It’s that day here, in Winnebago Park by the sea that still haunts my dreams waking me sweating like a child afraid of the dark.
I’ve never been able to sleep without spooning your pillow!
Darn thing is nearly flat now; surprisingly it hasn’t disintegrated, clutched, as it is every night.
Polishing the old Winnebago I’d just bought,
dirty, sweaty, hair clinging to my face, a hand tapped me.
I turned looking into a face; hair scattered about
like a child who’d just ran off the beach.
You had the nerve to throw a wet rag in my face!
Lost, looking for a friend? Likely story I said.
You were new here, just docking your schooner,
oh ya I thought, my lucky day!
Most people never experience that moment when two people instantly connect. It was like those words in that movie,
“The Bridges of Madison County,”
this kind of certainty comes once in a lifetime!
You had your schooner, I my “Winnie.”
We were creative people seeking freedom from society.
No one had hardly a cent, or cared. Living here was the dream!
Neither of us knew when we scaled that rocky path to the beach that day we’d be inseparable. Jumping aboard your schooner, grabbing a blanket and that funny looking old radio with its bent antenna; we’d spend that afternoon laying there listening to Yitzhak Perlman. One of his pieces still floats through my mind. Like his music, your voice captivated me while you stroked my hair. God! That dimpled grin! You were that someone who took my breath away. In one afternoon we laughed our way into loving one another. You asked if I sailed? I said, “never been,” but loved the sea, one reason why I’d had my Winnie parked here! Would I go? Sure! Ok mate, tomorrow we’ll see how the wind blows.
Has it really been over thirty years?
We didn’t need much, the “Winnie” for your painting, a place for me
to write; our tiny patio over looked the sea. Even then this park was overgrown with trees, tiny herb gardens in pots; the whole place reeked (hippy’s) lived here. We actually had “tourists” drive through from time to time. I imagined they wanted to see how the “other half” lived. Funny, I found myself thinking, you don’t know what you’re missing!
You painted, I wrote; we sailed. I’d never understood the exhilaration of sailing until you! Wind catching our sails; the mixed texture of saltwater in my mouth, my body baking; both wet and dry. You understood the sea, propelling us into incredible speeds. I remember the wind suddenly stopping. You’d tell me, “just lay back, enjoy,” knowing she’d kick up, catch our sails and I’d get that sudden rush. I’d never felt so alive. I’ve lived it over and over, swearing I could hear those rippling waves topped off with flying white foam saying, “are you woman enough to stay abreast with me?”
Sunrise’s out there, sunset’s painting stains of flames in my eyes.
Stars so thick they thinned the blackness of night. That unforgettable sense of being alone; yet so much a part of this world, God calls earth!
Cleaning your schooner one day, you couldn’t
get a grip on your breath. It wasn’t long after that we learned
nothing could be done; it was only a matter of time!
We made memories knowing time was the enemy, promising not to waste a minute, living each breath. Somehow we made months last like years. Our favorite restaurant, that corner table; we loved their strolling singer, his guitar held by a shredded strap. He always smiled when he saw us; he knew we didn’t understand a word. We didn’t care.
. When you were too weak to paint, I held your hand through each stroke. When I couldn’t find my words, you handed me a “different pen.” You taught me to live without fear. Surrounded by friends we flourished in shared encouragement. You gave me the will to live. God knows how you did it! I know you knew I ached to go with you.
Your friend Sam took us out for one last sail. Afterwards with love,
handing him your schooner knowing he’d treasure the memories you two had shared. We slept on “our beach” every chance we got. I remember kissing your cheeks, running my fingers through your hair. Late at night when you couldn’t breathe, we’d go outside lying in our lawn chairs side by side; salt air seemed the only medicine keeping your lungs pumping air.
I remember thinking why must it be I, that’s left behind?
Is that why tonight I smell salty air?
Your last breath in my arms caused the silence of that night.
I held you for hours in pillows soaked with tears,
as the warmth of your body left me with the coolness of death in my arms.
Somehow I managed to kiss those lips I loved more than life a final
Good-bye.
Our friends by my side, I carried your ashes to the edge of the cliff by “our” Winnie. You’d asked me, damn you, to let the wind carry you out to sea. Who was I to stop heavens schooner waiting for another angel? This one I knew would watch, waiting for me. I swear some of your ashes clung to my hands, penetrating my skin.
Over the years I’ve heard a tune we shared; slept on that same beach;
walked into frothy surf, leaving only one set of footprints,
not two as before. Staying here gave me the heart to continue writing; you’d made me promise that. Occasionally my thoughts clouded; it always seemed during those times you’d hand me another pen full of words.
My own breath coming in shallow pants now, I can feel you waiting. Our friends here who remember “us,” know my request. My ashes, they’ll cast out to sea where another schooner waits, “The Light in Heavens Room.”
Rachealgrace Adams………..August 18th, 2010
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Racheal ... you should write more
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