Town Limits

The darkened tide swells against the packed sand, angrily knocking the frail legs of the worn docks. A mix of brine and seaweed clogs my nostrils. Particles of sand grate against my cheek and the rough wind whips loose strands of hair across the bridge of my nose. I tug the hood of my windbreaker over my head but it doesn’t help.

I don’t know where we’re going or if it’s me or Liam leading us. From time to time I feel his intense gaze weighing on my shoulders. The shabby boardwalk marks the beginning of the sand and the shops, and slopes slightly upward. Our shoes scrape against the dampened wood as we walk along the soft incline in the opposite direction of my house. Sometimes we accidentally bump our elbows against each other and I step to the side, certain to make sure it won’t happen again, but it inevitably does. We don’t talk and I find myself wishing for a two-six of vodka.

It’s late enough for most of the shops to have flipped over their closed signs, so besides us and a few plastic flags being whipped by the gusts, the beach is empty.

There’s something inherently dangerous about this type of weather. It uncoils my nerves, sending my heart into a booming rhythm within my chest. Maybe it’s the deep, roiling clouds that blanket the sky or the way the trees bend to unnatural angles in the wind. But yet, it doesn’t frighten me. It makes me feel alive.

There are too many distractions for me to ponder everything that is wrong with my life.

Liam hasn’t lived in Old Shore long enough to be able to read the weather. He doesn’t know when the clouds are just taunting or if they’re actually going to strike. When glass shatters somewhere behind us, I sense him tense beside me. “Maybe we should find somewhere to go,” He breaks our silence, his deep voice being partially carried away by the wind.

And then I thought flits through my mind.

“Do you trust me?” I look at him. Our eyes meet. For a split second, I wonder if he finds my stare to be just as stripping as his. He rolls an answer around on his tongue, then hesitantly nods but not without first glimpsing down at my wrapped hand. I look at it too. The edges of gauze are stretched and curling from exposure to moisture. I pull my sleeves over my hand to hide the bandaging. “I’m not crazy,” I assert. Hearing the words aloud may not make him feel better but it makes me.

“I believe you.”

“Okay,” I say before launching myself off the edge of the boardwalk and sprinting across the sand.

***

The beach stretches from north to south. The south cuts off at a field of ruddy weeds and grass, piles of dried drift wood and bones from fish that have washed ashore. The north gradually grows narrow, eventually ending in a thin strip of sand tapering around the foot of a chalky cliff. It is this edge that I run toward with Liam huffing loudly behind me.

“What the hell are you doing?” His shout is partially carried away by the wind so I have to strain to hear him.

My arms pump at my sides and my hood has slid off my head. “Taking us to shelter!” I smile over my shoulder, amused by Liam’s panic stricken face. It has been too long, I think, since excitement has boiled my blood instead of anger or sadness. The wind doesn’t push me back, but propels me forward until I’m two feet away from the cliff’s wall. So close that it’s no longer just grey, but swirls of white and black and copper, too.

“Can you climb?” I yell, my eyebrow cocked in challenge. Gusts of winds encircle us at fifty kilometres per hour, transforming our jackets into parachute-like things.

Liam’s eyes widen in alarm. If my fingers were pressed against his pulse, I’d notice his heart thudding at the same rate that the wind is moving. He glances upward. I know it’s pointless. If you don’t know the cave is there, you can’t see it. For the first time in our short relationship, I am the calm one. It could be that the fact that I’m calm proves my insanity, but I push the thought away.

I soon learn that Liam is not taunted by competition. My dare doesn’t kick up a quarrel in his mind. That he’s not bothered by his fears or with losing any sort of manliness associated with being outshined a female. He takes a step away from the cliff, the water, and me. “No fucking way.”

But I have nothing to lose, so I grip a small piece of stone jutting outward, smooth from years of withstanding the pressure of my fingerprints. The path upward is engrained in my body, like muscle memory. Start with the right hand. Push the sole of your foot against the surface of the rock face. Two feet up is the handle for your left hand. Tug yourself up to where there’s a small indent to rest your feet.

Only look down if you want to fall.

“Nora! Get down!”

He is not my babysitter. He does not have to stay and be ready to catch me in case I slip. I do not want him to hang around just to make sure I remain alive. The last people who were responsible for aiding me in survival nearly killed me. He does not deserve that burden.

Ignoring him, I readjust my grip where the gauze makes it slippery. Beneath the wrap, the jagged gash throbs. Biting my lip, I press myself against the face to avoid a sudden blast of wind. Liam shouts at me again, his voice further away, sounding like it is being dragged into a vortex. I look below and it is during the split second when my left foot disconnects from the rock that I realize I do not want to die.