The woman stood at the edge of the short pier overlooking the vast, endless sea. The sky was a soft grey, solemn, and dull. The air was chilly, with a certain gloominess about it. The waves were getting stronger out at sea, but slowly nestling onto the soft, sandy beach, laden with slimy weeds and muddy shells. The seagulls overhead were squawking furiously and the police sirens on the beach road whirred violently. Amidst the chaos all around her, the silent woman in the silk dress, stood staring listlessly out at the unknown. She could not hear anything for she could not listen.
She moved not an inch, for, at that moment when all the world seemed the most distant, she could only hear the sweet music of the piano on that fateful summer night in 1959.
It was all glitter and glam. The resplendence of charming young ladies in satin and sparkle, the tuneful clinking of the slender champagne glasses at the bar, and the men basking in the eroticism of that cool, summer night, drowning in smoke and sensuality- simply filled the air with youthful romanticism, exotic yet ephemeral. At the center of it all, surrounded by the glitz and glamour of the lads and the ladies at Kenny’s bar, stood, on a high pedestal, an angel.
Clothed in a shimmery silk gown, adorned with a single strand of pearls around her milky-white neck, Sylvie McCarthy, the most divine being, was swaying softly. This ethereal beauty, stood embellished in the spotlight, her elusive eyes, radiant smile, and sprightly countenance set her asunder from the dark, mortal creatures seated below. She sang the soulful melody of a lover pining for the embrace of the beloved- she felt like the room was hers, and she in it, all alone, singing, “I want a little sugar in my bowl…” In the sea of darkness that confronted her, she could spot the lone twinkle of a mysterious man, a man in black and white, who was to change her life forever.
Summer vibrance. The flush of red on Sylvie’s cheeks was deeper than any blossoming flower that year when she met Paul Bloom in the crowded bar named ‘Kenny’s’, two blocks down Kenton Street. The tall, slender man in a crisp black tuxedo, appeared before her, his mature yet friendly aura, striking her weak in the knees. She had consciously and quite confidently, strutted into the lion’s den. He spoke, and so it began- a clandestine affair full of sweet poison.
Sylvie’s bare feet on the wooden boards of the pier remained steady despite the tumultuous wave of emotions that raged inside her, threatening to topple her balance. The sticky, salty air was no longer a bother, rather, she could feel her bones slowly freezing to numbness as she began to recall the bittersweet memories of a summer love that should have simply stayed as one.
This older man, with the debonair smile and a daring spirit, embraced that hidden yet palpable feeling in her heart which desperately yearned to be loved. He brought her fresh lilies so that she could wear pretty flower crowns in her chestnut-brown hair. He dressed her in fine silks and expensive muslin; her delicate figure deserved such love, he would brazenly exclaim. He took her out to dancing clubs, where they would twirl in merriment, forgetting the world around them. She seemed to melt in the honey pot where she had trapped herself in, unaware that the honey would be sucked dry before too long.
Sylvie’s open palms were slowly beginning to sweat in the humid air of the sea. She softly caressed her fingers, and almost unconsciously, began to twirl the silver band engraved ‘Forever’ which remained tightly set on her bony ring finger.
It had been snowing heavily the whole day, on Christmas Eve in 1961. Sylvie and her lover had a dinner date at a cozy bar near Ashton Park, where countless other young men and women were huddled together in an amorous embrace, enjoying the booze and the music of the night. She was moved that her older lover had been considerate of her, wishing to meet at a bar instead of a lavish restaurant to set her at ease and she was so in love with him and the night, that her joy knew no bounds. To top it all, her beloved had pulled out a silver ring from his pocket, and snuggling up to her, had slipped it on her finger, muttering sweet words which she has never been able to forget, even if she wanted to.
The sky was suddenly overcast with dark clouds, and the gloomy aura of the sea persisted. The waves were bubbling up, horribly bluish and frothy, as if a sea monster was gurgling at its mouth. The turbulent storm that raged inside Sylvie’s broken body slowly began to gush out in an endless stream of thick tears that not even a sea could devour.
She was sure that her news would make him happy. After all, he had presented her with a ring and promised to love her and protect her forever.
But she could not understand why his eyebrows crinkled in disbelief and his eyes glared in irritation when she told him the happy news. He was going to be a father and so they would live like a happy little family. Why did he say all those horrible things like a man who seemed more like a lone stranger than a kind lover?
She could only remember parts of it, as she stood there, afraid of meeting his cold eyes, her own unmoving eyes plastered to the ground, and she, shaking in fear, with her hand on her belly.
“…it cannot be…Do you even know who my father is? How can you expect me to marry you and take care of a child?…are you sure it’s even mine…I thought you knew your place well…a few pretty clothes and shiny trinkets and you think you’re my damn wife…just a showgirl…isn’t your fault?”
She stood bawling now, her youthful features now in ruins, roughed up by the sheer degree of pain and loss inflicted on her by mortal leeches all around her. The child in her belly had been prematurely born two months ago, his delicate, feeble limbs shivering in fear when he was placed in his mother’s arms for the first time. She could not love him, when all she could see in him, was the infidel she had fallen in love with, on that fateful summer night in 1959.
And now she was here, at the pier, contemplating all that had led up to now. The sea had somehow eased itself, calm and composed, bracing itself for the moment of truth. What was she going to do?
Was she going to throw herself into the arms of the sea which would devour her whole, accept her with all her scars and pains? Or would she look back in anger on the injustices of the mortal world, whose very poison birthed an innocent child she could not even bear to look at? What was it going to be?
The last tear, a solitary remnant of the painful memories of the past, trickled onto the floorboards of the pier. Sylvie could suddenly hear the excited screams of delighted children, two or three of them, playing catch on the beach. Close by, sat a young mother, cuddling a slumbering cherub in a white, knit blanket. The mother rocked her baby gently, back and forth, whispering fondly in its ear, while she kept her sights on the young ones frolicking in the sand. She seemed exhausted and disheveled but there was an aura of tranquility about her. A serene smile appeared on her tired face.
Sylvie McCarthy felt relieved. She thanked the heavens above for the sight that she had just witnessed. Everything was clear now. She finally knew what she had to do.
