l i f e
meniscus
contributions
christopher@30seconds.org
Standing on the end on the long boardwalk leading out to the ocean, I looked at the sky as it moved overhead at 60mph. The clouds were broken and it was almost a full moon.
The sand stung my legs from just below the knees all the way down to my sandaled feet. I looked straight up even though my neck was killing me. Even then, I could still see the ocean and the moon's bright reflection shimmering like silver tinsel in a doorway. Lightning jumped from cloud to cloud and there was no thunder. Just the crash of the tide and a quick hiss as the water tried to define that thin geographical place we call the shoreline.
I could think of nothing more inspiring than those mottled clouds, moving so fast I sensed my own movement in the rotation of the planet. We were going in opposite directions, the clouds and I, and we'd never see each other again.
Gradually I became aware of the wind in my ears and it took over from the surf. I saw wildly irregular white-caps, but heard only the hollow tune of the wind as it grew stronger and stronger still.
It was nearly light as day and it was only for that reason my peripheral vision picked up on the figure about ten yards away. He was standing at the end of his boardwalk. I recognized him. He was one of the Mongoloid vacationers who had rented the house next door. Over the course of the week we'd yelled back and forth across the boardwalks, swam in the ocean, and he'd listened to me play guitar. He didn't know I saw him there in the faint porch light listening, but he was. Tapping his feet slowly and moving his head side to side. But now, it was just us, alone with the storm that had everyone else inside.
Just us. Alone.
I began to watch him, just a silhouette against the sea-oats and blue mercury vapor lights of the fishing pier. I watched the sky, some crazy time-exposed film, moving and changing in mere seconds. It was impossible to discern any shape from it. The world had come down to him and the hollow noise.
He began to move his head in slow circles, like he was exercising his neck. Then he would stop with one ear pointing to the ocean for a few seconds and then switch, rolling slowly back and forth. He must have had his eyes closed, or if he didn't he paid me no attention. By now, he had all of mine.
Soon, he moved his torso as well. Sometimes with and sometimes against the movement of his head.
I began to imitate his movements.
Right away I noticed the change. The sound from the wind went from hollow to high and it was possible to work melodies by simply shifting my head and body.
When the wind gusted I stood straight against it. So did he.
We stood there, moving together for a long time before it finally got late and I grew tired. I left him out there, and when I went inside and slid the glass door closed behind me he was still moving.
I had been in the storm. And I had been taught to make music with it.
goodnight 9.7.98
