By time I decided to go for a walk, it was already 4.30 in the morning. I like walking at night; it clears the head. The streets are empty and as silent as a churchyard and the only sound you’re likely to hear is the sound of your own footsteps. That night, the rain was beating down, but there was next to no wind. Perfect weather. I sat on the couch as I laced up my shoes and I grabbed my jacket from the hall before heading out the door.
I started taking these walks around a year ago, around the time my wife had died. Everyone said that I was taking things remarkably well – almost too well – but I didn’t know how else to react. Sure, if asked beforehand, I might have expected my reaction to be a little more dramatic, but I can’t complain. By time she was diagnosed, it was too late to really do anything. I took the time off work and we holidayed together in Europe before coming back home. She died a few weeks later. At first she wanted to die at home, but just before the end she changed her mind. I’m not sure why. Maybe she didn’t want me to think of the house as some kind of mausoleum.
At the funeral, I was the most composed person in the whole family; the rest sat snivelling into their handkerchiefs like schoolchildren sat out in the cold. After me and the other pallbearers lay the coffin at the front, we sat and listened to her favourite song. It was a lovely service; there must have been at least two hundred people there. It was a secular service and she was cremated as per her wishes. She never specified what we should do with her ashes, so I scattered them on a beach not far from where we lived. I didn’t like keeping them in the urn. It didn’t seem fair.
The rain was really lashing down now. I could feel my trousers sticking to my legs as I walked headlong into the wind. The sky was more blue than black and I thought it must be turning into morning. Real morning, I mean. Maybe not, though. I could still see the stars. After a while, the wind had eased and the rain slowed to a gentle tapping. I thought about lighting a cigarette, but I didn’t feel like stopping. I can’t explain it. So long as I kept on walking, I felt like I was doing something. Going somewhere. Where, I don’t know, but I don’t think it’s very important. I’m not the sort of person that likes to sit around doing nothing; I like to keep myself busy. I give myself little projects to fill my days with when I can’t think of anything else to do. Cut the grass, maybe, or stop that door from squeaking. But at night, when I can’t sleep, all I want to do is walk. For hours, sometimes. I must’ve been out for at least that long. Either way, all that mattered is that I kept on walking.
The sun was starting to come up, which made me wonder just how long I’d been walking for. I never wore a watch as I rarely found myself anywhere that didn’t have a clock at hand. What startled me the most is where I ended up. I was only a couple of minutes away from the beach. I heard the sea before I realised where I was, but the thought of it didn’t seem to process. I hadn’t even noticed it had stopped raining. When I arrived at the beach, the tide had all but lowered and the horizon looked like the spilled innards of a lava lamp. I walked along the promenade a little before leaning against the barrier. I looked up and down but I couldn’t remember where I had scattered the ashes. I guess it didn’t really matter. I pulled down the hood of my jacket and I breathed in the fresh sea air. It was pretty cold, but I liked how it felt. I could taste the salt on my lips.
After a while, I decided to hop over the barrier. I took off my soaked shoes and sodden socks and I rolled my trousers to the knee before walking down to the water. The sand was still damp from the rain and the sea but it was still fine and granular. I picked up a handful and let it sift through my fingers as it blew away in the wind. I sat down and tied the laces of my shoes together and I stuffed the socks into them before hanging them around my neck. I ambled down toward the water and I let it wash over my bare feet. It was deathly cold. Still, I stood there, splashing my feet like a child in summer, listening to the roll of the surf and the swish of the wind. I took off my jacket and dropped it to the sand and it blew away like a polystyrene bag as I held my arms aloft, feeling the wind and the spray of the sea whip at my face. Before long, I walked along the beach to get my jacket and I walked back to where I’d hopped over. I sat on a bench and I looked out at the sea and the rising sun and it’s only then when I realised just how much I missed my wife. She would have loved this place, I thought. I don’t know why we didn’t come here before. I started to cry, but above all I was pretty thankful. Now this place has meaning. After a while I stood up and I walked barefoot along the promenade, whistling her favourite song, trying to remember the way home.
I started taking these walks around a year ago, around the time my wife had died. Everyone said that I was taking things remarkably well – almost too well – but I didn’t know how else to react. Sure, if asked beforehand, I might have expected my reaction to be a little more dramatic, but I can’t complain. By time she was diagnosed, it was too late to really do anything. I took the time off work and we holidayed together in Europe before coming back home. She died a few weeks later. At first she wanted to die at home, but just before the end she changed her mind. I’m not sure why. Maybe she didn’t want me to think of the house as some kind of mausoleum.
At the funeral, I was the most composed person in the whole family; the rest sat snivelling into their handkerchiefs like schoolchildren sat out in the cold. After me and the other pallbearers lay the coffin at the front, we sat and listened to her favourite song. It was a lovely service; there must have been at least two hundred people there. It was a secular service and she was cremated as per her wishes. She never specified what we should do with her ashes, so I scattered them on a beach not far from where we lived. I didn’t like keeping them in the urn. It didn’t seem fair.
The rain was really lashing down now. I could feel my trousers sticking to my legs as I walked headlong into the wind. The sky was more blue than black and I thought it must be turning into morning. Real morning, I mean. Maybe not, though. I could still see the stars. After a while, the wind had eased and the rain slowed to a gentle tapping. I thought about lighting a cigarette, but I didn’t feel like stopping. I can’t explain it. So long as I kept on walking, I felt like I was doing something. Going somewhere. Where, I don’t know, but I don’t think it’s very important. I’m not the sort of person that likes to sit around doing nothing; I like to keep myself busy. I give myself little projects to fill my days with when I can’t think of anything else to do. Cut the grass, maybe, or stop that door from squeaking. But at night, when I can’t sleep, all I want to do is walk. For hours, sometimes. I must’ve been out for at least that long. Either way, all that mattered is that I kept on walking.
The sun was starting to come up, which made me wonder just how long I’d been walking for. I never wore a watch as I rarely found myself anywhere that didn’t have a clock at hand. What startled me the most is where I ended up. I was only a couple of minutes away from the beach. I heard the sea before I realised where I was, but the thought of it didn’t seem to process. I hadn’t even noticed it had stopped raining. When I arrived at the beach, the tide had all but lowered and the horizon looked like the spilled innards of a lava lamp. I walked along the promenade a little before leaning against the barrier. I looked up and down but I couldn’t remember where I had scattered the ashes. I guess it didn’t really matter. I pulled down the hood of my jacket and I breathed in the fresh sea air. It was pretty cold, but I liked how it felt. I could taste the salt on my lips.
After a while, I decided to hop over the barrier. I took off my soaked shoes and sodden socks and I rolled my trousers to the knee before walking down to the water. The sand was still damp from the rain and the sea but it was still fine and granular. I picked up a handful and let it sift through my fingers as it blew away in the wind. I sat down and tied the laces of my shoes together and I stuffed the socks into them before hanging them around my neck. I ambled down toward the water and I let it wash over my bare feet. It was deathly cold. Still, I stood there, splashing my feet like a child in summer, listening to the roll of the surf and the swish of the wind. I took off my jacket and dropped it to the sand and it blew away like a polystyrene bag as I held my arms aloft, feeling the wind and the spray of the sea whip at my face. Before long, I walked along the beach to get my jacket and I walked back to where I’d hopped over. I sat on a bench and I looked out at the sea and the rising sun and it’s only then when I realised just how much I missed my wife. She would have loved this place, I thought. I don’t know why we didn’t come here before. I started to cry, but above all I was pretty thankful. Now this place has meaning. After a while I stood up and I walked barefoot along the promenade, whistling her favourite song, trying to remember the way home.
