Bound to Find the Water Again

The marsh at night has an ethereal feel, where the lush smells and throaty sounds creep under your skin and into your blood, so that you become a part of the saltwater creeks and estuaries, an arm reaching out to the ocean where all things eventually flowed.  I wondered if Marnie knew this; knew that if you were born by the ocean, you were destined to return to the place that nourished you.  Before there was a Diana and a Gil for her to come back to, there had been the ocean, biding its time, waiting for its prodigal daughter.

We didn't talk on the ride back, each of us content to listen to the marsh music.  She didn't object when I took her hand to help her out of the boat and didn't let it go.  When we reached the fork in the path that determined whether we would go up to the house or down to the beach, I pulled her toward the beach and she resisted.

"Come on," I said gently.  "The moon's out and I won't let go of your hand."
She stood still, not answering.
"It's not only Diana and Gil who need to face their fears, Marnie."
She hesitated just for a moment before allowing me to lead her down toward the beach.
"Are you afraid of anything, Dr. Bristow?"
"Lots of things," I answered carefully.  "Of making a mistake with one of my patients.  Being late with my taxes.  Walking into a room with my fly down."
She bumped into me.  "No, really.  I'm serious.  I'm talking fear as in the fear of speaking; or the fear of the ocean; or the fear of not knowing what your brain might tell you to do."
"Why do you want to know?"
"Because if I know that you're a real human being with real fears, then I won't be ashamed to let you see mine."
We had reached the bottom of the steps, the short expanse of beach splayed before us like an open fan as the ocean waited beyond the sand like a chained dog.  "I'm afraid of heights," I admitted.
Her hand trembled within mine and I gripped it tighter as we continued to move toward the water.  She kept talking as if the words would keep her fear at bay.  "Because of your brother's accident?"
"Yes, I think so.  Before he fell, I'd never had a problem with heights.  There was something about sitting high in a tree and looking at the rooftops around you.  At least there is until you watch your brother slip on the branch below yours just as he's reaching for your hand."
We'd stopped walking, still safely on the soft sand that the encroaching tide hadn't yet claimed.  
"I grabbed the cuff of his t-shirt, then heard it rip.  It happened so fast that all I could do was stare at the cuff in my hand and wonder where Sean had gone."  I looked up at the unforgiving moon, all light with no warmth.  "My parents weren't home and the neighbors lived too far away to hear me shout.  I waited up in the tree, holding that damned cuff and seeing my brother's body on the ground.  There wasn't a thing I could do; I was absolutely powerless.  And even now I wonder if it's the fear of being powerless and not heights that keeps me on the ground.  Because I can still feel how wonderful and freeing it is up on a mountain, or sky diving, or even up on a ship's mast.  But I think I can run away from the fear by putting myself in control of every aspect of my life."
"By solving other people's problems.  By fixing them."
"Pretty much," I said, aware of how her skin glowed in the moonlight.  "But I think I'm beginning to understand that running away from fear doesn't make it go away.  It's still there, waiting around the corner, and I figure one day I'm going to catch up to it and finally face it."  I touched her cheek with the tip of my finger, feeling liquid moon.  "Like you running to the desert, Marnie.  Sooner or later, you were bound to find the water again."

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The Memory of Water is a story about two estranged sisters and how life brings them back together. Karen White is the featured new author in the Sisterhood Group. Click here to join the group today.
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