Saltwater

Today I am very pleased to host here a piece of flash fiction by Sarah Lowes, writer and sometime performer – and a fellow member of Holmfirth Writers’ Group.

Saltwater

Lying here, floating on my back, I have two choices. I can open my eyes and see the immense blue of the sky or close them and look at the dark red warmth behind my eyelids. Sometimes I do both, one after the other, just for the contrast. I can never make up my mind which is best – that overarching blue that looks like it goes on for ever or the red warmth that feels safe and calm.

I don’t move a muscle, other than the way the gentle bobbing of the waves moves my limbs from time to time. I just lie here and surrender to the embrace of the ocean. This turquoise water holds me up like a piece of fruit in a nearly set jelly. I lie here, just being.

That’s the latest thing, isn’t it, mindfulness? I’ve got a real talent for it – no regretting the past or worrying about the future, just now. It’s so easy for me that I can’t imagine why it’s hard for anyone else – now is so sunny and warm and pleasant, why think of other things?

The heat of the sun is so healing and it fills my whole body until I feel light and clean. I feel so loved, so forgiven. Tears of relief trickle down my face – saltwater flowing into saltwater. And salt is so cleansing, isn’t it? Had a tooth out? Swill your mouth out with saltwater. It purifies and washes everything away.

Sometimes, I sense a disturbance in the depths; it’s barely there but my body detects it. It’s something that divers call “the washing machine”, where different currents collide far below the surface, fathoms deep. But then it’s gone, and I float on as before, letting the ocean take me wherever it likes.

I once read that we know more about the surface of the moon than about the depths of the sea. Inky, black depths – not like these transparent, green waves that lull me with their gentle movements. This is what it must be like in the womb – floating in warm water, rocked softly back and forth. No wonder it feels so familiar and comforting.

For some reason, I feel such a strong need to be comforted, soothed. Just acknowledging that makes a sob catch in my throat…and then the moment passes.

The past, if there is one, is behind a locked door, a heavy steel one, sealed like the door of a safe. Nothing gets in or out without the combination. The friendly waves have carried those numbers out to sea and washed them away, the soggy paper disintegrating entirely. All gone.

The ocean buoys me up and I lie here, floating in perfect love. Very faintly, a long way away, I hear the sound of voices, the scratching of a pen on a prescription pad and the rattle of a trolley, but only in the distance. And that’s where it will stay, I will make sure of it. Only now is real.

Contact – senlowes@icloud.com

_{pic: Cbusram. Licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0}