The Sea Breathes Salty

The sea breathes salty as approaching waves whisper like a woman speaking French, which I've never understood but still adore. The biting air makes my breath steam, yet she stands in the doorway wearing only a t-shirt: Heart, Chicago tour, which I remember seeing in person, another lifetime ago. Her breath doesn't steam at all. "Let me in."

The girl is pale as the moon over the ocean, her wet hair shadow black. The t-shirt clings to her slenderness. She wears nothing underneath. "They told me you'd come. They told me if I let you in, they'll find me tomorrow, washed up on the sand."

A moment of silence. "Yes, they will. Does that frighten you?"

Wine gives its own kind of courage. "Of course not. They're having a joke on the old guy who bought the beach house older than his grandmother. I'm sure they're out there in the darkness, right now, laughing."

"Then you have nothing to fear. Let me in."

Isabel claimed men are dogs. I stare at her chest; it doesn't move unless she draws breath to speak. "I think I'll wait you out, instead. Let's see how long you can endure the cold." A gust of wind, icy as a salt wave, and I pull the sweater close. "You'd have to be dead not to feel this."

A moment of silence. "I am dead. Does that frighten you?"

Bravado, the last refuge of the uneasy. "Go back to your friends and tell them the joke's over. Go get warm."

She cocks her head. "You don't remember, do you? We met in Chicago, at the concert. You bought me this shirt."

Memories rush in like the tide. "Dear God, I...we made out in my sister's van, then I took you down Rush street. You said the night..."

"Magical, yes." She smiles. "You made me happy that night. You will make me happy again." A moment of silence. "Does that frighten you?"

An undertow threatens to pull me out to sea. "This is part of the joke. There's no way you're the same girl; it isn't possible."

Her face is the sea's stillness without a wind. "I was changed to what I am over the space of many months, and when we met the conversion was almost complete. Since then I have watched you. Isabel died, never giving you children, and wires with a plastic smile have taken away your job. All your dreams have washed away. Only I remain." A moment of silence. "Does that frighten you?"

Overhead, a seabird shrieks like a damned soul. "What do you want?"

"What do you want from a bottle of Bordeaux?"

"I can tell you no."

"Tonight, but what of tomorrow? A hundred tomorrows? A thousand? In time, you will find me, and the cold sea. Tonight, we have the fire, and your spirit decanting into mine forever." A moment of silence. “Does that frighten you?"

The undertow pulls me down. "Yes. Please...come inside."

Her face is almost gentle as she enters.