―Fyodor Dostoyevsky
It seemed I was always searching for something real, essential, like rain or sun, the necessities of life.
Well, I finally met my basic elemental in the person of a bikini-clad girl on Florida’s Gulf coast.
Did I mention it was during a hurricane watch?
Seems appropriate, I thought, considering my tumultuous life.
But the young beautiful stranger seemed unfazed by storms.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“You can call me Elle,” she smirked, as if amused by my formality.
I figured she was one of the free-spirited girls I often saw out riding the waves with their surfer boyfriends—all with bodies like Greek gods, tanned and comfortable, clothed with the sun.
But she wasn’t tanned and barely clothed and already was shivering, steepling her fingers and holding them to her lips, while water dripped from the ends of her hair.
“You’re trembling,” I said, “ you need to come inside the house and get warm.”
She nodded, and so I quickly gathered up my things and we walked back to the weathered cottage that seemed to be listing in the wind.
“That doesn’t look too safe,” I remarked, but I was more concerned with bringing her in out of the elements.
Once inside, I lit a fire, and put the kettle on, but the only suitable attire I could find was a black shawl Claire had left the last time she visited.
I had misgivings clothing her in Claire’s image, but the girl was cold, so I picked it up and draped it over her shoulders.
Somehow the shawl that looked bohemian and campy on Claire, transformed the girl into a morning-after vixen in my front room.
I couldn’t take my eyes off her.
Thankfully, the whistle of the kettle temporarily broke the spell and I rushed to take it off the pot-bellied stove.
“Creamed Earl Grey is all I have,” I apologized.
“That will be fine.”
Her eyes were on me the whole time. I had to will my hands not to shake as I poured the water into the teapot.
Harry was restless and pushed out the screen door and with one or two graceful flaps was airborne and glided away down the beach. Gizmo hid somewhere in the back of the cottage, probably in the tiny storeroom.
“Do you live here alone?” she asked.
“Alone,” I smiled, “except for Gizmo my cat and a heron who adopted me called Harry, but they seem to have hid from the storm.”
“That’s wise—elementals are very strong.”
She had no idea how true her words were.
I handed her a mug and took a sip from mine and sat down.
She cupped her hands around the mug as if for warmth and slowly sipped it, looking out to sea.
“Do you think the worst is past?” I asked.
She shook her head. “It hasn’t yet begun.”
I felt a pang of alarm, but she seemed exhausted from being out in the storm. She put down the mug and stretched lazily, and then, leaned back resting her head against my shoulder. Within minutes, she was fast asleep.
I was free to stare at her and she was indescribably beautiful, but that wasn’t what fascinated me—it was her essence. She was as wild and untamed as the sea.
I must have stared at her for hours feeling that same longing I felt down on the beach—that wistful, haunting melancholy that drew my soul the way the Moon exerts influence on waves.
I seemed to sense that same deep, dark, roiling undertow, that desire to surrender and be swept out to sea, to be drowned forever in sea chambers far from human voices and the pull of human empathy.
A voice in my head said, surrender and be free.
Suddenly, another voice broke through calling to me—Richard, Richard—I could hear my name being shouted above the din of the wind and thunder.
A hand reached out and pulled me back from the sea.
I awoke to Claire comforting me.
I have no explanation for what happened—how I got from the cottage to the waves, but I learned later that Claire had misgivings and returned for me. If she hadn’t, I wouldn’t be here.
She’s beside me now daily, and I panic if she’s not there.
We’re making plans to return to Toronto—there’s a studio/gallery we both can share.
Harry’s left, but Gizmo’s still with me—he’ll stay in his carrier beside us on the plane.
Elle disappeared, seemingly without trace, and I’m beginning to wonder if she were ever real.
It’s a strange thing the sea—a mystery unfolding, in waves that will carry you away…
Carry you to the unbending horizon, or down to sea caverns where mermaids stay.