The Beach “The Green of the Water”

"I watched her dip beneath the waves with the same disinterest I had when my dog ran away. I didn't know what to think at the time. I didn't know how I was supposed to react.

Or maybe I did, and I just didn't want to think about it.

She looked across the green, foamy water at me, and all of a sudden, all her panic left her. Because another emotion was overwhelming that very real fear; something that had to be terrible to make her stop struggling.

She looked at me, and I saw grief in her eyes.

And then she fell under the water, and didn't surface again.

My dog ran away when I was little. I was just becoming a teenager, and that made things different for me. I didn't know how I was supposed to react to things. Was I supposed to be an adult? Was it okay to act like a kid? Looking back, the fact I didn't cry when my dog disappeared wasn't surprising. Because I didn't know how to react. So, I figured I would react like a man.

What I thought a man was at least.

I didn't cry.

Just like I didn't cry as I watched Beth drown.

We planned the entire weekend together. We went to the place by the old beach house, the broken pieces of concrete littering the shore. We stayed at a local motel and simply spent the weekend relaxing, planning to explore the beach until we either got bored or satisfied.

There was a local drive-in that was particularly good. It was made of wood stained a deep brown. We stopped there and each got our favorites. I got a root beer float and a burger.

I can't remember what she got.

I think I’ve blocked it out. What her favorite was. Isn't that what happens? When you experience a trauma, sometimes you block out aspects of it to help you deal with it. A defense mechanism.

But I am only forgetting the parts that are pleasant. The parts that involve her. Except her death. That I remember clearly. So why can't I remember what she got to eat?

Did she not matter that much to me?

We were together a while. Maybe...maybe I just wasn't paying attention that day? Maybe I was distracted by something else I can't remember. Or maybe I am a more of a bad person than I ever imagined I was, or am.

Maybe that’s why I didn't save her, even though I probably could have.

She called out to me. She begged me to help her. Her foot got caught by something...something cold was grabbing onto her from under the water and she couldn't get free. I was on the beach at the time. Just watching her. I knew instantly that she was in trouble. Just by the look on her face. And it would have only taken maybe thirty seconds to get up to her, but I didn't try.

I just watched.

She was someone I thought I cared for and I watched.

I can hear her screaming. I have heard her screams every night since then. I know people would say that it is impossible. That you couldn't have the same dream for fifteen years. But I do, and every night I hear her screams.

I was horrified when I realized I had gotten used to it. It was like a smell that has been around for such a long time that you just block it out. And I think that makes me feel worse, if I even felt any of it at all.

Because I remember the smell of the water and the feel of the sand. Yet I can't remember her face. Only that she looked at me with grief, once she realized I wasn't going to save her. And to this day, I have no idea why I didn't. I just felt frozen and I couldn't decide what I should do.

And I remember her name. I remember Beth's name. But I remember every detail of my dog in the woods. The rain in the air. The musty smell of his skin. The feel of his fur.

I left him. I never forgot him.

I left her, but I can't remember her face.

I don't know what it means to be a man. What it means to be an adult. I think all these years I never really found out what it was I supposed to grow up to be.

All these years I have just been faking."

The brown, shaggy fur. I found the dog in the woods on a rainy day...

When I was little.

It rained today.