Tidal Reflections

You breathe in and savor the salt and faint smell of sulfur that indicates your proximity to the marsh, one foot dangling over the edge of the floating dock, toes touching the water and curling slightly at winter’s first bite. You exhale and feel your muscles relax completely—perhaps the first time in months—as you relish the unseasonable warmth of the south Georgia December sun. The river flows out, sighing softly as water slips past wood, grass, and debris, over mud and out to sea.

You’ve lived your whole life next to the water, and you begin to contemplate how it has threaded its way through your years, weaving itself into the fabric of your being. When you were young, your parents would take you to the pool, teaching you to hold your breath and jump as far forward as you could, away from the side of the pool and into the shallow end, letting your natural reflexes take over from there. Your mother would explain how to cup your hands and kick your legs so you could swim a little farther and a little faster each time, and she would always be there to catch you when you jumped into the deep end. They would take you to the beach and you would stand waist-deep in the surf, waiting with breathless anticipation for the next big wave, and just as its force started to push you backward, you would jump, propelled over the wave of course by your father, who all along was holding your hand, waiting to lift you into your gravity-defying leap.

As you got older, you’d find yourself wandering down the river to sit on the wooden planks of the dock and gaze out to the horizon. You’d think about your small world in the context of the of the large world you could sense just beyond your realm of experience and dream about where you would go and who you would become. Once you could drive, you’d go to the ocean at any opportunity to plunge into the surf and float atop the waves, feeling like you were part of something bigger and that the world held something in store for you.

For a time you moved away from the coast to the low, rolling foothills of north Georgia to broaden your mind, but always you’d find yourself drawn back to the water. By some twist of fate you’d inevitably find your residence next to a creek, a lake, or a river, and you’d walk along their edges often as you contemplated how the choices you made today would affect your future, Later when you thought you’d lost your way, the sound of flowing water or crashing waves would bring you comfort, would re-center you, and would allow you to set off once again with reaffirmed confidence and values.

Bittersweet memories of past loves are reflected back from moonlit liquid surfaces—moments that helped define you and the things you hold dear in another can always be resurrected in damp darkness. You were wearing a gold evening dress at a silver pond’s edge when one of your closest friends leaned in and kissed you, then confessed his feelings for you. Years later you found yourself slipping down a river bank with your best friend and partner in mischief in the middle of the night to escape the oppressive heat of your un-air conditioned dorm room at the end of a deep south August. The still air hung heavy with humidity and some kind of unvoiced anticipation as you both groped your way down the forested banks of the Oconee, finally reaching the water breathless and giggling. At your imperative he turned his back as you stripped off your clothing and plunged into the shallow water, and you ducked under and held your breath until he joined you. You resurfaced, gasping for air and laughing because you felt young, free, and deliriously happy. The two of you splashed about and, bit by bit, you began to realize that you were in love with him. An accidental brush of bare skin under water left you breathless and overwhelmed with joy because in his eyes, across that respectful distance he’d again placed between you, you saw that he loved you back. Months after that, you found yourself at the same river, crying as though you’d never stop as he made his way across another ocean and you stayed behind to reconfigure your heart with the pieces he added and the pieces he took away.

Gentle surf was the soundtrack as later you lay next to another boy on a beach—the same boy who’d already once left you feeling as if you’d be better off dead, but who all the same you loved so much you took him back. A waxing moon illuminated the still Florida waters as he confessed to you he’d marry you now if you’d have him, and you clasped him hard against you and choked back tears because you knew you couldn’t, no matter how much you cared about him. Shortly thereafter he left you again, this time for a west coast girl, and you put as much distance as you could between him and yourself, seeking solace in a south Pacific sea. By that deep azure water you wrote him letters you never mailed and then you plunged headlong into the present, submerging yourself completely in that sun-drenched life. Months later, after wandering solo up an entire coast, you emerged from the clear Australian surf and returned home whole again.

Later you found yourself speeding east without destination, blinded by tears and rage, your body wracked by infection and disgust. You stopped at a deserted winter’s shore and stumbled your way down to the sand, letting the bracing north Atlantic chill dry the tears from your face and the pounding sound of the icy surf drive the sounds of betrayal from your head. You returned to your home much later that day feeling purged—and liberated.

After finally giving up on trying to find someone to spread sunblock on your back, you learned to do it yourself and spent many a summer’s afternoon covered in sand in the happy company of your own thoughts. Quite unexpectedly, you were startled out of your quiet state of contentment by a blue-eyed stranger with a raucous laugh, and you soon found yourself searching for starfish on the Jersey shore, unable to stop smiling. The late afternoon’s lingering warmth and entanglements of bare, salty limbs left you feeling intoxicated, and the conversations that continued well after the sun slipped below the horizon gradually allowed you to let down your emotional wall and learn to trust again.

Now just a photograph of a slanted palm adjacent to turquoise water is enough to bring back an entire sensory memory. You can close your eyes and inhale once more the saline sea air, the smell of wet sand, the organic mustiness of drifting seaweed and other vegetation and natural debris. Your skin tingles with the sensation of a warm breeze drying salt water from your bare shoulders, the tickle of sand as it pushes between your toes, the feeling of the sun’s rays gradually turning you brown despite the sticky layers of sunblock you applied and reapplied. Your tongue passes over your lips to taste slightly bitter brine mingled with grit, and the sound of the gently crashing surf as it bubbles and ebbs around your ankles edges any other noise from inside your head and leaves you feeling silently peaceful. Your eyes drink in the vivid colors; the cerulean, emerald, and silver of the water, the clean white of the powder-fine sand, the brilliant azure of the sky, and the golden glow of all your surroundings imparted by a tropical sun. Your emotions range from overwhelming joy to absolute contentment, and you neither think of the past nor worry about the future; all that matters is that moment.

As your wandering mind returns to coastal Georgia and your spot on the floating dock, you sigh softly and roll over onto your stomach so that you can dangle an arm over the edge and touch the surface of the water. You run your fingers along the submerged edge of the dock and brush against the soft and slightly slimy squish of the colony of sea squirts that grows there. Coming home has been good for you; you finally feel rested and at ease after several long months of nearly continuous activity. You also, however, feel nearly ready to head back out into your now broader and more urban world. In this respect, you again feel yourself linked to the river; you are periodically drawn back toward home, but even though you may rest there awhile, you always flow back out toward the vastness of the ocean.