Sept 23, 2012
Chasing storms
It was the second time he has seen her silhouette as he watched the angry surf battle it out with the howling wind and the sky grew greyer every second that late afternoon in Tofino. She stood at the edge of the beachfront facing the open Pacific waters as if confronting the angry assault of the combined forces of nature. The spray from the mist seemed to blur her out every now and then and he stood transfixed watching, his heart beating faster and his grip on the shot glass tightened, bracing himself for what he didn’t know yet. He counted backwards from 20 to 0, determined to rush out to her if she’s still there by the time he reached zero, just like the last time. As he downed another finger of his Glenfiddich, he caught her fading figure as she ran toward her shelter, a few doors from his own.
The storm subsided a few hours later, the ocean seemed calmer, the stars brighter and the wind quieter inviting him to venture out for his nightly walk. Armed with a walking stick and using the clear sky and moonlight as his flashlight, he started his meditative walk only to stumble upon her. The silhouette was now a real body in front of him, he could make out a pretty face, with eyes that seemed to outstare and outshout his own as they made their first contact in that darkened walkway. He instinctively reached out to help her regain her balance, touching her elbows sent sparks and he found himself impolitely staring at her.
That was how they met and unnatural for first time acquaintances, they continued to walk together in comfortable silence, respecting their personal boundaries yet waiting for each other as they strode in the beachfront.
“Why…” both uttered to start up a conversation, followed by nervous laugh and he gestured for her to ask first.
“Why are you watching me all the time? Are you stalking me? I have seen you in your balcony watching me watch the storms.” Her voice was soft, and the tone almost a monotone and her eyes were avoiding his intense stare.
He decided to respond with his own set of questions. “Why do you that, I mean, why watch the storms up close instead of in your balcony? Are you trying to kill yourself?”
She stopped walking and faced him, her face a myriad of emotions debating whether to be forthcoming or nonchalant, his questions reverberating in her mind, as she studied this man’s, practically a stranger’s, countenance. Can she trust him? Would he care?
“I remember you. Last year, around this time too, same place. Seems we both enjoy watching pacific storms in early fall. You’re a creature of habit too, aren’t you? It’s my third year doing this, my version of communing with nature, except I think I do more of confronting it. Knowing I win every time is the force that drives me to come back, to see if this time I will lose to it.” That was the end of their walk. She bid him goodnight and headed back to the cottage. He watched her protectively until she disappeared from his view and the night shadows enveloped her.
He dreamt of her that night and he woke up sweating, his sleepy mind blurred by the dream of a woman huddled in the freezing cold as the waves tossed her out and he, try as he might, swam to get her back to the shore, only it was a futile effort.
He looked for her the next day, determined to know more about her but she’s gone! His heart sank, next autumn is a year too long to wait! Then the concierge handed him a note- from her! “I believe I have yet to answer the questions you asked me last night. Call me…”
