Drifting Off

It was a cool night in early spring. The room was dark as he lay in bed. He was alone, and the silence was almost deafening. Gradually, sleep began to wash over him and his thoughts, as they often did, drifted to the past.

He remembered days at the beach with his kids. He remembered weekends running errands and fixing meals. He thinks about the hot, humid summer days- and he can almost feel the dampness of a summer day upon his skin. The smell of cut grass filters through a window that is left open in the hope of catching the faint breeze- the same breeze that brushes against the wind chimes on the front porch. He watches his kids as they play on the living room rug. Their areas are divided into little fiefdoms of Barbies and Legos. Even though the air is warm, he takes comfort that his kids are shielded from the increasingly hot sun outside. The fan that was bought on another hot summer day long ago blows gently over them.

He listens as the breeze outside becomes steadier. It’s almost imperceptible. If he hadn't heard the wind chimes, he might not have noticed it at all. He listens to the steady ding, ding, dinging and walks slowly towards the door; slowly toward the chimes. When he reaches the door, he stops and closes his eyes. “It sounds just like a distant train crossing” he thinks. It surprises him that he’s never noticed it before. With his eyes still closed, he listens harder. He tries to imagine if the train is coming closer or if it going away.

But he can’t tell.

Still, he continues to listen, mesmerized by the steady rhythms that are broken only by the occasional high pitched voices of the kids playing behind him.

As he tries to concentrate, the voices behind him slowly grow louder. He turns to see his kids, now playing in the sand. The rhythm of the chimes have faded into the sound of ocean waves. "How did I get here?", he wonders, "Was I daydreaming?" It takes a minute or two for him to adjust to the surroundings. Not sure, he decides it doesn’t matter. He convinces himself that he must have been daydreaming. At least, he settles for that, only half convinced.

He stands at the water's edge. The heat of the midsummer sun in his face is countered by steady breeze off of the ocean. The sounds of gulls and waves and families surround him all all blend into one. He walks away from the outgoing tide and heads up the beach, closer to the kids that are playing by their towels. Kneeling down, he joins the children who are digging holes- deep holes down to where the sand is wet. The digging leads to building sand castles and the sand castles lead to digging more holes. The children sit in a ring around the edge of the hole and he buries their feet in the cool sand. One by one they pull their feet out with squeals of triumph as this plays out over and over again.

Soon, a small hand reaches for his. Together, they gather buckets and head across the hot sand, down to where pools of cool water are left behind from the receding tide. The child crouches down and watches, finally reaching into the pool for a hermit crab. One after another the crabs are gently placed in the bright colored bucket. From there the crabs are released into the small holes the child has dug just out of reach of the waves. Satisfied that the crabs are are happy in their new home, they go explore the shore. One by one the crabs leave their new home and crawl back to the ocean.

They explore for treasures until they decide to set their buckets down and wade deeper into the cold water. Grasping both of the little hands, he spins the small child from side to side and up and down, making waves with each change in direction. They both laugh. How many more years will they enjoy this, he wonders. The child squeals with delight.

They had been coming to this spot for a few years now, and every year he wonders if it will be their last. Every year he would have a moment of detachment where he would watch the kids and think, “How much longer will they be interested?”

With the child still splashing in the water, he thinks back to the first night they ever spent in the cottage. It had been a long day of driving and unpacking and getting settled- long and filled with excitement. It had been a whole new experience for everyone and now the first day was winding down. The excitement of the day was turning into the kind of excitement that only the night can offer, especially for kids- new surroundings and new shadows cast on the walls of a strange new bedroom. He remembers finally sitting down at the end of the couch as he hears the whispering and giggling coming from the dark of the room over his right shoulder. Before long, his youngest daughter comes prancing out of the dark, into the light of the living room stage. Wearing her little pink sleeper, her head full of curls bobbed side to side as she chattered away. Backstage, still in the darkness of the bedroom, her sister was giggling. He remembers ushering his daughter back to bed, only to have this scene play itself out, over and over again.

What he remembers most though, was the last time she came out of the bedroom and how tired and frustrated he was and how he turned to say something to her. But before he could say anything, the moment seemed gone. Suddenly, he seemed to be an old man, sitting on the couch alone, looking back on a cherished memory from an event that happened many years ago. He clearly remembers feeling the loss, and wishing he could relive that moment again. The sorrow seemed to last for hours. But then, he was back- back to once again usher his daughter into the dark bedroom where her giggling audience awaited her next performance.

Standing in their doorway, the darkness of their bedroom gives way to the darkness of his front porch. There, he sits alone. He listens for sounds in the still night air. "That was a long time ago", he thinks to himself, and he remembers the bedroom from another time. The kids have been gone for a while now. At least he thinks so. They were in college at one point, that much he remembers for sure. But now...? Things seem a little hazy. Some of the kids have moved farther away, this he's pretty sure of. But all of them? Have they started families? He wonders why he can’t remember his grand-kids. He blinks and wonders where in time he is. He tries to figure out what has already happened and what will happen and where he fits into it all.

But the answers don’t come.

He sits alone in the stillness and listens, hoping to hear a sound; hoping to hear anything that will remind him of where he is. When nothing comes, the old man rests his head against his pillow and feels the cool night air against his face. Maybe it doesn't matter, he thinks.

As he drifts off to sleep, a small breeze brushes by and he begins to dream. He dreams he hears the ringing from a train crossing from somewhere far away. And as he dreams, he wonders if the train coming towards him, or if its going away.