This Lonely Strand

The surf folds into the rocky shoreline like the slowly turning pages of an endless book. Above it runs the road, straight and unwavering into the far distance. It is bounded on one side by the crashing waves, regular as the churning of a piston, and on the other by neat files of pines. Above is a grey featureless sky; below, faded unmarked tarmac. The only irregularity in the whole scene is our ticking, crumpled hire car.

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We drove off the road and smashed into the steeply shelving boulders running down to the sea. I don't know how long I sat there unconscious. I have a terrible headache and some bruising across my chest. My leg is bleeding but not broken. 

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It was a struggle to get out. The front of the car is squashed like a concertina, the doors jammed. My window had been open and I was able to squirm out from under the steering wheel and pull myself out. 

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My wife is still stuck in there. Her head is bleeding a little and she keeps slipping back into sleep. Her legs are jammed under the dashboard. I think if the petrol tank was going to explode then it would have done so already. 

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I have to get help. There is no mobile reception. I've tried to get her out but I'm worried about spinal injuries and besides, she's firmly pinned. 

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I stare down the road. It stretches directly to a vanishing point on the horizon. In the far distance amongst the pines I can see a grey or white building. With no bends in the road or anything else to break up the geometry of the scene it is impossible to tell how big the building is or how far away it is. I decide I have to get to it and see if they have a phone or can come to help us.

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I look back down at the car. My wife is asleep again. 

I set off.

At first I run but realise that I am more bruised than I thought and resort to a puffing lope, dragging myself along the salt faded tarmac as fast as I can. The wind comes in jagged gusts, blowing me sideways so that I almost have to jog at an angle to stay on course. The pines hiss like the steam escaping the car radiator.

I imagine a slender thread stretching behind me as I go, connecting my heart to that of my wife. Through it I can still feel her, imagine her breath on my hair, her dry hand on mine. The further I go the tighter it gets, creating resistance, trying to drag me back.

The building doesn't seem to be getting any closer as I head towards it. I wonder if that is because it's larger than I first assumed. It's a strange shape certainly, sloping roof leading almost to the ground almost like a tent, or perhaps a church, or a bunker. It is white, but stained by age. There is one doorway that I can just make out, but no cars outside or other signs of habitation. 

I glance back and see that I've already come a long way. The car has shrunk into the middle distance. I feel my eyes suddenly fill up with hot tears thinking about my poor wife trapped in there. I almost hope she's asleep still so she doesn't feel the helplessness of being caught and alone. The sea continues its endless battering of the shoreline. I look at the hypnotic waves crashing and clawing at the boulders before dissolving into foaming spume. Then the dragging retraction off the slimy boulders back into the churning whole.

I realise with horror that the tide is coming in.

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I stop, pinned halfway between sea and land, between the car and the building on this lonely strand. I am the focal point of everything now. If I return to the car there's no chance of getting more help to my wife before the pulsing tide slowly envelopes the car and my wife. If I keep on my progress to the building there may be no one there, and if there is, the time we have available will be minimal, at best.

The imagined thread is tight, stretched almost to snapping point.

My heart says return, hold her hand, try one more time whatever the risks to drag her out from under the crumpled dashboard. My head says that it can't be done. 

I listen to the hissing engine of the waves and its maddening asynchrony with the slow gusting wind and realise my third choice. It is to stay here, a dot between two points, suspended forever between two polarities, between two outcomes.

I take a breath and turn my back on my wife, for her own sake, and head on towards the building.

As I go, trying not to think about my leg, feeling the blood race in my temples and my vision blur, I occasionally glance back and see the merciless progression of the waves up the boulders towards the car, now far in the distance. Panic descends. I begin to run, my leg flaring with pain. I feel no shame in letting out a desperate keening cry as I feel the weight of my stupid decision on both our lives. 

Thank God, the building is closer now, finally there are features on it which can be seen, although not interpreted. Its use seems if anything less clear. It looks even more like a tent structure, made out of concrete, and I can see that the outside of it is scrawled with graffiti. This makes my heart sink, perhaps the building is abandoned to the elements and the local youths, a stained shell and nothing more. There are no cars. There are no windows. But it is huge. It must be three or four stories high, and must cover twice its height. I wonder if it is a local hall, some council building or a modernist office building. 

There is no one to be seen.

It is too late now. I have chosen and must continue.

I look back again and I am sure that the waves have reached the smashed bonnet of the car. I couldn't get back if I tried before it is completely covered. 

I see an entrance. A dark recess in the concrete, leading inside, There is no visible door. Around the entrance grass grows through salt faded tarmac.

I turn one last time. The car is out of sight. I can only guess as to where the waves are by what I can see on the shoreline closer to me. They waves are almost to the top of the boulders, sometimes cresting the edge of the road. 

Suddenly I feel the imagined thread, pulled to its furthest extent, snap and for a second I can almost see its strand floating wisp like alone in the gusting wind. 

Then the wind stops. The waves stop. I look out at the sea as it settles into an entropic calm, the ripples flattening out and becoming smooth, the spume dissolving into scum on the calm water.

All is quiet. 

I turn again to the strange construction before me and walk calmly towards it. Its angles make no sense . The graffiti appears to be in a hundred different languages. Progress comes quick now and the building looms large, filling my vision. 

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The cowled entrance is close, my footsteps echoing back out of it. 

And as I approach I see a darker shadow within, coming out to greet me. Then, with horror, joy and finally calm realisation I see her already there, waiting for me.