The beach
We walk along the river, and I am very distracted by the pain in my arm. It makes my skin sing songs of hatred.
“What is happening to me, Rogger?”
She puffs her pipe and strokes her beard. “You’re healing, William. And healing hurts.”
“I suppose. Why do I feel so much anger and hatred then?”
Rogger crunches her eyes at my arm, then slides them up toward my eyes. “Dwarfs run off hate and anger, William. The caves I come from, anyway. So I may be the wrong person to ask.”
I turn to Pem.
She’s walking along, her four paws moving fast to keep up with us, her body bouncing as she trots.
“Why do you think, Pem?”
Pem looks up at me from behind forward whiskers. “Why what?”
“Why am I feeling so angry and full of hate because of this mucus-y poultice that Boggy Nic spit on my arm?”
“Well no one likes being spit on, William,” Pem says.
I laugh, and it helps. “That’s true.”
“But, you know … you’re kind of an angry person,” Pem says.
I feel surprise, first along my scalp, then as a tenderness in my chest. “I am?”
Pem looks ahead. “Yeah. Like, really angry.”
She runs close to me and rubs against my leg. “But I still love you, no matter what! We’re friends forever!”
I smile. “Thanks, Pem. I feel the same.”
Rogger speaks again: “Anger is just frustration, William. It’s the hate I’d be more concerned about.”
“Well are you concerned?” I ask her.
Rogger bites her pipe, puffs it. “You mean with my own, or yours?”
“Either.”
Rogger puffs. “Yes. Yes, I suppose I am. With both.”
“So what do we do about it?” I ask. “I don’t want hate in my life. Not in any way.”
Rogger nods. “I know the feeling, my boy. I know the feeling. But sometimes feelings possess us more than we possess them.”
“What does that mean?”
Pem shouts: “Look! It’s the beach!”
I look and see it: white and golden sands commingled and spreading wide, the blue tide coming in, pale birds dipping and diving. It’s familiar.
“Have I been here before?” I ask.
Before Pem can say, my left hand raises and my ring finger points forward. I look at the callus where the ring was and wonder about her again. I want to ask Pem, but I know it will only upset her. So I don’t.
“Yay! I’m gonna go fishin’!” Pem races for the water.
Rogger pulls down the brim of her hat, glares at the sand.
“Not a fan of the beach, Rogger?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “No, can’t say I am. But you run along with Pem and have fun now. I’ll hold the rear and keep an eye out for sandylions.”
“What’s a sandylion?” I ask.
Rogger waves me on. “Don’t fret, just go have fun.”
I nod. “Yeah, okay.”
I walk to the beach. The sand gets everywhere instantly, filling my loafers and sticking to my pants.
I feel my chest opening, but it’s not fun inside. It’s a sore spot, a longing. A tide.
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