Member-only story
The Girl Who Stepped From the Ocean
I found her.
The woman stands on the shoreline, the skirt of her dress run wet with the saltwater tide. She appears there as if she’s just a memory, but it’s one I long to savor. I gather my net and my fishing supplies before bundling them in my rowboat. Then I cross the beach’s dunes, my bare feet kicking up sand, before I stand before her.
She looks up and sees me as if she’s startled. Our mouths open at the same time as if we’re both dying to speak out — to say anything, to quench our longing for conversation — but I decide to let her talk first. Her throat probably aches from all the words left unsaid.
“How long have I been lost?” she asks, the wind tangling in her wet curls. I reach out and brush aside her flow of hair and smile as if I’ve been waiting to hear her voice for the longest time.
“I thought you’d never come, really,” I say. “I was starting to lose hope. But I waited and waited and waited. I watched the sun go down for what felt like a million times. But you’re here now.” I grasp one of her hands and bring her palm to my lips. “And I’m not going to let go. Never, never, never.”
She cocks her head and smiles in a way that gets my heart racing. “You’re a strange man,” she says.
