A Stone's Throw

A man sat on a bench facing white-capped waves that reflected the morosely grey sky above. The light was fading.

A cloud covered sunset is hardly picturesque.

He cast a stone as far as he could toward the water, but his arm faltered and it clattered down the beach, coming to rest at the ocean's edge.

He coughed.

"Maybe if he was younger", he thought, but if he could be younger again he would never have ended up here now.

People say the most elegant torture would be to meet the man you could've been.

Maybe if he had gone to school, maybe if he had moved away, maybe if he had quit smoking earlier, maybe if he had got the girl, maybe if he hadn't run away from her, perhaps then things could've ended differently.

Maybe if he had even tried.

He could see her face swaying in the swirling grey water before him, her eyes like emeralds, locked on his own. He could hear her voice on the wind, breathing into his ear, biting. Her gentle laughter rang out after every cough.

How those big broken eyes pleaded with him, demanding an answer that he never had, to a question he'd already killed himself asking.

Perhaps if he'd loved her as much then as he claimed to now he wouldn't have left. If he'd known where he'd end up, he could've done better by her.

He was paralyzed by fear then though, not now.

He coughed and stood up.

People say the most elegant torture is to meet the man you could've been, but they're wrong. The most elegant torture is to know the woman you could've had.

He raised his eyes to meet hers and took a step forward.

His knees cracked as he began to walk, his breath labored instantly, chest squeezed tight by the effort.

He surveyed the beach before him and kicked the same rock he'd thrown before into a wave. Then he walked slowly into the ocean, her eyes once again locked on his, burning into the back of his skull.

He wanted to die like he was young again, he wanted to die with her, he wanted that choice back.

He searched for her still, in every person he had met since, but he found nothing in anything but his memories, just as she promised he would.

So he walked deeper, and as he turned to see the bench fading out of sight in the darkness he caught a glimpse of himself in a past life, sitting on that bench next to her, hand in hand, staring out at the ocean together.

He remembered who he was when he squeezed her hand, and he was sure she was going to hurt him then, so he ran. Happiness terrified him if she could take it away, and he couldn't ever have given her that chance.

The ocean called to him now, and he knew no better way than this to cleanse his mistakes.

He turned to face her again and took a final step before being swallowed by the sea, hand in hers, smiling, and he recalled that he'd never thought he could be this happy again, as his body washed away.