Writing for and about the seasons can be, for me, quite therapeutical and stirs memories that sometimes lead to an evaluation of incidents in my life. It also helps a lot with my mental health. As it’s Hallowe’en, I thought I would share this. Next week – once November 5 is over – I will post one of the two Christmas chapters from my novel The Choreography of Ghosts, which will make, of course, an ideal gift.
It was quiet in the car. No, not quiet, silent.
She had suggested we go for a drive. Somewhere she knew.
We had been to the pub. I didn’t normally talk to her. Not for any particular reason, just that she wasn’t part of the regular crew. She wouldn’t have wanted to be.
We seemed to be travelling for a long time. Turns out it was more than 20 miles.
I don’t remember speaking. I can recall a feeling close to calm, but still experiencing some discomfort.
Why was I in the car? Where were we going? What was the intention?
It was Hallowe’en, but that wasn’t the big deal it is these days. Not in Hastings anyway. Or perhaps it was. Aleister Crowley lived there, I suppose.
Eventually she parked the car. She came here often, she said. Loved the peace, the solitude, and said she thought I would too. Can two people in close proximity experience solitude?
We got out. It was warm but the waves were crashing off the cliffs and the moon was bright.
The unease grew. She said she knew I would experience the same feelings as her and it was nothing to do with how we felt about each other.
We walked to the edge. I knew where we were now. Beachy Head. I was nervous as to why she had brought us here. I could feel the defeated spirits hovering and I felt the same as them. She had predicted that.
Were these spirits those of the people who had gone over the edge or those who pulled back, showing us that there was a life worth staying for? The question bothered me as I looked out over the dark expanse of water, faintly lit by the partial moon.
She told me she liked the fact that I didn’t find silence uncomfortable. I did though, I just couldn’t think of anything to say. That was often the case back then. Perhaps it should have remained so.
For no reason I could think of at the time, she told me she was once a child model. I know now why she felt the need to impart that information. Or at least I think I do.
We all look at our past and what could have been. We should. It is what has shaped us and it doesn’t have to be a negative. Every twist, every turn, every once-seen as being a success and viewed as a failure has determined the next stage of our lives and the reality is, we’ll never know. Being a child star doesn’t always work out and rejection may not always be a negative.
I don’t believe I helped. I think I just said “really” or “wow”, but didn’t go into the depth of discussion she maybe wanted. That could have been a good thing.
We got back in the car and drove back into Hastings. We never went anywhere together again. Never spoke of that evening.
A Hallowe’en that didn’t turn into a nightmare. Not everyone will be so lucky.
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