(Hang, Chapter V)
There was something about dawn on the water. It was calming, serene, and almost…magical. The sky was ablaze with brilliant colors, and the world around him was completely quiet, save for the rhythmic lapping of the ocean tide. Chandler straddled his surfboard, bobbing up and down, as the waves moved the board underneath him. He kept his eyes on the horizon, like he did every morning, watching for the tide to come in. On this morning, however, his mind was not in the same place his eyes were. His mind was on Monica, and the things she had said the previous night. She had said that she needed him, and, despite all that had happened, that one simple statement had warmed his heart. But in the back of his mind, he kept reminding himself that they were only words, and that he needed much more. When he'd spoken to her, he could see the desperation and fear that had lined her eyes, and he wanted more than anything to give in, to take her in his arms and forgive everything. But he knew better. He knew better than to give all that he was to her. She'd destroyed him once.
Never again.
He'd left her at the beach, and wandered home, trusting his bartender David to close up the bar. He'd collapsed on his bed, exhausted from the chaotic day, yet he wasn't really able to sleep at all. He'd dragged his board out to the beach at first light. He often did this, so that he could get a jump on the incoming tide before the more experienced surfers arrived. Chandler was actually a much better surfer than he gave himself credit for, as he had picked up the basics very quickly. His work restoring the bar, and tossing mixer bottles nightly had helped him build his upper body strength, and while he still had balance issues, he was an exceptionally strong swimmer, owing to his experience on his high school swim team several years earlier.
Sighing heavily, Chandler decided that he was in no mood to surf. He turned his board toward shore, and pulled his legs up on it, before paddling in.
By the time Chandler reached shore, the beach was starting to show signs of life. Other surfers and highly dedicated beach bunnies were making their way toward the water. Chandler hoisted his board over his head, and hoped no one would stop him and ask why he was walking in the opposite direction.
"Chandler," came a voice from behind, and Chandler sighed and plopped his board into the sand.
"Hey Harry," Chandler smiled pleasantly, as the tall Hawaiian approached.
Hirihito, or Harry, as his friends called him, was quite popular among the beach crowd, particularly Leilani's regulars. With his muscular build, long, flowing ebony hair, and golden brown skin, he attracted many female tourists around town as well. Chandler often joked that Harry ventured into the neighboring tourist town Lahaina just for the ego boost—not that he needed it. Unlike Chandler, who suffered from chronic self-image issues, Harry knew how hot he was.
"Where are you going, man? The tide is just now coming in!"
"I know, I—I just remembered I had something to take care of," Chandler lied.
"This wouldn't have anything to do with that sweet thing I saw you talking to last night would it?" Harry winked.
"No," Chandler shook his head, and tried to hide his revulsion at the term 'sweet thing' in reference to Monica. His urge to punch Harry in the face was tempting.
"Whatever man. You gonna be at the bar later?"
"You know I will be," Chandler said flatly.
"Man, you need to take a vacation! All that work is gonna kill you!" Harry laughed.
"Someone has to keep the place going," Chandler smiled half-heartedly.
"Whatever, dude. You're the owner—that means you can delegate!"
"Yeah, yeah. Hey Harry," Chandler said, looking out at the water, "You're missing your waves."
"Ah! Okay, aloha 'oe, big guy!" Harry flashed Chandler a toothy grin, and took off toward the beach.
"Aloha 'oe," Chandler sighed, and ventured toward Leilani's.
Leilani's was not set to open for several hours, and even the lunch staff would not be arriving for another two hours or so. Chandler decided that he would busy himself with mundane paperwork that he'd been putting off all week, in a lame attempt to take his mind off of Monica.
Easier said than done. As Chandler approached the bar, he saw her, seated at a table, staring a hole through his heart.
~***~
She'd sat at the beach for another hour after Chandler had left her, strategically planning ways to win him back. Everything she thought up seemed too contrived, or just not good enough for him—for them. In the end, she'd left the beach more miserable than when she'd arrived—it just seemed hopeless.
She'd tossed and turned all night, never fully falling asleep, her mind's eye haunted by the images before her. She was shaken by the sadness that lined his eyes, and that she was the cause. Her guilt was overwhelming her, and she had to constantly reassure herself that he loved her, (otherwise, why would he be so sad?) and would forgive her. She finally decided to get up, when it became evident that sleep would elude her.
She wandered down to the beach, and was relieved to see that there was no one there. Standing at the water's edge, she let the water caress her feet lovingly. She was so lost in thought, she was not aware that the water was chilly, and that her feet her freezing. Out on the water, her eyes focused on a small figure, bobbing on a surfboard several yards from shore. The person looked serene, and Monica envied the peacefulness that seemed to surround him. Sighing sadly, she turned, and made her way back up the beach.
She wasn't sure whether it was a conscious decision, or fate that pulled her toward Leilani's. But the sight of the place startled her, and attracted her simultaneously. She approached the bar cautiously, but upon seeing that it was still closed up, she relaxed slightly, and took a seat on one of the rickety aluminum chairs, and lost herself in thought once more.
She thought about her decision to move to Paris, and wondered how she missed the simple fact that it was a completely selfish act. What had she hoped to find? And why was she so miserable in New York? The answers were slow in coming, but when they did finally hit her, it was an epiphany that stung. She had placed such high expectations on her marriage, and on her husband; such unrealistic, fantastic ideals that would never be achieved. Her childhood fantasies were so unattainable, yet she had not seen it like that. She'd expected to live in a dream—and when the metaphorical honeymoon had ended, she was unprepared. Now one question remained—would Chandler understand?
She felt his presence before she saw him. Her eyes finally focused on him, and she felt her entire body tense. He was looking at her with a mixture of sadness and confusion, as he carried a large white surfboard on his head. Backed by an early morning glow, Monica could not help but notice just how different he looked. His hair, much longer than she'd ever seen it, hung loosely around his tanned face, in wild, unruly kinks and tangles. His arms, tanned and toned, were connected to a body that Monica hardly recognized. It was like she was looking at a stranger.
He approached, and she took in a sharp breath. He set down the board with a huff, and studied her face for a long, silent minute. Then, just when Monica was sure the silence would engulf her, he extended his hand, and spoke.
"Come on," was all he said, and she took his hand.
He led her away from the ocean, and away from the bar—she wondered where they were going, but didn't dare ask. The silence was too sweet; and his touch was too fragile. She smiled inwardly.
It was a beginning…it was a pivotal moment—and it was theirs alone.
Some say love, it is a river, that drowns the tender reed,
Some say love, it is a razor, that leaves your soul to bleed,
Some say love, it is a hunger, and endless aching need,
I say love; it is a flower, and you its only seed.
It's the heart afraid of breaking that never learns to dance,
It's the dream afraid of waking that never takes a chance,
It's the one that won't be taken, who cannot seem to give,
And the soul afraid of dying that never learns to live.
When the night has been too lonely and the road has been too long,
And you think that love is only for the lucky and the strong,
Just remember in the winter, far beneath the bitter snow,
Lies the seed that with the sun's love in the spring becomes the rose.
The Rose(Bette Midler & Amanda McBroom)