Washed up on Shore

Waves of human beings pour from all different angles, over-filling my senses with each unique fume and style. I’m the eye of this storm, the calm in the middle of the chaos. I grip my daughter's hand tight, glancing down to make sure she is okay. Her eyes are wide and excited, her head whipping from side to side in genuine awe at the spectacle. I squeeze her hand a little tighter as we move through the hurricane, brushing by people who have little to no reaction from the contact. The storm seemed to rage on the further we ventured, clouds following behind us. My head might’ve exploded right here if it wasn’t for my daughter. I needed to protect her from this unreadable flood. Piranhas lurk everywhere, especially in the darker puffs of gaseous water.

I see it now; a bright beam of light guiding us through the waves. A lighthouse shines, a sweet relief from the chaos. I tug on my daughter’s hands, a small frown forming on her face. She doesn’t understand why we need to leave, but maybe when she gets older, she will understand the fear I seem to feel. A smile begins to curl my lips as the light gets closer, pulling my daughter and I out of this raging storm. Finally, we caught up to him, the beam of sunshine. He had a huge smile on his face, recognizing my daughter and I immediately.

While it is still busy, meeting up with my friend brought some type of security. My daughter’s hand remained in mine, but the grip was loose and relaxed. Her eyes largened as she looked around, her smile brightening the space we were in as she watched the flood continue from a distance.

“Need me to take her from your hands for a bit? You look like you need a breather, Angelo.”

His words were like a balm to my head. This break could give me time to relax. Taking him up on his offer, I release my daughter's hand and point to my friend, telling her to be good and stay put.

I’ve never been one for crowds. I only live in the city because of the wife, Rosie. She likes to be kept busy, which is probably why I’m always stuck with our daughter. As much as I love the kid, I need to take time for myself sometimes. All I needed was to splash water on my face, that’s all. Looking in the mirror, my eyebags were proof of my exhaustion and stress from this busy day. I know I need to get back to my girl, but it felt so nice to be nearly alone. Five more minutes, that’s all I need.

With a deep sigh, I return to the sea of people. Heavy steps take me back to my friend as I follow that familiar beam, returning back to a space that feels a bit more comfortable. That comfort isn’t there, though, for some odd reason. His eyes were frantic, and he didn’t look at me. Not once. As I got closer, the air felt tight and I immediately knew why.

“Paul.”

That’s all I could say. My mind went blank as I calmly look around the small area, we were supposed to find safe. My friend rambled on, stuttering and stammering about something I can’t seem to process. All I can do, all my brain can process, is to move and find her. Whatever fear I seemed to have from the earlier storm shattered, I didn’t care about the waves anymore.

My daughter is nine years old and three-quarters; she wouldn’t let me forget that part. She was out-going like all kids; she isn’t afraid of a challenge. She’s a cute girl, innocent and, well, a kid. She seemed to be the only thing I could think in this moment as I weaved through the waves like a submarine.

Every person in this wave looks like those piranhas I was worried about. No, not just small, dangerous fish. There were great whites, orcas, fishing poles everywhere. If I don’t find her, what would happen? I think Paul is lingering somewhere behind me, but even he was becoming some type of anglerfish.

Next thing I know, I’m sitting alone on a bench. It’s dark now, the tides seemed to calm down a little. Paul left a long time ago, I think. I squeezed my own hand as a police officer walks up to me, shaking his head. He starts to speak to me, but I couldn’t hear him. What do I tell Rosie? What do I do about Paul? Where is my baby girl? Amber alerts are sent out almost every day here, and now my daughter is one of those annoying phone-alarms.

Rosie is heart-broken. Tonight is spaghetti-night, but that isn’t what we ate. How could we eat when something like this is happening? Paul tried to come over, but if I see that jackass right now, I will probably kill him. He let my baby go. All he could say was something about “letting her explore”. It never occurred to him that the wind could easily pick my girl up. It did, and all I can do is pray and wait.

A week into her disappearance, Rosie’s starting to blame me. I’m letting her. Maybe if I wasn’t so anxious, maybe if I wasn’t so selfish, maybe if I didn’t need a break from the currents. I don’t argue with her. I know my wife is just hurting. I would rather be the punching bag than make her more upset. I think my silence is making her more impatient. I think she wants me to react, to argue back, to cry, but I can’t. Not when it won’t help anything. Instead, I’ll let her scream as much as she wants and hold her, silently praying that my daughter is safe while my wife begs verbally.

The day finally came. Paul came over and I nearly lost it. My daughter, my baby girl. The details don’t matter. Nothing matters except what happened. My wife seemed to expect the loss at this point. She lost her hope a few weeks ago while I clung on. Nearly every second of my life was dedicated to her. Five minutes taken to myself, five minutes of freedom, costed my daughter’s life. If I was there, if I could’ve just squeezed her hand tighter and suffered through the storm, she would’ve been here. It’s over now, my baby girl is gone. The storm rages on while future memories wash up on shore with her soul.