Waiting

Is this the day I set sail?

I wake with a start in the dark, any memories of the dream quickly fading. I'm on the cold ground of the hut, not for the first time. The half-empty bottle of spirits beside me explains the throbbing and the bad taste in my mouth. I tell myself my half-empty spirit explains the bottle. The thought amuses me until the throbbing resumes. How clever.

With an effort, I stand up and drink some breakfast. Parting the door-flap lets in an unwelcome gust of ice. It helps clear my head. The horizon is tinted pink with dawn - might as well get an early start. I trudge through the snow to the edge of the ice shelf overlooking the bay. Dawn paints the white-on-white scenery shades of yellow. It will be colder today, the sea will be calm. What am I looking for?

It's time to leave again. I load the kayak and push out to sea, this time to start a new life. Get my act together, find a girl, start a family. Like I could have had with Suki.

Sunrise hits the ice shelf. Suki. I like to think she found that life, even if I couldn't. We were so young. I hope she can hardly remember me – otherwise I have to hope for forgiveness. When all the excitement died down, I realized what I was running so hard away from - and how it pained her. The world still needed the others. I had nothing left to give.

The sea has been generous. I could probably improve my catch, increase my comfort, even provide for a family. Could. At times I envy the sea for having her, and dare it to take me as well. Other times it is my brother: she is forever in our sight, never within our grasp. I tried moving inland; always came back to the coast. She pulls us both. I move from village to fishing village, a hermit willing to barter for the shrinking number of items he considers essential.

I set out at night, the sea around me oil and silver, guided by her reflection. When I grow too tired to paddle I let myself drift. I hardly feel her touch at first, dew and snowflakes and dreams. She holds me close and says we'll never be apart.

I turn back and walk home. The fish net needs mending. The fish net always needs mending. I wonder whether part of her is still that sixteen-year-old girl, frozen when life had barely begun. I know the other part is a spirit as old as the sea. We always had such bad timing.

One belonged to her people, the other to the world. I choose to remember the one I could have belonged to, if tribe and war and spirits had left us alone. If I had protected her.

I leave what supplies I have in the hut, hoping its next inhabitant will have kinder stars. The length of the trip won't affect my destination. I push the kayak into the water and start paddling. Perhaps I should have waited for a storm. Do I hope to find her on the other side? Or just end this?

Perhaps tomorrow.