Updated: Dec. 18, 2015
Originally Published: Sep. 28, 2014
“You can’t just talk it away.”
“I’m not trying to talk anything away. I’m just trying to exist—”
It was a futile endeavor to revisit places of past happiness, as if those locations had any real influence over her feelings. Still, she mused, returning was all they had, a notion of faith that seemed foreign now. Yet here she was, pretending. Pretending was the only thing that kept the troubling visions at bay. So they walked on. When expectations of significant change fell flat, and she reverted to her former self, what choice did she have but to fake it?
“The beach?” he proposed. “What about that little spot with the broken chairs?”
“Yes.”
They strolled in silence the three blocks to the shore, and she felt a wave of relief upon finding the chairs gone. They settled on the grass, and he launched into a tirade about real estate. “It always comes down to real estate,” he declared. This place would be ruined too, just like all the others. He raged against the wealthy – the looters! – and his anger was as authentic as his yearning for the money that always seemed to slip through his fingers. The contradiction didn’t escape him, nor did it escape her. She admired his unabashed hypocrisy; hating what you desired felt entirely normal to her.
Now, he was accusing the wealthy of taking away the chairs, always trying to fix things that were just fine as they were, ultimately ruining everything. For her part, she didn’t respond to him—she wasn’t really listening. The absence of the chairs represented a distinction between the past and the present, and she appreciated that at least the chairs had the decency to vanish, whether through the greed of the rich or not.
“It’d be nice to break some new chairs and leave them here.”
She stared out at the water, at the sailboats swaying, and at a peculiar floating structure that resembled a doghouse. At least that was still there. She almost pointed it out but hesitated, fearing that acknowledging it might cause it to disappear or change in some way. An old boat with a shingled roof was moored alongside the sailboats. It was contradictory—she felt thankful for the absence of the chairs while simultaneously relieved that the quirky boat remained. Yet, that was life. There was still time. The odds were against them, but not insurmountably so.
This kind of thing happened daily. It had happened to her once in her mid-thirties, and she had felt okay—there had been no grief. Grief, she mused, is situational, much like everything else. “Location, location, location,” she could hear him saying, except now he was discussing where they should have dinner. Part of her wished he would notice the doghouse boat, but another part didn’t. Was this my issue? Chronic conflicting desires? Yes, there was still time, but can a person not mourn what might have been? There was something brutal about optimism. The damp grass soaked through her sundress. Later, at the small hotel adjacent to the yacht club, they would undress, and that would serve as a welcome distraction. She had always enjoyed hotel sex—who cared about the sheets? She always left a generous tip on the nightstand.
Now, it also allowed her to express her frustration at him—yes, at his endless chatter, the relentless river of talk—but also at a higher power, an idea she hadn’t considered until now. Now, she almost believed. A great eye in the sky watching every move made sense. The Lord giveth, the Lord taketh away. He can’t seem to decide either. This empty vessel.
Later, she would moan loudly enough to startle the innkeepers.
“Not in the mood for fish?” he asked. “Why not? Last time—” The boats bobbed, and the land cradled the bay like a crooked arm.
Further Reading
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Conclusion
In summary, the story explores themes of nostalgia, unfulfilled desires, and the complex nature of relationships. The characters grapple with their past, the passage of time, and the contradictions inherent in their feelings and actions.
Keyphrase: Padanaram Short Story
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