The End
How do our stories come to mind before we corral them into sentences to share with others? Well, this came from one of my beach walks. In fact, the image above is of the walkway I was on when the idea of meeting myself, or the more spiritual part of myself, first came to mind. So, what do you think of …
The End
I’d worked on the new manuscript all morning and well into the afternoon. I needed a break.
When I pull into the parking lot across the street from my favorite beach, tourists have taken all but one space. I guide my Prius between the parallel lines and quickly climb out. Sunset is close, so if I want to get in at least two miles before dark, I have to step on it.
Most people are packing up to leave, and from where I stand, I can only see a scattering of towels and picnic baskets on the sand. Dogs dart in and out of the waves, chasing balls, barking in excitement, and shaking their coats free of salty water.
Perfect.
As I step onto the warm sand, I have a slightly queasy moment, but then that feeling and all my problems fall away, and I take a deep breath, surprised at the sudden flood of well-being. It had been a tense day. The writing hadn’t gone well. My back had hurt, and a sharp pain across my chest that morning reminded me of the doctor’s appointment next week.
He’ll find something wrong. I’m sure of it. Oh, well.
I come to where the ocean laps at my feet, so I take off my shoes and wade in up to my ankles.
Ahh. This is the best medicine in the world.
That’s when I notice how quiet it has become, as if I’ve clamped mufflers over my ears. The waves pound onto the sand, but I can’t hear them. Overhead, the gulls soar like gliders, their squawky cries muted. Hearing loss is supposed to come gradually. Dang. Aging has a lot of surprises, and this is another one. I make a mental note to call the audiologist in the morning. This has to be a virus or something. And how did the beach suddenly empty? Even the romping dogs have vanished, and I’m alone.
I pick up my pace and make the mile to the boulders, then climb the hill to the wooden walkway. It’s an easier and faster return to the car, and the sun is dipping into the sea.
I’m almost at the parking lot when a figure silhouetted against the setting sun walks toward me. The person seems familiar, yet not. Once we stand face to face, we both inhale—that quick intake of breath that happens at an unexpected cold touch.
This is me, only I don’t look right without the filter of a mirror.
“I know what you’re thinking,” she says. “You’re not used to seeing yourself this way. Well, me neither.”
I can hear her, so I’m grateful for that. Note to self: don’t call the audiologist. But second note to self: If this is me, I sound like crap. “Am I losing my mind?”
She shakes her head and beckons me to walk back with her. “I think we’re meant to do this together.”
The question I have on my lips is “Do what together?” But I don’t have the chance to get the words out. The shrill sound of a siren stops me, and just in time, we dodge the ambulance when it swerves across our path and screeches to a halt. The crowd parts to let paramedics through, and that’s when I spot a familiar blue jacket. My blue jacket. It lies half on the parking lot asphalt and half on the sand.
I don’t remember discarding it. I look at my outstretched arms. I didn’t. I’m still wearing it. When I face my other self, she’s swiping a tear away.
“Are you understanding now?” she asks.
“I’m not sure…maybe?” I nod slowly. “But who are you? And who am I if I’m not”—I point at the blue jacket, which I’ve realized is on someone who looks exactly like the two of us.
“If you’re into naming. I’m called Soul. And, I’m sorry to say this to you, but we souls have a bigger”—she clears her throat—“more accepting view of this than Egos. They tend to overthink and take the loss personally.”
I’m pointing at her. “So, you’re—”
“Yes, I am. And, to be clear, you’re Ego.”
I peer over the shoulder of one of the paramedics and gaze down at the limp form in the blue jacket. “Then who is that?”
She considers my question before answering. “Packaging.” She smiles. “She had a good life. What do you say we let her go?”
“Oh. There’s still time to…to—”
“There is, but I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“Well, who are you to decide?” I draw myself up into my tower of indignation.
“Oh, please. Don’t go all huffy on me. It doesn’t suit you when you do that.”
“As you so clearly pointed out, Soul, it’s easier for you to walk away than it is for me.”
“I know. Sorry. But we can do this together, Ego. We’ve been a good team for many years. Let’s go out together, united and strong.” She points to the setting sun.
“Isn’t walking into the sunset too much of a cliche?” I glanced at Soul. “I mean for a writer?”
“Do we care about that anymore?”
Reluctantly, I shrug. “I guess not. Still, it’s hard to leave on a badly written ending.”
She takes my hand, and I think, “Well, this is…
The End.”
By next week, I think I’ll have a publication date for my next book, and I’ll be sharing some of the story and characters here on my Substack. Thanks for reading and thanks for your comments and restacks!
And don’t miss a chance to win 6 books, just for asking! This giveaway is one way we authors are celebrating Women’s History Month. Enter to win now and celebrate with us.
I really enjoyed this story. It's exciting that you will have a publication date soon.
Best wishes, Lee.
I enjoyed this. Didn't realise at first that it's a story!