Sand Between Her Toes

“Poor kid,” whispered Joan to Harriet, “He’s been sitting there for days, you know. Can’t seem to accept that she’s gone.”



The two women looked away when he glanced at them. He knew they were talking about him. He knew that they didn’t understand. For weeks now he would sit in the sand by the bay, waiting, hoping Natalie would sail back to him. Ever since the news spread around town that she was dead, along with her brother in a ship wreck, Joseph had slowly spiraled into a pit of denial, helplessly clinging to memories and separating himself from the rest of the townspeople. For not one minute did he leave that spot on the beach. Folks from town brought him food and clothes out of pity, but he didn’t touch it until he knew they weren’t watching, and even then he’d throw half of the provisions into the sea, a tribute to his beloved Natalie. His sleep was fitful and full of nightmares. One minute screaming, “NATALIE!!”, the next minute crying, crying soft, morbid tears and merely whispering her name. Children of the town liked to call him Ghostie-Joe because of his howling and his pale eyes. His skin was burned from the crackling sun and his hair was crusty from sea-water baths. His clothes were faded and torn and the tiny shelter he had made out of seaweed and driftwood hardly kept out the wind and rain. Joseph was a wreck, a gangly, broken, sad little ship wreck, waiting for its captain to patch it up and sail the high seas once more.



He was pitiful.



In the days before she had left, Natalie and Joseph had done everything together. They’d gone shrimping and sea-shell collecting and shared meals and money and secrets. They took walks in the sand, wiggling their toes and staring silently as the grains rose and fell between them, a ritual of spirit, sand, and body. They kept nothing from each other, past, present, or future. They were bound by love.

Then Natalie was asked to join her brother on a journey across the sea, to visit their uncle in Ireland, leaving Joseph behind with only one swift kiss and a cheerful ‘Goodbye hon!’, a sweet smile that could make the heavens melt like marshmallows, a determination to come back home.



Now she was gone. Joseph sat hunched over on the sand once more. A tear crawled down his cheek, his throat aching to call to her, to make her come back to their little town, to take a walk with him on their golden beach, to see the sand shift between her toes again. A crab scuttled wearily out of the surf toward him, looking up at him as if to say, “You know, she’s never coming back. Might as well give up.”

Joseph nodded to the crab, sobbing and staggering back to his shelter in a hurry. He ripped through the sand for an iron necklace he had buried the day after Natalie left, hoping that he could surprise her upon her return. Fastening it around his frail throat, he ripped off a sharp chunk of driftwood from his hut and flung himself onto his knees, wiggling his toes slowly through the sand as the freezing waves lapped around his waist with the tide. He took a deep, shuddering breath, still weeping heavily.



“I thought,” he whispered, “that we would have our lives to spend together, and now… you are gone.”



With this last word, he stabbed himself just above the belly button with the piece of wood, allowing the salt water to bathe his insides with stinging ferocity. His eyes continuing to flow with tears, his mind grew fuzzy, and, reveling in the feeling of the sand washing over his feet, he looked out to the horizon to see the fuzzy outline of his lover’s ship, and heard the faint voice of Natalie shouting ashore, “Goodbye, hon!” He blinked in between gasps of pain, choking on his last tears. “Goodbye…”