The Other Shore: Two Stories of Love and Death

The Other Shore: Two Stories of Love and Death

  Paul Hina

  Copyright ©2016 by Paul Hina

  The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Table of Contents

  The Other Shore

  From the Boathouse

  The Other Shore

  Simon is sitting in his car, weeping.

  He was about a block from his house before the dread descended on him—fell over him like a black curtain. He was barely able to pull over to the curb before the tears started to fall. And now, alone in his car, in the middle of his neighborhood, he's helpless to it, leaning over the steering wheel sobbing and gasping for air.

  This has been happening more often recently. He'll be going through the motions of his day, and then it'll just hit him like a wave. It's as if a wall of sadness and hopelessness splashes into him, and he's soaked by it. There's no warning before it happens. It doesn't seem like anything in particular triggers it. One moment, the feeling's not there, and then, suddenly, it is.

  It started about six months ago, soon after he accepted a promotion at work, and it's been happening with increasing frequency ever since. Now, it seems to be happening a couple times a day.

  He knows things can't go on like this.

  He suspects the dullness of his life is what's squeezing him. His job was always dull, but he hoped he'd get out from under it eventually, find something that suited him better, something that was more rewarding somehow. But now that he's accepted a supervisory position, he feels stuck by it. He's stuck by the money, stuck by the responsibility, and stuck by domestic necessities.

  But these domestic necessities have felt less necessary and more toxic as time goes by. He and Rachael have been living together for more than four years. And though their relationship started out just fine—they got along well enough, enjoyed each other's company—it withered into mundanity long ago. The novelty of playing house seemed to sustain them during the first year, but they've been running on fumes ever since—staying together out of fear of being alone more than anything else. But now, her presence in the house is choking him. Her questions about work, the dullness of household maintenance, the perfunctory plugging-the-spot-in-the-calendar sex, have all made him dread each day more than the last. He forgets what it was like to wake up in the morning and think about how things could be different, forgets what it was like to have something to look forward to in life. There's nothing on the horizon, just dullness as far as the eye can see.

  And she wants to get married.

  There's no question getting married is where they should be by now. That's where healthy relationships evolve after this much time has past, and yet the whole idea of tying himself tighter to her is a terrifying prospect.

  He feels like his path in life has cornered him, and his mind is racing to find a way out but sees no path forward.

  He sits up from the steering wheel, tries to catch his breath, wipes the tears away with his shirt sleeves and looks around the neighborhood to see if anyone's around.

  All clear.

  He bends the rearview mirror toward his face, stares into his puffy, red eyes. They're pink, tired, and look like they belong to someone older than his thirty-four years. He moves the mirror back in position, places his hands back on the wheel, and decides to take the long way to work in order to buy the time he needs to clear away any evidence of his tears.

  The phone vibrates in his pocket. He pulls it out and looks at the screen.

  It's his sister, Maggie.

  She's been calling a lot recently. They've barely talked in the past five or six years. After their mom died, there was no longer a conduit connecting them, and they were never particularly close as adults before that anyway. So, it's strange for her to be calling so often—probably the fourth call this week.

  But he can't let himself feel guilty about avoiding her now. He's in no condition to talk at the moment. He'll have to get back to her later.

  He watches the phone, waiting for a voicemail message to appear. But none does. This isn't surprising. She seems to have given up on leaving voicemail messages. She knows he's not listening to them.

  Even the thought of hearing her voice right now is a taxing notion. There's a sadness in her voice he's always hated to be reminded of. It's the sound of their mother that he hears in her voice. The same sadness that was in her also hangs over Maggie's words, even more so since their mother's death six years ago.

  Six years. It doesn't feel that long ago.

  As he drives to work, he tries to take his mind to happier places, even though those places have been harder to find recently. He used to be able to transport himself to a future full of all the things he'd hoped might happen, but those places don't seem to exist anymore. It may be common for most people to find happier places by reminiscing about the past, but there's not much happiness for Simon there, either.

  Marie, Simon and Maggie's mother, was the perpetual victim-type. She was always sad, and it was always someone else's problem. If it wasn't Simon or Maggie sending her into a spiral, it was their father, Simon Sr.(known as Sy). And since it was usually Sy who took the brunt of the blame for her endless melancholy, he would rarely find his way home.

  Sy is a successful poet, and as contemporary poetry goes, that still counts for very little financially. To make any money at all, he taught at university and traveled for readings as often as he could. He spent more time on the road, or with students, then he did at home with his own kids. As an adult, Simon finds it difficult to blame Sy for his absences, but there's a child still there that misses his father and wants nothing more than the light he would bring with him into their home—a light so sorely needed but rarely seen.

  To his father's credit, he did stay with his mom long past the point anyone could reasonably expect. Even though Maggie never left home, opting to attend the local university, Sy didn't leave until both kids were adults.

  But once Sy met Susannah, all hell broke loose. As far as Simon knows, he never cheated. And he was honest with Marie about Susannah from the beginning. But it hardly mattered. She went into a tailspin, as she was prone to do. She lived in her dark room and poured the drama on as thick as she could. But this time turned out to be different. She never came out of this one. She disappeared into herself, into an even deeper melancholy than usual. Maggie, alone, carried the family's burden of dealing with her, and she never let Simon forget about it. Simon was where he is now, three states away, trying to pretend that distance means forgetting.

  Of course, it doesn't.

  Two months after Sy left Marie for Susannah, she took a bottle of pills. This time was different from the numerous other attempts in the past. This one wasn't a head fake, a cry for help or a feeble manipulation. This one was the real thing. She meant it.

  That was the last time Simon was home, to scatter her ashes at the lake near their house. This was also the last time he saw Maggie, and all he heard the whole time was how he should've been home, how his mom never needed him more, and how Sy had abandoned the entire family for a younger woman.

  And though Simon was certainly angry with his father for leaving them to clean up a mess he helped to create, he also understood his desire to get away. And now that Maggie had become every bit their mother's daughter, it was easy for Simon to go away again—to stay away.

  So, he did.

  And he and Maggie's relationship has been strained ever since, consisting mostly of awkward birthday calls or text messages that receive mostly curt responses, if they get any respo
nse at all.

  Simon checks the rearview mirror again, checks the whites of his eyes for signs of earlier sadnesses. They seem clear enough. The puffiness around his eyes has mostly relieved itself by now.

  Simon works out of the university's library. Their offices are currently located in the library annex until construction of their updated space in the main library is complete. The annex is an off-campus building that acts as a warehouse for books that are old, damaged, or rarely in circulation. Simon is supervisor of the Special Collections department, focusing on rare and collectible books and materials.

  It's not a job he ever thought he'd have. When he was a kid, he loved books, read whatever he could get his hands on. Some of the few good memories he has of his father are of him reading adventure stories aloud—his soothing voice easing Simon to sleep—on those few