A short story inspired by viewing ‘Loose and Limbic’ by Claire Lefebvre.
The four of us walked in silence, making a staggered line down the path. Tall, mismatched fences on either side led us forward. There was a child’s laughter echoing from the left and a raised voice in the distance, a language we didn’t understand, but still we seemed alone on that path. We emerged and, before us, the pebbles stretched out to become the shore and then the ocean. A slight chill breeze and a smell of salt washed over us, all was a pale, ripply stillness. We made our way to the water’s edge, passing over gentle rises and dips, like the swelling of small waves frozen in time. There were signs of past visitors – a fisherman’s net poking up through the pebbles, crusty with salt and loose edges fraying; a weathered child’s bicycle, it’s once bright plastic worn pale and brittle; a discarded hat with an obscure logo and indecipherable Greek letters. But still, we were the only people. There was a dog. He was slim but not starving, with short caramel tan fur. He happily hung his tongue out the side of this mouth and approached us with a wagging tail. We petted him and he followed us down the beach.
I placed my hand on the wet pebbles, they were smaller at the shore, ground down to pieces of unrecognisable material, little specks of colour here and there. The water was cold and clear. As it washed over me it seemed to make my hand more real. I picked up a little rock, pale pink, marbled with white. While I turned it over, running my thumb over its smooth surface, I sensed movement behind me and without looking jumped up and away, just missing an attempted splash. A half smile invited retaliation. I put the rock in my pocket and a war of sorts ensued.
The sun started to set and an unspoken peace ended the battle, slightly breathless, we all looked out to the horizon: each silent, each thinking, each absorbing. Colours slowly morphed the once empty, pale blue horizon. The ripples of movement on the water caught the light and threw it back to the sky. Then one of us launched a pebble into the ocean. It plopped in with a splash and rippled outwards, for a second disturbing the stillness, bringing us out of our own heads. And then it’s a race to find bigger, better pebble. I threw a small one to see how far it could go. Someone found a round flat one and managed three skims along the water before it went under.
I looked up to see Molly sitting on a slight rise, the dog at her side, she still looked out over the water. Her pale pink hair was almost the same colour of the setting sky, her grey oversized jumper matched in with the pebbles, she was still, apart of the landscape. I spotted a nice, big rock and I threw it as far into the water as I could. It didn’t go far but it was satisfyingly loud. The splash reached up, the ripples swelled out and then it was gone. It was never there. Just like when we left that place on the beach, there were no ripples of our being there, not a photograph taken, not even a forgotten hat. Maybe that’s why I pocketed the pink pebble.
We laughed at the deep thudding splash. Was it nervous laughter erupting from disturbing the otherwise peaceful landscape or joy from making a change, showing we exist, we are here?
I sat next to Molly and the boys continued to try to find bigger rocks. I think Molly and I may have spoken a little, but we were both lost in thought, lost in the horizon. The light lost colour slowly, it faded to a pale wash of pink and orange, then into deep blues and darkened. Although I didn’t see him leave, the dog was gone. With the last of the light we made our way slowly through the path again and back to the car. Now that place is just memories, and a little pink rock I lost long ago.