Scene from a Beach

Mia walked down the boardwalk, away from the house, toward the steps leading to the beach. She saw detritus from trees long gone poking through the slats along the path. Shoots and leaves looking for sun, growth, life, through unseemly conditions. Everything around her wanted to live. She gingerly took the stairs down to the sand, leaving her shoes on top of the storage box with the beach chairs. The sand was cold and damp, still tamped down and firm with moisture from overnight showers. Walking the beach this morning would be simple.

Mia followed along the shoreline, careful not to get her feet soaked as the waves came in and out. The lake was good this summer. Rain had kept the beach short and the tides high, unlike some of the dryer summers where she had to walk out anywhere from fifty to a hundred yards to get to the water. This morning there were white caps, and the lake seemed agitated. She felt the breeze against her hair, whipping some of the tendrils against her cheeks, eyes, and mouth. The wind's breath ran a shiver through Mia, and she quickly shook it off, looking out to the farthest tips of the beach she could see.

About a half mile out, the shore formed a bay, and the sun began its trek at the top of the bay. If Mia waited another twenty or so minutes, the light would land on her little part of the beach, heating and drying the sand. She liked the early morning and the firmness of the ground. Once the sand loosened up, she'd feel the effort in her Achilles' tendons through the rest of her walk.

Mia took a beat, standing still, gazing out to the horizon, wishing she could see beyond what was in front of her. Her thoughts were interrupted by the the pounding of heavy footfalls on the wooden steps to the beach. It had to be Dominic. They had been together for over twenty years, and they read each other like the old lovers they were. He was the dog-eared book she had flipped through a thousand times if she'd even flipped through his pages once. Recently, though, Dominic had become quite needy and covetous of Mia's time. His job was too much, and it seemingly pushed him into a corner where he constantly felt the need to reach out for Mia—at first like a drug, and more recently, like a lifeline. The neverending need wore her out. Initially, the novelty of being on an elevated and vaunted plane gave Mia a rush, and the crush of endorphins launched their sex life back to a level they hadn't enjoyed since before they were married. Eventually, though, the need became something she equated to whining, and Mia decided she did not like the needy and whining side of Dominic. The electricity fizzled, and Mia desperately wanted it back, but she didn't know how to get Dominic to be in charge of himself and show his mastery of his stress and anxiety. The worst part was feeling like she was a terrible partner, like she was selfish, unrealistic, unsupportive, and uncaring.

Dominic's mother had died the year before. She was what they termed, 'malingering.' She was waiting to die, and her quality of life, to Mia anyway, seemed mundane and unenjoyable. Everyone of consequence in her mother-in-law's orbit had died. She was the outlier and, to Mia, appeared to be bored, sad, and lonely. Mia showed Dom's mom, Mary, the photos on her phone. She was wheelchair-bound, and the last time anyone had taken her to the lake, it was a very short trip due to urinary incontinence. Mary didn't feel the potential humiliation was worth leaving the nursing home, but she loved the photos and videos on Mia and Dominic's phones.

There was a day on the beach when Mia photographed a long piece of what looked like driftwood. It seemed to reach across the sand like arthritic fingers, knotty, bleached, damaged. Mia knew it had drifted from nowhere. The age and decay had come from season after season of wind, rain, sun, and humidity, giving it a mottled and brittle look, as if it had stood the demands of a long-held battle between opposing forces. The old limb was at one time thicker, hardier, a place to sit through years of bonfires, and now, it was reduced to something someone might throw away or cast back into the lake.

Mary took a long time looking over the photo of the old limb. "I feel like that piece of wood. I'm not useful anymore, not beautiful. I'm just…here…just waiting for whatever is coming next." She shook her head to acknowledge the futility of the closing chapter of her life.

"Mia, do me a favor, please." Mary grasped Mia's arm with both her hands. She spoke softly but fervently. "I want you to leave me some pills. I don't really care what kind of pills. Just bring me a bottle some time. Leave it in my lingerie drawer." Mia stared at Mary, looked her directly in the eye.

"Have you discussed this with Dominic?" Mia, too, whispered.

Mary shook her head. "He wouldn't understand. Do you remember how long you had to beg him to put your sweet dog down when she was so sick?"

Mia nodded.

"Just leave a bottle of something. I'll know when the time is right."

Two weeks later, Mia left a bottle of ibuprofen behind. Every time she heard the nursing home's ring tone on Dominic's phone, she anticipated what Dominic would tell her when the call ended, but the call didn't come. After a while, she thought Mary had changed her mind, until Mary had developed chronic urinary tract infections, which made Mary more than a little psychotic. Mary didn't get to use the ibuprofen. She developed sepsis and died in her sleep. Mia didn't tell Dominic about the ibuprofen, but he was incensed when he packed Mary's belongings and found the bottle of pills.

Dominic joined Mia on the beach. He reached for her hand. "I missed you. How long have you been out here?"

Mia knew he couldn't possibly miss her. She had only been on the beach for around thirty minutes.

"Stop telling me you miss me. I'm right here. I'm always right here. How can you miss me if you always know where I am? Do you know how sad you sound?"

"But I just love you so much. I want to spend time with you. That's all I want. Time together."

"You are making me crazy, Dom. I know this last year hasn't been easy with your mom and your job, but you need to toughen up. I want to support you, but the constant need is wearing me out…and then I feel like a bitch because I'm not being the partner you need. It makes me feel terrible about me, about us."

Dominic stood in front of Mia. She didn't look at him, and he wasn't looking at her either. He was looking past her at the beach beyond. His eyes were locked on something far off in the distance, and when he spoke, it didn't seem like he was talking directly to her. Maybe he was wondering aloud. "Do you not want to be with me anymore? Is that what you're saying? Do you still love me? I get the feeling I annoy you all the time anymore. What do I need to do?"

"God, Dom. Why do you have to be so fatalistic? Of course I love you, but you're making me crazy. I think we need a tune-up. I think we need to figure out how to be together in this part of our lives. I need to figure out how to be with you without wanting to end your life."

They stood there, on the beach, looking in opposite directions, listening to the seagulls and the waves crashing along the shoreline. Close to the horizon, Mia saw a small ski boat, but it was too far to hear its motor. She thought she'd like to be on the boat, away from her current circumstance. She thought she'd like to be anywhere but here. "I don't want to end your life. Not really," Mia announced. "Sometimes I want to choke you, but I never want to end your life. You're my person, but because you're my person, you're pushing buttons all the time, and you need to stop it."

Dominic ran his fingers through his hair and turned in the direction of the ski boat. He squinted, trying to bring the small craft into focus, and perhaps trying to push a little moisture back into his eye sockets.

Mia broke the silence again. "Your mom would've loved a morning like this."

Dominic simply nodded. "You know she wanted to die," he said. "She was tired of being here."

"I know," Mia said. "She told me many times. She asked me to help her."

Dominic tore his gaze from the water and looked pointedly at Mia. "What? What did you do?"

Mia took in the face of the man she had loved so well for over half her life, her dear one. "I bought her a bottle of ibuprofen and put it in her underwear drawer."

"You shouldn't have done that without telling me. You shouldn't have done that. It wasn't your decision."

"It wasn't your decision either, and, of course, I couldn't tell you. You couldn't even do the humane thing with our dog, Dom. Your mother asked me for a favor. That's all. Whatever she could live with was her choice, not mine, and certainly not yours. In the end, she didn't get to use the pills, and her last days were miserable, but she let things happen as they did. She chose. Not you, not me."

"But it's like you gave her a loaded gun." Dom's voice rose.

"Was it, though? She wasn't going to hurt anyone. I think she wanted an option, and I think she wanted her life and her death to be on her terms. I don't know if she actually got what she wanted, though, but I did a very small thing for her."

"I thought I knew you, really knew you, Mia. For over twenty years, I thought I knew how your mind worked, but this. This is something I couldn't know."

"Sorry. I don't know why I even told you. Your mom and I agreed I'd never tell you, but I think I must have thought you deserved to know. I don't know. Maybe I just wanted you to see me differently than this thing you've decided is the focal point of your universe. I'm just a person, Dom. I'm not perfect, and I don't know that I deserve all your unabashed adoration."

Mia placed her hand in Dominic's. The two turned away from the sunny side of the beach and walked for a while in silence until they came upon a large, dead catfish that had washed up on the beach. The seagulls had already removed the fish's eyes, pecked at the gills and cloaca.

"The birds always go for the eyes first," Mia said softly.

"It's where the fish is most vulnerable," Dominic responded.