lonesome

Lora had never been alone before. Not once in her life. She’d gone to this rental by the sea to experience it. To dive into the deep end, so to speak. The rental owner promised her she’d be miles from the next person. She stood on the back patio overlooking the frothing gray sky and Ad Reinhardt blue-black waters. So, this is what it’s like to be alone, she thought. And a voice seemed to answer, It’s nice, isn’t it? 

So unused to being alone, Lora had invented another voice to respond to her first lone thought. At least, that’s what she assumed it was. From there, she had more thoughts and did not hear as much of a response, so she assumed it was just a passing moment of adjustment to her novel state.

Lora decided to settle in. She walked through the rental, noting the rustic charm of the seaside cottage. The wooden floors creaked under her feet, and the scent of salt and aged wood filled the air. She made some tea, just enough for herself, and sat on a creaking wicker chair in front of the fireplace, which didn’t yet have a fire in it.

Just then, she had the thought, or perhaps vision, of the room brightly lit with a warm orange-yellow light from a blazing fire. It was filled with people who were all dressed somewhat formally. The sound of their buzzing conversation filled the cottage, along with that light tinkling of glasses Lora was so fond of.

She craned her head and took in the scene quite vividly, astonished at how lucid the daydream was. She stood and walked among the guests, none of whom she recognized yet she felt she’d known them forever. They looked at her and smiled. Some remarked on what a wonderful gathering it was. She was so pleased.

She walked into the kitchen and there was someone there, facing out the window. This person, she could tell, was not enjoying themselves in the slightest. They had a stormy air around them. Even their clothes, baggy and gray, had a murky quality to them. 

Are you not having fun, Lora asked the stranger.

What do you think they’re doing down there? replied the stranger.

Where?

Down there. Under the water.

What do you mean?

Do you think they’re having a party like this?

What a whimsical thought, said Lora. The fish, you mean? 

No. The people. The ones who live down there. Look.

The stranger shuffled aside, back still turned to Lora. She hesitantly made her way to the window and looked down. The water was churning quite violently. She stared and leaned in a bit further. Now she could see them. There were people under there. They were standing, it seemed, just under the surface of the water. Their skin was pale and green. They were looking up, mouths open. 

A cold chill eeled its way up Lora’s spine. She turned to the right, toward where the stranger had been, but they were gone. Then she turned all the way around, and the party-goers were gone too. Indeed, the cottage was dark and blue from the cloudy late sunset. She looked down and noticed water was gathering at her feet. She kicked at the puddle, which was growing to fill the whole cottage, with the curiosity of someone on a winter’s stroll along the shore. 

The water began to rise at an alarming rate, or what ought to have been alarming. Lora regarded it lazily, dragging her feet through the briny foam, which was now up to her knees, breathing slowly and deeply. She did not regard the others standing at the window, mouths slack, pale green and glowing.

The rising sun woke her on that wicker chair. The fireplace did in fact look like it had been used recently. Ashes gathered around charred chunks of firewood. Had she made one before nodding off? Somehow she knew she hadn’t, yet she was alone, she reminded herself, sending a current of giddiness from her ankles to her neck, and so it must’ve been her.

She made her way down the long sloping path to the water’s edge, lunch basket in one hand, blanket tucked under the other arm. She set her ideal picnic up and stared out at the rolling waters, still quite animated. Maybe the water here was never at rest, she thought, or maybe it’s just the season for it. 

She sat and ate and tried to ignore the loneliness she felt from time to time, creeping up at her. She’d come here for a reason, she reminded herself. She was sick of always being around someone. She couldn’t stand not being able to walk a block down the street without someone saying something toward her. And if she met the gaze of a familiar face, it could turn into an all day affair, or at the very least result in an obligation for another day.

Here, her schedule was her own and her path was clear. Wake, walk, eat, drink, think, read, sleep. Whatever she desired. And it must be emphasized, she had never experienced anything quite like this before. Since childhood, Lora was always around someone, or someone was around her, if there really were a difference between the two, though to Lora there certain was.

It was others that always seemed to be buzzing around her, not the reverse. Sure, sometimes she’d seek out the company intentionally, but more often than not, people would just seem to be there, whether she wanted them to be or not. That had always been the case for over thirty years of her conscious life. And although she’d daydreamed about getting away, she’d never actually gone through with it until now. The closest she’d come were a handful of trips out of town, but someone always seemed to be there along with her. A lover, a friend, family, all of the above. The invitation to join her would fly from her mouth before she could stop it. 

Not so now. This was the one she’d be waiting for. The real vacation. A few friends had even tried to spoil it, and for the first time, she refused. That had made all the difference. She’d simply said, no thank you, I’d like to do this one solo. As soon as she’d said it, she knew she did something wonderful for herself. And so far, odd dreams aside, it was proving to be the case.

At the water’s edge, chewing on bread and cheese and apple, she felt more content than she’d ever been in her life. At least not since she was very young, and found, only once or twice, an empty corner of a library in which to read. She might’ve only had a few minutes to herself then though, before her mother found her. Now no one could, she made sure of that, telling no one of the location of her getaway.

She must’ve nodded off again, she’d later guess. As in that moment, she could’ve sworn she saw something strange over the water. It was a group of people, walking in circles. A pack, you might say. They were walking slowly but deliberately in a messy ring, shoulder to shoulder, about fifty yards from where she sat. They weren’t there and then suddenly they were.

Towards these people, Lora felt she knew them and liked them, but had no interest in speaking to them. That was the absurd thought that played across her mind then. Please don’t see me. I want to be alone. Don’t look my way. And for a long while, none did. She sat until her food had gone cold from the plummeting temperatures, much of it blowing away in the rising winds. She didn’t notice this. She just kept staring at that crowd walking on the water, swaying with the shifting heights of the surface.

They all look so miserable, she thought. They don’t look excited to get anywhere in particular, nor to return to where they’ve come from. Eventually, Lora’s gaze broke from the group over the water and gazed back up toward the cliff where her rental stood. She saw many dark figures standing on its edge, looking down at the crowd as well. Her heart sunk. Surely some of them would’ve spotted her sitting there too. Indeed, a procession of these figures began down the slope leading to her picnic area. 

Oh god, no, no, she thought. Go away. Can’t you just go away and leave me alone!

The march continued. Soon, they’d reach the spot where, hours ago, she’d had lunch so blissfully on her own. They’d fill the space and begin to chatter. Some would address her and start asking questions she’d have no interest in answering. Then, inevitably, a barrage of invitations would assault her until she finally caved and said yes to one or more of them. The rest of her trip would be booked solid, with no time to herself. It made her want to scream, but then she’d look insane. 

Is that so bad? she thought. Certainly less people would want to talk to her if they thought she was some kind of unwell. But no, in her experience, that only invited more of an invasion into her privacy. More questions, more offers of “help”, more directives and demands and commands, even from total strangers. You must try this medication, you must see this professional, you must try this herbal remedy. It was much worse than being sane and sober for these intrusions. At least then, she could keep the interactions to a bare minimum.

However, as the procession neared her, she saw the looks on the faces of those individuals, strangers yet familiar to her somehow. They didn’t wear the expression of those wishing to make idle chit chat. They seemed sinister, in a way. She’d not often seen that look before, but had, on occasion. This look that portended hostility, ill-will, or even violence. Only sometimes strangers on the street would direct such a look at her. But nearly all her life, the energy she’d received from others had been pleasant, even if unwanted. Not so with this group. 

Had she done something to offend them? she thought. Maybe she wasn’t meant to picnic here. But it was part of the property of the rental, and as she was paying to be here, didn’t she have the right to? Well, at least an interaction with a bit of conflict was more tolerable than the relentlessly polite ones to which she’d become so accustomed and bored.

They were only a minute or so away now, and she was getting very frightened. She was alone, she remembered. Alone meant vulnerable. She’d always heard about this feeling, but never experienced it. Here now it was visceral. No friendly face in that crowd, nor within many miles. Anything that happened to her right here, no one would stop it nor even witness it. She stood and backed towards the water’s edge, which was down a bit of a slope in the soily sand. Her heels stuck out over it, resting on nothing.

The crowd from the cliff neared. She knew then, could not be more certain, that they meant her harm. One slight shuffle more of her feet and she went toppling backwards. A hard thud on the ground proceeded by icy water gathering around her head, muffling her ears, as the crowd of figures gathered around. They stuck out their hands and reached down, and she attempted to scream but the frigid brine filled her mouth. 

She woke with the wind curling her picnic blanket around her body, like a cocoon. The rain was coming down in large drops. She was shivering. She grabbed what hadn’t blown very far away and rushed back up the slope to the rental. Once inside, she quickly made a fire and sat herself only a foot or so from it, shaking uncontrollably.

Still, she thought, I don’t regret choosing to be alone. In fact, it’s not the being alone part that’s the problem here. It’s the fact that I can’t seem to get away from people, not even here, not even in my dreams. It’s as if my mind won’t let me be truly on my own. It’s brought all kinds of people along with it. Or maybe it is this cottage. Maybe it’s something in the wood and stone of it. Maybe it’s something being carried in by the sea air. All the drowned people being thrilled there’s finally someone to hangout with. Drawn to this place like a lighthouse. I wish I could run up a giant flag that said DO NOT DISTURB. I wish I could wear it around my neck.

She had a strange thought then. A product of exhaustion and a touch of hypothermia, maybe. Above one of the doorways was hanging a luck charm of some kind on a bit of rope. It looked almost like a horseshoe but was bashed into a different shape, something a bit more squared with odd, abrupt edges. She shuffled over to it, blanket wrapped tightly around her shoulders, and with a chair’s assistance, took it down and pulled it over her head, like a necklace.

There, she thought. Now they’ll know. Here’s someone who enjoys being alone, or is at least trying to learn to enjoy it. Do not disturb. She began to feel very relaxed. Some part of her knew this would do the trick. The host must’ve left it there for this very reason. She felt heavy all over, but her bones were beginning to warm again. She got back in the wicker chair, which she pulled a bit closer to the fire, but not too close, and drifted off, intentionally this time.

Another dream. The entire cottage this time lifting up and floating over the cliff. She woke as it moved across the desaturated sky. She looked out the window as it drifted to a spot, in a way that suggested it was programmed to go just there, like an elevator docking on the floor to which it had been summoned. Then it dropped, slowly, gently, until it rested just on top of the water, swaying like the cradle on the bough in that lullaby. And when the bough breaks… But this bough would not break, she was sure of it.

Guests were arriving. Many dozens of them. Figures with smeared faces. Pale and green, or murky and indigo. They marched along without any joy to arrive nor eagerness to return from where they’d come. They knocked politely then entered without her answering. They filled the cottage, which glowed only faintly from the dying fire. They spilled in until every square inch around Lora was filled with the buzz of meandering conversation. No tinkling glasses this time. They were all just standing, arms and mouths equally slack. The voices deep and murmuring. Not a single person addressed Lora, though they seemed to slide in around her and her chair, to which she’d returned, brow furrowed.

She’d just have to endure this, the same way she’d endured so many unwanted social moments like this one. She’d have to wait until they all got bored and tired, even the most lonely and clinging among them, and went back to their homes with the same reluctance which which they left them. Unlike herself, she thought, they had no idea how to appreciate being alone. They were still slavishly tied to this notion that one must always be around others of the tribe, the herd, the pack. They had not evolved to where they could sit in a quiet, empty space, and let it remain quiet and empty.

Just then, she had a strange thought. It was of the rental property owner. She was speaking on the phone to someone. Insurance claim, something like that. The cottage was gone, she heard her say. Blown entirely over in the storm. How much of the damages could be compensated, and so on. She heard no mention of herself, Lora thought with some relief. It must’ve happened after she’d left. Or it will, she thought. It was difficult to think straight in the din of this mindless droning on of the guests. 

As soon as this party is over, she thought, I’m gone. And although I might’ve failed to be alone on this trip, it’s not often that people get things right on their first attempt. After this, I’ll continue to practice, and some day, she promised herself, she’d learn to be alone and remain alone. Even if it took every last penny she had and could borrow, she’d build a home shaped like this thing dangling from her neck. She’d cover the walls with it too. She’d even go out with a stencil and spray paint can and tattoo the sidewalks within miles of her home. All the effort and resources would be worth it, she thought firmly, for a bit of rest and peace.