Carry Me

It was long after the sun hid behind the waves of the sea. Long after the last person walking on the beach went home, long after the lonely guy with the guitar in his hands went away to write down his ideas on paper.
The fire was just beginning its play of flames and shadows on the sand as I looked to the other end of the beach. It caught me by surprise, to see someone out here so late at night, it was well past midnight. Maybe I wasn’t the only one with insomnia tonight.
He obviously saw my fire and was surprised to see me just as much. I noticed him stopping in mid-step, hesitating, wondering if he should go on walking or turn back and leave. Then he made another, slower step towards me. I have to admit, I was intrigued by him.
Maybe he was intrigued by me too. Maybe this is why he kept on walking. Maybe the fire beckoned him to come closer, like the light-bulbs beckon moths.
Whatever the reason, he kept on walking toward me, each step surer than the previous, more determined. It was at about that time that fear went over me. I started wondering if I should just get up and get away before he was close enough or if I should stay. Part of me wanted to scream and run away, while the other part was completely dazzled by the stranger.

He was coming closer; his shoes leaving footsteps in the wet sand for a few seconds until the waves washed them away. My fire was burning brightly, probably lighting my still doubting face, because he smiled. Right then, I felt like I couldn’t move. I had to stay there. I felt my mouth slowly pulling in a smile. He stopped, looking at me and the waves washed over his feet, wetting his jeans to his knees. Was he waiting to invite him to sit by the fire?
I waved to him and smiled once more.
He answered back and with a few quick steps was opposite me, his body half-hidden from the flames.
“Would you mind if I joined you,” he asked me in a husky voice. There was something about his face, his eyes in particular. Something enchanting, something painful, some tears. I shrugged.
“Why would I mind,” I answered back and he sat beside me with a wide smile on his face.
His features were quite ordinary. He wasn’t a very tall man, maybe slightly taller than me, very skinny. I could tell he had a few sleepless nights, just like I did – black circles under his eyes suggested that, as well as the constantly wandering gaze. I could see a tear glimmering in the corner of his eye, but I pretended not to notice it as it fell down on his shirt.

“So what brings you here so late at night? Aren’t you afraid some strange people come here after the sun sets?”
His question was sincere, random. Like the questions I pick when I don’t know what to say to someone. My eyes were fixed on the burning log in the fire.
“Insomnia. What is in my mind is far more scary than strangers,” I said, unconsciously smiling. “But by the looks of you, you are as familiar with insomnia as I am.”
He laughed. I could tell it was partially forced laughter. Like the ones I have been doing for the past months since insomnia came. What do you laugh at when you don’t care for anything?
“True.”
A simple answer. I hate simple answers. If he wanted to stay, I wanted to talk with him. The fire was a good companion, but a quiet one.
“Why did you come here tonight?”
He seemed confused for a moment, maybe because I was too direct.
“I wanted to fade my memories,” he said. I wondered why would anyone ever want to fade his memories. Aren’t memories what makes us stronger?
He seemed to have read the question on my face and went on.
“It was a long time ago I met her, on a beach, just like this one. We were but kids, both on holiday at the same place.
She got tired of me and left me with no word. Ever since I want to believe we weren’t meant to be together, that those years were but a dream. And I cannot recall ever seeing such as my newfound need for believing. I have never been like this. It feels like I never set foot on that beach. Sometimes when I lay awake at night I wonder if I was ever there. Then I look through the pictures and ask myself, if I wasn’t ever there, what are these memories we share?”
He looked to the sea. I could tell, without seeing the fire reflecting in them, that there were tears in his eyes. Maybe people need to fade the memories that hurt them. The ones that give you trouble sleeping.
I was silent for a while, giving him time. It’s painful to talk about old wounds and even more painful to talk about them when they open and bleed.
I didn’t reach to dry his tears; that was the last thing he needed – someone to wipe his tears away. I just left him, sitting by the fire, as the cold breeze ran down my spine. A while later, he started again, his voice down to almost a whisper.
“I was ready to give her everything she’d ever ask for. All I wanted was her. I never saw the end coming, she never gave me a signal.”
His voice broke on the last word and I could hear quiet sobs coming from his throat.
“Reality cuts deep,” I mumbled.
Before I knew it my hand was on his shoulder, caressing his back in a soothing motion. He curled in a ball. I was lost for words. There was no witty line I could come up with, no soothing word to say.
“Hold onto me as reality breaks. It will pass.”
Of course it would, how silly of me to say such a cliché. But that was the best I could do. I never expected him to shift so quickly under my still-caressing hand and bury his head in my neck. The sobs became louder and I could feel his tears rolling down his cheeks and falling on my shirt. And all I could do was to hush him.
We stayed like this for a while, his sobs gradually becoming less and quiet until finally, as suddenly as his face was buried in my neck, he was again sitting next to me.
We were still silent. I didn’t know what to say and his past was too painful to be brought back to life.

Dawn was about to break soon. I would go home to change and then to work. I supposed the stranger had some places to go too. It was a weird night, but I could feel he felt relieved and so did I, in a way. I wanted to ask him if he would come again tonight to talk, but it felt too impudent to ask. He hesitated with the question too, but didn’t ask it either.
“The footsteps the beach was saving led me to you.”
And then he got up and walked away.
I never saw him again, not on the following night, nor on any other sleepless night I spent on the beach. I think now he was a trick the fire and insomnia played on me. I think I was never there. And then I take out the shirt I was wearing that night and smell his tears on it and wonder if I was never there, what are these memories we share.

13.04.2009
Replica