have time.

It hurts. The stupid rock also scratched my foot. It hurts, every step of the way. But I must keep going, my uncle is waiting up there, and the sun is starting to make my head ache. Before I continue the long walk, I stop to hydrate ; like my mother said. I still can’t see it, but the ocean is bringing the smell of peace : if I close my eyes, I’m on the beach down the cliff. There’s the summer, two years ago, and the one, two years from now. It’s all I have left now, I sigh before I get up again, praying that the clouds will soon stain the harshness of the sun.

They did, … kind of. They did but my water is running low. But I will keep going. For everything.

I don’t know when I reached the entrance. I just know that I’m in front of the door, my fist ready to knock. “Don’t worry, he’s gonna remember you”, I try to convince myself.

Just now, I realize all I’ve already left behind. Also today, but mostly before that. A little detour won’t hurt. I lower my hand and climb down the few steps. Everything is like I remembered. The high wall on the left, hiding the patio where I played with my cousin. I wonder where he is now. Next, a flight of stairs dug in the rock. I run, and, finally, there’s the ocean. The reminiscences were nothing : I’m hit by the wind, it smells of iodine, it smells of childhood. All is too much and I’m drowned in it. I shed a tear that dries instantly, carried by the events to somewhere else.

I turn my head to see that my uncle is also on the balcony, he looks at the sea. I can’t see his eyes, but I know they’re like the ocean : tormented, ever-changing. They remember something he forgot.

Without moving, he notices I’m here. He asks me how the trip was.

— My foot hurts, I’m thirsty, I lost my digging stuff, the ocean is beautiful. I’m happy.

— It’s just a phase, kid, you’ll get over it.

As if we’re not thoughts wandering, waiting to hear a sound that embodies us.

“The moon has phases, yet you still look up to her every night. Even when the sky is dark, you search for her absence.

I’m what I am today, I remember yesterday me, but he’s like a relative. He’s all the projections I can make of myself onto the events that he went through. He doesn’t exist outside of everyone’s head, he’s just a thought who lost its carnation, and I will never understand him like he understood himself. Sure, I have more context now ; I can tell the why, but the how escapes me like sand between my fingers. I can listen to the same songs, look at the same colors, but he’s like a dream that feels so vivid yet inevitably fades away. Maybe someday, in an hour or a decade, I’ll hear or touch or smell or see something. Something. Something that will feel familiar, something that never truly left me, … him“.

— You’re right, where’s your stuff at ?

— Down there, I say, pointing at the stairs… but I might have to sleep first, I add, before collapsing on the ground.