What Happened Between Us

Short story | Will she surrender to the quicksand?

Photo by Sasha Freemind on Unsplash

I let my feet sink into the wet sand and recall the now-laughable fears of quicksand that I learned as a child. As though my whole life would be a constant ordeal of avoiding the terror of impotently drowning into liquid earth, where squirming to get out would only further entrench me.

I watch the sun lowering in the sky, a pale, rosy orange among wisps of lilac cloud. The gentle, lazy waves lap the edge of the sand, little by little receding further away. Still I sink down, surrendering to the pull of gravity.

Meanwhile in the city, Terry stares at the circular screen displaying at intervals all the items of clothing we’ve worn this week. He is tempted to make a game of spotting the various items as they appear, like the conveyor belt of the old family game show, but feels too weary to do more than let his eyes rest on the swirling turmoil. Long minutes pass. The washing machines tumble soapily. The lights in the launderette switch off and on again automatically, with no discernible prompt.

I stay on the beach as the light fades, stuck in mental quicksand, unable to release myself from the downward sucking sensation in my guts. I wish for Terry to appear, to fulfil the saviour role I’ve unawarely assigned him. I wish for him to never return, even if that means the loss of my favourite summer dress with the quirky print. That would be terribly sad, but I already am, despite the dress.

In the launderette, Terry is planning his evening, where to go, who to see, how long to keep me waiting. He knows all the street people, the wheelers and dealers, the shifty junkies; he likes their company. They entertain him and tolerate his wild ideas and frenetic energy. Maybe he entertains them too. Where to look tonight? It won’t be as easy as it used to be. We’ve been away too long, and the recent police clampdown has stirred and shaken the community. People are anxious; it shows in their eyes, their guarded, furtive rendezvous. Nobody stays on one corner, under one shadowy bus shelter for long. Terry will have to be quick, resourceful and focused, which is far from being his forte.

As the machine completes its last squealing spins and lumpily rounds to a halt, Terry waits for the click that allows the door to open. He borrows a cream plastic basket to haul out the clean laundry, counting out knickers and boxers and the one-two of each pair of socks. Only then does he notice the sign that declares the dryer out of service. He expels a slow despairing groan, sits down, dispirited.

I remain on the beach. My feet and ankles now covered by cool, damp sand. The edge of the sea now several metres away. The beach is almost empty; just one older woman with an energetic dog playing on the upper, drier sand with an orange frisbee. An occasional yelp of excitement from the dog. A sharp, fleeting streak of panic whips through me, as my mind confuses the recalled quicksand fears with reality. I calm my breath, release my clenched muscles. The sense of being literally grounded is soothing once I give in to it.

Tears fall down my face, slowly, silently. I don’t want this any more. The fears, the searching, the diminished existence. Terry as saviour or lover; Terry as unreliable master and manipulator? His charm has waned. The untruths that have started to show up; breaks in trust and my slide into dependence on him; alienation from ordinary people; the constant running that I had not expected. The once-fun escape party has grown into the most monstrous priority.

Life on the move, in the shadows, on the edges of respectability; this way of living we engineered, a release from chains of family expectations, to find our fortunes by more spontaneous, anarchic means; thinking on our feet, using innate skills and growing into more rounded human beings. That had been the plan, the experiment.

Terry bundles the damp clothes into his backpack, with no care for folding them. When Terry gets dispirited, any normal behaviours evaporate and a grumbling belligerence sets in. This is the mood he carries with him onto the darkening streets. He has an idea of where to go. He hopes to find the tall quiet guy who usually has the best weed. The sweetest, most mellow; the one that can gently ease us both into a hazy, lazy, sensual state that will lead to sex. He needs a screw. That will sort him out. A big spliff and a good thrust, release, then obliterating sleep.

How has the plan gone so badly wrong? How has it fallen into a different trap of chains? A more chained, more dangerous trap? How has he changed so much? How have I changed so much? Had I just been unwilling to see? I remember Kaine saying he cannot be trusted. She knew things she hadn’t wanted to tell me. She didn’t say as much but I could tell; how she looked away and wouldn’t meet my eyes when I told her the plan. She said I shouldn’t go. I’d thought she was meekly stuck in the system, scared or even jealous. I dismissed her words and unspoken concerns.

I sob quietly for the losses, for my dependence and lack of self-identity, how pathetic I seem to myself. I desperately want to see Kaine again, right now, here on the beach; to grill her on what she didn’t say back in March. What did I miss? What didn’t I know?

Terry will be back soon, with clean laundry, maybe some weed. With luck, he found a dealer and we can walk back together, get stoned, eat strawberries for dinner, hold each other and sleep. I’m so very tired. The clarity of this vision only serves to bring tears back to my eyes and a crushing tide of despair to flow through me.

“I’m not doing this any more”, a fierce yet compassionate voice intones, rising up from my deepest being, from my bleeding womb: a warrior goddess I have never encountered before. The voice is unearthly and frightens me at first. She commands me, drawing my feet up one by one, out of the sand, propelling me forward, towards the ebbing sea.

Fear wells up in me as I grasp what’s happening, where she’s leading me. I had thought I might be drowning back there on the sand, but this seems certain and real. I cannot resist, no resolve or desire to fight any more. Not to fight Terry, his incessant clinginess and sexual needs; not to fight whatever destiny this wild force has in mind for me. “Surrender”, a hushed voice whispers, “quell the fear and let go.”

I walk on. I walk in. Into the sea. No looking behind; no wife of Lot, no pillar of salt am I. As I proceed, the fear shrinks, evaporating with each step. The deity is growing strong within me; I am growing strong and sure. My steps become my own; my volition now infused by, but no longer controlled by, the force that initiated this movement.

I am now choosing to take each step. I get closer to the sea, the sand wetter beneath my feet. The darkness a protective cloak. The distance between us swells then vanishes. Tears in full flow, but the sadness and fear I felt earlier has been replaced by determination and pride. Tears of relief; tears of power.

I begin to dance: a wild, earthy dance of power and witchery. I feel possessed, possessed of myself, of my own will. A high wailing cry emits from my open mouth raised to the indigo sky; a howl to greet the coming night.

Terry turns up with the damp, bunched-up laundry — if only it was neatly folded. He hasn’t found his friends, nor the dealer, nor any drugs. He is not happy but definitely sober. As he approaches the beach, he stumbles, not believing what he is seeing. He blinks his eyes hard. He tries to call my name, but my name is no more; a flailing sound that mixes with the shushing of the waves on the sand and the harsh cries of gulls above. He watches as the writhing, sand-sea-air creature dances, freely, wildly, sinuously, crawling, swaying, flying, streaming into the light spray of the moonless night waves.

I’ve no idea what Terry does with the clean clothes or the rest of his life. The concerns of that world are no longer mine. I’m out on the high seas raising storms and soothing troubled waters. I’m wild and free. I’m serene and strangely grounded in water. I have found my self, unexpectedly liberated from all the chains. I simply surrendered and there I was.

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