Sea Change – Ch.1

SEA CHANGE

“I go to the ocean to say goodbye.”

― Charlotte Eriksson

 

Chapter 1

Finally, the sun rose.

Orange bled up and along the horizon, sharpening the blue line where the sky ended and the water began. Clouds paled and waves began pushing sunlight toward the beach, splashes of yellow carried between dark breakers.

It didn’t change anything.

Ben shivered. Early morning air was still chilly on his bare back, even though graduation was over and the first summer tourists had started shuffling into town. He hoped the water would feel warmer, at least once he started swimming.

“Hope” was probably the wrong word.

His t-shirt lay folded beside him, above the tideline, with his shoes placed on top. He felt guilty about the folded piece of paper sticking out of one shoe, but he didn’t know what else to do. He didn’t have any close friends. His classmates had scattered after the last day of high school. He didn’t own a phone. Family members would immediately report anything he told them to his mother. She’d already convinced them he was unstable.

He knew a note left at home would just vanish.

Ben hugged his knees and silently apologized to the random stranger who would find his shoes, and the note, after the sun had warmed the sand and tourists began hunting for uncrowded spaces along the beach. At least that unlucky visitor would read something about Ben’s life, might even understand or feel a pang of sympathy.

He wouldn’t be at his own funeral, that’s for sure, even if his body washed ashore before the service. That ceremony would be another tribute to his mother: the long-suffering widow and parent of a useless, thankless child. That was the role she’d assumed at Dad’s funeral. The preacher’s description of Ben’s father hadn’t sounded familiar, although Ben could hear the faintly judgmental phrases in his mother’s voice. He’d sat in the pew, silently listening to the hymns she’d picked, while she sobbed audibly beside him.

Mourning was a public thing, a formal garment his mother didn’t wear at home. She’d made it clear that Ben’s own grief was one more inconvenience in the list of annoyances that defined her relationship with her son. He had managed to keep one of Dad’s work shirts – a blue-striped one his father hadn’t liked very much – hidden away in a space under his dresser. But she eventually found that, too.

The gulls were fully awake now, screeching at each other and gliding along the waterline looking for washed-up food. Ben shivered again, stood up and started walking toward the waves. His mother would be infuriated when she realized he’d snuck out of the house. With classes over, he had no excuses. But the wet sand under his feet reassured him that he wouldn’t face his mother’s cold fury later today. Or tomorrow. Steadied by this thought, he waded into the surf and plunged into one of the larger waves.

After the initial shock, the water felt warmer than the air. Ben surfaced, caught a breath and stretched himself into a steady overarm stroke. Living near the beach, he’d often found refuge in the ocean, in the exertion and privacy of swimming. And of course it didn’t cost the family anything. His school’s swim team had even tried to recruit him, once. Ben never knew what his mother had said to the coach, but nobody had mentioned the idea after that.

Ben swam toward the sunrise, pushing through the breaking waves. He could feel the water growing cooler as the seabed sloped away. He didn’t think about the deepening water beneath him, didn’t glance back to see how far away the shore was.  He just kept swimming, allowing himself the luxury of not thinking about anything for a while.

When his arms ached he rolled onto his back and kicked. Sunrise orange had faded into pale blue, splotched with clouds. Ben watched the clouds, felt sunlight on his face, took quick, hard breaths and kept going.

The water felt colder now, heavier, and his progress slowed.  Finally he let his legs sink and began treading water, looking back the way he’d come. His first thought was dull disappointment that he hadn’t made it further out. He could still recognize familiar buildings, could see people walking along the beach.

An unexpected faceful of water warned that his slowing movements were allowing him to sink. Ben managed to thrash his way up for another breath, and abruptly realized that however far he’d swam, it was enough, or too much. He couldn’t make it back.  His body was too tired and chilled. A quick glance around showed no nearby boats or other swimmers.

Now he tried to swim, tried to force fatigued arms and legs to push him through the thick water. His movements were clumsy, and slow, and he soon sank again. Ben used his remaining strength to force his head back to the surface, gasped air, and felt the ocean close over his head, pushing him down for the last time.

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Chapter 2

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