To Sea

  “Jon? What are you doing here?” were the words that caught Jon between a snoring inhale and a whishing exhale. “You didn’t even call. You think you can just show up here? It is Tuesday, Jon. Tuesday. I have work tomorrow. Tuesday’s, I relax, and I go to bed early. And you are here. You just can’t do these things, you know.” Lauren pressed her hands into the sides of her hips. She opened the car door and she pushed back Jon’s hair that hung in strands across his eyes. “Come on in,” she said, more relaxed. “How long have you been sleeping out here? And what’s with the fancy getup? Planning on taking me out on a hot date?”

  Jon’s throat was coarse and dry. “I must’ve been snoring,” he thought, rubbing the sleepiness from his eyes. “I’m wearing a suit—.” He searched his mind for a story. “Because I am going to take you out. Wherever you like to go around these earthbound lands of yours.” Jon lifted himself from the car, taking his dress shirt, tie and jacket from the backseat, following Lauren to her door.

  “How sweet. Well then, you can surprise me anytime you like, mister.” Lauren twisted her key into the door, swinging her arm up, inviting Jon into her home with a warm, “After you.”

  Jon eyed the place quickly. He admired the fine interior motif of the country scattered about the home. “Nice place,” he said. “I like the decorations. I didn’t realize you had a thing for old farm antiques. I guess the country never left you, eh?”

  “Oh, those things. I don’t even know what half the stuff is. Now-a-days you just hire someone to throw all this crap together in your house to give it that good ol’ fashioned cozy feel. I don’t have time to be bothered with those things anymore. I can only be bothered with the things that give me the funds to fill up this gargantuan house.”

  Jon frowned. He toyed with a miniature red wagon fixed with rust. A linen doll stiffly stuffed sat in the back. “Oh,” he said. “Well, I guess tell your decorator I like what she did with the place.”

  “It’s a he.”

  “What’s a he?”

  “My decorator. She is a he. He comes in once a year and changes it up a bit.” She waved her hands up, looking at the wagon. “You see, I didn’t even know that ol’ wagon was over there. Go figure.”

  “You mean you change it? I don’t think the decorations in my house have been changed much since when I was a child.” Jon scratched at his beard. “No, we changed the couches around when we got the cable when Barry was little, yet.”

  “You mean you still have those old Babushka dolls on the mantle below that old snowy painting? And those boxes filled with thimbles?”

  “Yup. Got another case going now, too. Once people know you got a collection, it becomes their collection too, but for you to hold on to.”

  “Ugh,” she said enthusiastically. “I know what you mean. My mother told my aunt she liked things with pigs when we were little, as a joke. And my aunt took it serious and within a few years, our house was flooded with stupid piggy trinkets. Pig potholders. Pig salt and pepper shakers. Pig everything. And my mother never bought a single pig thing. It was all from people who just thought my mother loved pigs.” Lauren laughed briefly, losing the spot in her thoughts. “But that is too funny about your house, Jon. You’ll always be set in your ways. You’ll always be particular.” She leaned against the wall, staring into Jon’s eyes in a steady silence before she pushed herself off and to the bathroom. “Okay, Jon. I need to use the little girl’s room and get ready. Look about the house. Entertain yourself while I freshen up. There are wine-coolers in the fridge. The remotes are on the table.”

  Jon looked around for a bit before sitting himself at the large oak table in the dining room. He knocked on its surface, nodding his head in approval at the dense sound pouring from the tight fibers. He looked out of the window above the sink—at the little trinkets held high on the ledge. He smiled. But then he quickly frowned. “I bet they hold no meaning to her. I bet Mr. Decorator set those up there for just another twenty-five ninety-nine.” He looked past the ledge—out at the bright vinyl white picket fence enclosing her small manicured backyard. Past her yard, there was the tan vinyl siding of the strategically placed house behind her own. He began to miss the sea. “I am in a cookie cutter house,” he said. “I bet the whole neighborhood looks the same. I bet the whole block hires Mr. Goddamn-Decorator.” He pulled at his beard for awhile. Then he rested his hands on top of the smooth white tablecloth. “A town of plastic boxes enclosed in plastic picket fences filled with plastic people.” He looked down at his hands and he inspected his fingernails. The dirt from under them seemed to be magnified in the pristine of Lauren’s house. He brushed his hands to his sides, off of the white tablecloth.

  “I’m ready,” Lauren said, emerging from down the hall. She wrapped her arms around Jon’s chest. She leaned in-between him and the back of the chair, swinging her head around his, locking his lips onto her own. “So,” she sighed. “I’ve been meaning to do that for awhile.” She smiled, leaning back, clasping Jon’s hand through her own, and bringing him up to his feet. “So, where are you taking me?”

  Jon rummaged through his congested mind for the correct words as a blank stare froze across his face for a moment. “I figured we’d go to a place you’d like. I don’t know of many, or for that matter, any places up in these mountains.”

  “We aren’t in the mountains. We are in Lambertville, New Jersey. Suburbia, USA. Just because we aren’t near the sea doesn’t mean we are in the mountains. You need to get off your Island more often.” She winked and she headed for the front door with his hands in hers. “Let’s go to Loreto’s. They make the best prime rib-eye on this side of the mountain,” she said with a slight laugh tailing off her words.

  Dinner came and then went. They both got the prime rib-eye paired with pinot, eating over mundane dinner side talk. Nerves controlled her subjects. The sea flooded his own. And when it was time to leave, Jon swiftly paid the check with wrought bills crumpled in the fronts of his pockets. Then he slipped Lauren’s jacket over her narrow shoulders.

  Her arms sank when he lightly patted the suede jacket down. “Thank you, mister, for all of your kindness and hospitality,” she said. “Dinner was lovely.”

  Jon shied away. Then his eyes widened. “You picked the place,” he said. “I just paid the check.” He thought of all the things he had to spend money on for his family, but he did not have the funds to put forth. New clothes for Barry and school books and college. And for Elea—all the monetary useless things she demanded as necessities. Jon’s stomach growled. He thought about the bloody meat that sat in his stomach and the costly price it represented in his life. “I simply am a lie and a fake. A no good. This, in time, will all be over soon,” he said loudly as he slammed Lauren into the car, making his way around to his side. He paused before he opened the door, looking up at the peak of the mountain ridge in the far distance. “I am a long way from home, Abraham. I am coming home.” He rubbed his nose and he tugged the chin of his beard before he got into the car, driving to the pub not far down the main street.

  The two seated themselves at the same table they had courted the last time. Lauren had a way about her that she liked to keep things simple. The way they always were. When they had been in grade school, she would always sit at the same lunch bench on the far right corner. And when they had changed the configuration of the cafeteria at the beginning of the third grade, she sat in the closest bench possible to the old set up.

  She ordered two whisky sours, one for the each of them. She sipped hers slowly and frequently in the time Jon downed three to himself over silent conversations interrupted by quaint remarks over the playlist streaming from the jukebox.

  “I haven’t heard this tune in ages,” she said. “I was hoping to keep it that way.” Lauren frowned, tilting her glass up, pouring the cool fermented liquid down her throat. The chilled ice crashe
d to her red lips. She placed the glass down with a thump. She looked into Jon’s frozen eyes. She could tell he had little interest in the pub and its jukebox. But he held a sullen interest in the whisky he kept at. “Let’s boogey,” she said, causing Jon to blink out his wayward thoughts, bringing him back into the reality in which he had been a part of, but had surely forgotten. “Let’s get out of this dump. You want to go for a drive? I’d love to go for a drive with you.”

  Jon ran his fingers over his eyes. Then he floated his long digits down across his face. “Where to? I haven’t got a clue where I am.”

  “I figured we could just drive around. See where the roads take us.” She paused, batting her eyes. Then she set her forefinger on the base of her lower lip. “And maybe park the car, and, you know, just talk or something.”

  Jon’s cold eyes warmed. “I’d like that.” He smiled cordially and the two drove off, following the street lights ‘til the lights disappeared, giving way to the moonlight, and they then followed that. They drove for about an hour or so until they reached a small park with no name. There were no signs posted and no lights affixed. But the shadows of wooden and plastic play-sets elongated from the moon’s white light in the tree-bound opened land.

  “Here is good,” she said, speaking the first words of the car ride. “Pull into there. In that spot there.” She pointed to the stall in the farthest corner hidden from the main road—directly under the moonlight that they had been following. “Here is a good spot.”

  “You say this like you’ve been here before.”

  Lauren smiled. She looked down at the floor mats. “I like to take drives on the weekends sometimes. Or after a long trial. It gets lonely in such a big house with no one to share it with.” Her eyes rolled up with her head, slowly following his eyes to meet with hers. She unbuckled her seatbelt, leaning over the console, unbuckling his—sliding her hand from the buckle of the seat to the buckle of his belt. “I declare that these must go.” She unhitched the metal clasp, pulling the belt from the loops of his pants. The sound of the leather passing over the wool sent a deafening whoosh through the car, sending his muscles into a tizzy as her hands pulled his pants from his flesh. “And I declare that this comes off as well,” she said, unbuttoning her blouse. “And this,” as she slid her skirt off her legs. She reached over, taking off his shirt. Then she wrapped her fingers around the tight waistband of his undergarments. “And I do believe that these must go as well if we are to conduct any business here tonight.”

  “Am I under contract or something, Miss?” Jon giggled nervously.

  She pulled her seat back and she climbed into the backseat, lying across the bunk. “You are now, mister. Now give me what I deserve,” she smiled, winking at him. “Give me what you have wanted to give me ever since I was a little girl.”

  Jon clumsily fell over the driver’s seat, landing atop Lauren on the back bunk. His knees falling into her stomach as she grumbled and wheezed a bit, laughing off the awkwardness all the while.

  The two toiled under the moonlight for a short time. The alcohol was still alive in them and little romanticism was practiced. “This doesn’t feel like Elea,” Jon thought. “I just want to stop. I just want to get this over with but I don’t want to embarrass her.” He frowned as his body pulsed into hers. “I would have loved this as a child, but I am no longer that child. I am a man. A husband. A father. And I am nearing my end. I am adulterous and contrite.” Lauren moaned loudly and he fell off of her.

  “Well, that was something that should have happened a long time ago if I had never moved,” she said with a wink.

  Jon leaned over her. His head hitting the overhead panel. He looked out of the car, watching the lights of a plane flicker across the sky. He felt his body pulse warm blood furiously through his arteries—his heart jumping from his chest. A tingle ran to the tips of his fingers and the thoughts of his wife back at home caused guilt to flood through his thoughts. “I know she’s adulterous. More so than I,” he thought. “But I am better than her. I am better than what I have just done. I must return home and make things right. I must set things right with Elea and Barry. I must return to sea.” He felt a tear well up in his left eye, but he caught the liquid in his palm before it could roll and fall atop Lauren’s stomach. He turned his head from the window and he stared into Lauren. “I’m tired,” he lied. “Mind if I just drop you off and I head home? I got a long day tomorrow.” He leaned his arm over the front seat. He grabbed his shirt, throwing it quickly over his head. “It’s cold outside,” he said, slipping his legs back into his dress pants.

  “I thought you didn’t have a job. What are you so busy with tomorrow that makes you so quick to leave? Was it not good? Does your wife do better?”

  “No. I mean, this has nothing to do with Elea.”

  “So, it wasn’t good?”

  “It was. I just need to fix some things around the house tomorrow. The Babushka’s are dirty. The thimbles are dusty. I told Elea I would clean the house tomorrow. There’s a lot to be done.” Jon climbed over the console, sitting in the driver’s seat while Lauren remained naked across the bunk in the back.

  “We shouldn’t’ve done this. It was my mistake. I knew it would have been. You are a married man.” She dressed quickly, exiting out of the back, returning to the passenger side seat. “I am sorry. I didn’t want to make things hard for you. I guess I was just thinking all for myself. Like I said. It gets lonely in such a big house. I just want a man around, I guess.” She paused, trying to stare into Jon’s eyes—but they shifted all about the car nervously. “You can just take me home.”

  Jon turned the key over in silence. The ride back seemed shorter than the scenic and slow drive to. And when he pulled to her house, he parked to the curb. They nodded casually and departed with a subtle, “Good-bye.” No kiss—no hug—no eye contact.

  The bright stars dimmed, fading behind clouds lining a cold front. Rain soon fell. The drops digging small holes into the earth. The sound of owls hooting over mice hushed to the patter of the rain pounding whatever it pounced upon. Lightning etched sharp white lines through the nighttime sky. The echoes of thunder bounced from mountaintop to mountaintop, sliding down the valleys and to the ears of Jon, who had been driving for some time now.

  He looked at the time shining off the dash. “Two-thirty, already?” he said. “Elea is going to batter me, for sure.” The windshield wipers waved the water fast. The headlights shined dimly—the beams stunted in the heavy rain that kept falling faster and harder. Jon leaned forward, pushing his glasses closer to his eyes. He squinted, trying to see through the veil of water.

  He had made it over state boarders by now. The mountains were a mere backdrop blacked out by the dark clouds. But the land lit up rigidly when white bolts landed somewhere, surely, deep in the forest.

  He pulled the car to the side of the highway, killing the engine. He waited—listening to the heavy taps of water drumming natural rhythms on the rooftop until an hour passed and he turned the ignition back over, driving slowly on the high-speed throughway. “I won’t be home ‘til dawn or close there to, anyhow,” he said. “I might as well take my time.” Jon tugged at his beard. Then he threw on the high beams—the lights dancing through the thick forest lining the road.

  After a short time, the conifers began to separate from one another. Their crowns capping lower to the ground. The rain continued to fall heavy. The drops growing in size, clicking louder on the car’s roof. The sound soothed Jon’s thoughts—soothing his memories of the mountains and the tall trees that had surrounded him in the parking lot with Lauren. He could hear the moan in her voice. Her soft whimper between the loud clicks of rain and booms of thunder. Jon rolled down the window. He looked up at the sky—but he could see only black. The rain began to wet his hair and speck his glasses. He stopped the car again—this time on the highway. He wiped his
lenses on the inside of his shirt. Then he rubbed his eyes with his long fingers. He could see a break in the clouds, now, where a single star faintly shined through. He brushed the rain from his glasses again and he stared in at the lone star amidst the rain swollen clouds. He swallowed hard. Then he pushed down on the gas, continuing along the road until sand had surrounded him on all sides—the sound of the oceans crash to land nearing.

  He slowed the sedan to a stop on the shoulder. He clicked down the brightness of the headlights. The rain had yet to break, pounding hard, still. “I miss you,” he said as he opened his door—sinking his feet into the sandy surface. “I promise I won’t go back to those oversized hills. I’ll stay true to you. The sand below my feet. The waves crashing at my flesh.” He wiped his face of the moisture. He could not tell if he was crying, but he felt like he could have been. The rain pressed his hair to his head. His beard hung stringy with water dripping from the longer hairs dangling off his chin. He stared up at the star shining a solo flickering dance in the sky. Then he dredged his feet through the sand towards the sea.

  He removed a small flask from his inside pocket, pouring a healthy gulp of whisky down his throat. Gravity set in on him instantly as he threw his head back forward. His knees weakened and he fell smooth into the sand, face first—grains pressing up to his teeth. He quickly sat upright, spitting the sand from his mouth. He could feel the grains in his teeth. The particles nested in his beard. The sand stuck up all against him. He looked to the ocean and he thought, “I can clean my face there. The water will clean me. It can clean me from my fall. It can clean me of this sinful sand.”

  He batted his beard as if it were a piñata. The sand spilling freely from his whiskers with each swipe with his paw. He eased himself into the water, squatting on his hams. The waves foamed white bubbles that quickly popped by the harsh rain falling from the black sky. He watched the pattern of the popping sea bubbles for quite awhile through his water-spotted vision until he leaned his chest forward a bit. Then he watched his reflection wiggle back at him. He sifted his fingers through the shallow water, ‘til he sunk his hands deep into the sand, gripping the grains between his long fingers. Then he rushed his hands out of the water, shaking the sand from his flesh. But the grains were still stuck to him. So he drove his hands back into the water, letting the sand shed from his skin. He brushed the sand from his body for bit. Then he cupped his hands, capturing the sea, splashing the salty water to his face and then over all his body.

  He sat back on his hams again for some time, letting the heavy rain fall atop him—drenching him ‘til he got up and he walked back to the highway—back to his car—his shoes seeping out the sea with every step. “I can’t drive home all soaked,” he thought. “I’ll catch a cold, surely. I’ll get the sneezes and all that jazz.” He shivered at the thought of even becoming ill. He kicked his pants from his legs. He removed his jacket and his shirt from his body. He slipped from his undergarments. Then he rolled all his clothes up into a ball, throwing them in an emptied plastic bag he had found on the back seat. And as he closed the back door, the sound of sirens screamed quick and short. He looked over his shoulder and he caught the glimpses of red and blue lights flashing against his wet, cold flesh. He looked down at his naked body and he covered his genitalia with his fingers.

  “It’s not what you think, officer,” he shouted. Then he paused. “Actually, I am not sure what you think. But I am not doing anything wrong, sir.”

  The police officer sat in his car, chuckling at the sight of Jon—a middle-aged man, medium long hair, long grizzled beard, stark naked in the rain on the side of his highway. The officer waved Jon over to the cruiser.

  Jon proceeded with caution. His hands still over his manhood.

  “What in God’s name, man?” the officer said. “You lose your clothes? You wash up ashore? What the hell happened to you, man?” The police officer laughed loudly. Then he stopped. “I just want an answer, man. You aren’t going to be arrested. You’ll probably just become an office story for later.” The officer laughed again.

  Jon wiped the water from his glasses. Then he peered into the patrol car. “It was raining so hard, sir, that I pulled my car off the highway. I then got lost and found myself at this here beach and decided to go look out at the waves. I then got soaked, you see, from the rain and the waves and I removed my clothes before the cold could set into my bones.” Jon shivered from the cold rain falling atop him.

  “Are you drunk, man?” the officer asked with tight lips, trying not to laugh.

  “No, sir. Just a drink earlier, but not drunk. No, sir.”

  “Alright, sir.” The police officer leaned over to the passenger seat. He leaned out of the patrol car window, handing Jon a large white towel. “Take this to dry yourself up a bit and then wrap yourself up in it. No one wants to see your hairy ass.” The officer rolled his window up ‘til only a slight crack was opened. “I was hoping you were ragingly drunk and that your situation was scandalous and absurd.” The police officer frowned as he shut off the flashing lights. “I am disappointed in your story, though it is true, and thus, as a citizen of this town, I guess I should be proud of the lack of shenanigans here tonight.” He loosened his lips and he zipped his window back down, extending his hand to shake Jon’s. “Thank you, citizen. Carry on, and have a safe trip home.”

  Jon nodded. He shoved the towel up under his arm to protect its dryness and he ran to his car. Once inside, he wrapped himself up in the dry cottony warmth. He turned the heat up to the highest setting. He flipped the wipers on and he looked through the windshield—out at the dunes. The rain eased to a stop. The clouds passed. The stars and the moon began to shed a dull light over all the earth. He could see cliffs in the distance as dark shadows beneath the starlit sky. He thought of the images of Abraham and Isaac in the cliffs back at the harbor on the north shore. He strained his eyes, staring at the darkling hillsides—but he could only make out the outer linings of the cliffs. He tried to place the faces of either man in the earth, but he could not see them. He could not feel them.

  Jon sighed deeply. Then he backed out from the sandy patch. “I’ll meet you soon,” he said. “And then I won’t need to look for you in the sides of roughed cliffs, no more. Your face has been exposed to me in a message from my creator. I know it is soon. I have seen you. And you have set your eyes onto me.” Jon wiped the water from his glasses in the dry towel. He tugged at his beard, pulling out the remaining grains of sand that had yet to fall out.

  He cracked his fingers back over the steering wheel and he returned to the road.

  The sun began to crest over the ocean behind him—the images of man now drawn into the hillsides.