Free me!

Beneath the Surface

The Dream

As a child, I had a recurring dream of drowning. It followed me through the years. The setting changed, but it always ended with myself desperately trying to hold my breath until I had no other option and inhaled water. I'd wake up to the gurgling sound of my lungs filling with liquid, sweaty and panting. 

When I grew older, I learned to cope with the dream. I no longer screamed and trashed around until my mother managed to calm me down. Instead, I walked up and down in my room, sleepless, till first light. In my adolescence, I learned to ignore the dream and the burning pain it left in my breast, turned around and went back to sleep.

I don't know where the dream had its origins. Perhaps it started the day I almost drowned on a boat trip with dad, on the local river. At least Mom believed it. I was six or seven and can't remember exactly what happened after our canoe capsized in the so-called rapids, a shallow stretch of perturbed water. They were fun to swim through in summers with enough water to prevent you hitting your knees on the pebbles.

Anyway, our canoe capsized, and the next thing I remember is lying downriver on the bank, alone. It took a while to find my panicked dad and cousin. They searched for me at the spot where it happened. My dad slapped me when I arrived. He believed I hid on purpose, for fun. I was flabbergasted. Later, my cousin told me the story of 'cry wolf'. True, I loved to play pranks and scare people. But this was different, wasn't it?

When grandma heard the story, she mumbled something about the curses of the past surfacing. Dad told her to shut it, to not scare me with invented tales. She never mentioned it again, but sometimes she looked at me with knowing blue eyes.

We never went boating after the incident. Soon, I learned to avoid the subject with dad. Despite my disturbing nightmares, I liked swimming and splashing around with my friends at our river. It was just a big creek, but in those long lost childhood days, it made me happy.

The Sea

The day I stood at the seashore the first time, I fell in love with the endless expanses of blue and turquoise water. I promised myself I'd never leave. By then, I was an adult looking for a job.

I like to think fate lead me to the island. It was a tourist place in full swing when I made it my permanent home. Long stretches of fine beaches with white sand nestled between picturesque rocky cliffs. The climate was warm and sunny almost all year round. Tourists visited to relax and forget their troubles, and I came to settle down after the painful time of insecurity caused by my parents death. It felt like a long due holiday from my past.

I found a job as desk clerk in one of the hotel resorts lining the beach and spoiling the landscape. But I wasn't there to judge. The anonymous place allowed me a fresh start. I checked in the newcomers at the resort, listened to cranky customers complaining about room service, the weather, and life in general, and called taxis for departing guests. Working the early shift allowed me to spend late afternoons and evenings alone.

A hidden beach in the cliffs became my haven, a secluded place where tourists wouldn't go. They were afraid of crumbling rocks or snakes in the dense undergrowth. Or they were too lazy to explore. I didn't ask nor did I mind, neither the snakes nor the absence of tourists.

Two rocky outcrops hid a stretch of sand from prying eyes. I liked the place from the day I found it, the dreamlike quality of the light at sunset, the quiet sound of the surf rolling the pebbles, the protection it offered from the world. I swam in the sea after dark and enjoyed the reflection of moonlight on inky water. Seldom I returned to my room before midnight.

I was happy, I liked my job, the independence it offered, and I loved the sea. It felt like home. But happiness is a fleeting thing.