Go Up

“I can’t go back to the beach, the turret will remain empty. A blind ear on the horizon.”

Climbing had been a victory, a victory over the fear of heights, but it was necessity and adrenaline that had convinced me.

“Will they see me? No, its almost dark and nobody comes by here in winter.”

 Now, instead of a continuous flux, in the distance a low-pitched shout was head, suffocated screams. The sea is calm and its sound does not impose itself on her. At first I thought it was dolphins and their mysterious language, then I understood that it was other creatures. 

There were still tyre marks, in concentric circles. They produced a optical sense claustrophobia. In an open space, where the only obstacle was the horizon, she had felt crushed, trapped. Towards the sea –she had thought- but she had seen in many films that those who escape towards the water often end up drowning and she could swim as well as anyone. Floating yes, but nothing more, there were neither certainties nor principles to hold fast to.  He had told her that they would have gone for a ride up to the beach. There were some friends, maybe a bonfire.

Looking at the sand, you can see a pattern, a bit like when as a child she imagined faces and profiles. 

It was even found in her mouth: he had grabbed her by the hair and pushed her down; taken by surprised, she shouted out, swallowing sand and then coughing, almost convulsively. She wanted to escape after that first moment of terror, but escape to where?

He is now standing with his hands in his pockets, laughing.

He laughed. “Come on, are you scared? It was just a joke.” It wasn’t a joke at all. He hadnt’t finished his sentence when another sound was superimposed on his laugh, a rumble that was becoming increasingly loud. They were motorcyclists, those strange ones with fringes, and American motorbikes.  

“I’m done” she thought, leather jackets and chains.

But it wasn’t her they wanted. They had encircled him and the smile disappeared from the cool guy’s face. She had run away without looking at him, still having the printed wings on the jackets imprinted in her mind.

From those heights, the sea was freedom and the fears melted like salt. They remain deep down. 

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