The Other Shore: Two Stories of Love and Death

by Paul Hina

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  From the Boathouse

  The day they met, it had rained.

  There was a party by the lake, and, as it began to rain, everyone piled into the boathouse.

  At some point in the evening, the heat of the boathouse began to bother John. He popped outside for some air. It had stopped raining.

  It was later in the evening than he expected it would be, but not as dark as it should've been.

  The moon was hanging like a lantern over the lake. It was a full moon that scattered its light on every ripple of the water's surface—one rippling streak of wobbly moonlight chasing after the next. Its blue light even announced itself on the rain that remained on the grass, casting a sparkle across the floor of the world.

  Compared to the heat in the boathouse, it was cool outside. The breeze from the lake was just right, softly breathing the slightest scent of summer's evening onto everything in its path—that post-rain smell, a summer smell.

  At first, John didn't notice her. He was just standing by the lake, marveling at the scene the moon had set. But when the moon turned its spotlight on her, he was caught off guard. He was a spectator to a new scene set by the moonlight. And, for a moment, she was the only player on its cool, blue stage.

  She was less than a hundred feet away and was staring out at the lake, marveling at the same summer evening light that he had been marveling in before he spotted her. But now, to him, the lake, the grass, the whole world around her, might as well have disappeared. There was her and nothing else.

  She was wearing a white dress, a dress so white it glowed in the moonlight. The skirt of the dress waved a little in the breeze like a dance, a slow swaying. He could barely make out her face from this distance, though it was clear that she was as young as she was beautiful. Her profile was darkly apparent—the slightest silhouette of perfection. Her hair—long and decorated by a sheen of caramel—was perfectly hanging over her shoulders and seemed to be breathing deep breaths with each new exhale that rolled off the lake.

  She was oblivious to his presence. She just stood there, staring out into the night. The only movement that graced her body was from the air around her, blowing at her hair and her dress.

  As he approached her, he doesn't remember feeling nervous, which was strange. It wasn't that John wasn't comfortable around women. As a man in his early twenties, he did fine romantically. Still, approaching a beautiful stranger for the first time was not something he would normally do, and it would certainly have made him nervous under normal circumstances.

  But these weren't normal circumstances. Something about the night—

  No. Everything about the night made moving toward her seem like the natural thing to do, the only thing to do.

  When he was only a few yards away, he could see she was holding her shoes in her right hand. Her left arm, the arm furthest from him, was crossed over her body, and her left hand was clutching her right arm, just above the elbow. And, though she looked calm and reflective from a distance, the clarity of her face was more troubled, distracted, but no less beautiful in her agitation. For a moment he wondered if this expression meant that she had noticed him approaching. Maybe she was irritated by his imminent interruption.

  But this didn't stop him.

  "Nice night," he said.

  She jumped, and turned toward him. Her left hand moved from her right arm to her heart.

  "Sorry," he said, putting his hands up, trying to calm the moment. "I didn't mean to startle you."

  "It's alright," she said, looking at him, comforting him with her disarming smile. She really was every bit as beautiful as he expected she might be. "I'm sorry. I didn't hear what you said."

  "I said it's a nice night."

  "It is, yes."

  "Were you getting bored?"

  "Sorry?"

  "At the party. Were you getting bored?" he asked, and motioned toward the boathouse.

  "No, I wasn't at the party."

  "Sorry. I wasn't sure if I'd—"

  "I mean, I was at a party, but not that one. I was at one up the road a bit," she said and motioned toward the wilderness.

  "What brought you here, if you don't mind me asking?"

  "I just… I had to go," she said, and turned back toward the lake.

  "It looks like you missed the rain."

  "I might have liked a little rain."

  "Right," he said, and also turned toward the lake, calmly watched its dancing lines of light.

  "I love watching the water move at night. There's something so mysterious about it."

  "Yeah, its at its best when the moon hangs over it the way it is tonight."

  "Do you find yourself out here often?"

  "Yeah, all the time," he said, and turned back toward her. "I work here. Well, I work at a shop nearby, but, I spend a lot of time here at the boathouse."

  "That must be nice."

  "It has its perks," he says, and gives her a look.

  She smiles, tries to dismissively deflect his seeming flirtation. "What do you do?"

  "I build boats."

  "You build boats?"

  "Yep."

  "Big boats?"

  "It depends, but yeah. Sometimes we build big boats. My dad has a business nearby. I work for him."

  "Sounds fun."

  "It can be."

  "It must be nice to have a boat, to escape for awhile on the water."

  "Is that what you're doing? Escaping?"

  "Tonight?"

  "Yeah."

  "I guess it is an escape of sorts."

  "With your shoes off, I half expected you to walk right into the water."

  "No, nothing that adventurous. Just needed to free myself from these heels," she says, holding up the shoes. "Plus, I wanted to feel the grass beneath my feet, but all I ended up doing was getting my stockings all wet."

  "Anything particular you're escaping?"

  "Truth is, someone just asked me to marry him."

  "And that's what you've escaping?"

  "I guess so, yeah."

  "So, should I take that to mean you don't want to marry him?"

  "You could assume that, yes. But you'd be the only one who's been that perceptive. He just assumed that I'd be thrilled to marry him, and my parents, particularly my father, have always been more excited by the idea than I was. Besides, he didn't really ask me to marry him tonight as much as he announced to a party full of people that we were going to be married."

  "Doesn't sound like much of a proposal."

  "It wasn't."

  "And no one knows you're here?"

  "I hope not."

  "Would you like to be left alone?"

  "No," she said, looking over at him. "I don't want to be alone."

  "Can I get you anything from the party? A drink or something?" he asks, motioning toward the boathouse again.

  "No, your company is enough."

  They both turned back toward the lake and watched the moon's show. John was buzzing from the pleasure of her presence, and by the mere idea that this breathtakingly beautiful girl wanted him to keep her company. But he's struggling to find what to say next, and his mind is swimming for words, gasping for conversation.

  "What are you going to do?" he finally asks.

  "About what?"

  "About marrying him?"

  "I'm not sure I have a choice."

  "Sure you do."

  "You don't know my family."

  "There's gotta be something you can do. Maybe if they knew how you felt it would—"

  "It wouldn't matter. They have certain expectations for me. And it just so happens that Henry fits the bill perfectly for them."

  "That simple, huh?"

  "To them it is."

  "Is it money?"

  "You sound like you've met them."

  "I'm familiar with the type, yes."

  "Right, but it's more than just money. There's a particular social position that goes along with being married to Henry. It's hard to explai
n without getting to… I'd rather not talk about him."

  "I understand."

  "Do you?"

  "No, not really," he said, but he wanted nothing more than to understand her. He wanted nothing more than to stand there all night and learn to understand all about this strange, amazing girl.

  "And what about you?"

  "What about me?"

  "You probably do whatever you like."

  "I do alright, but I wouldn't put it quite like that."

  She turns to him, looks him in the eyes and asks, "What would you do if you could be anywhere, do anything right now?"

  "I'd be right here, right now."

  "You don't mean that. You're just flattering me."

  "No, I'm not that kind of guy. That's one way I am free. I say what I mean—sometimes to a fault."

  "I envy you then."

  "You should try it sometime. It's nice."

  "No, it's different for a woman. A man is respected for saying what he means, a woman is respected for holding her tongue."

  "That may be true, but it doesn't hurt to assert yourself when it matters. Everyone needs to pick their spots," he says, and turned toward her. "What would you do if you could be anywhere right now, if you could do anything?"

  "And I should say exactly what I mean?"

  "It's the perfect moment. You don't know me. Any judgments I make about you will mean nothing."

  "I wish that were true."

  "Let's pretend that it is."

  "Alright. I would be here too. With you. And I would feel free enough to reach out and grab your hand," she said, and reached out and grabbed his hand. "Then I would lean in close to you and pretend that we know the kind of love they show in the movies."

  She is standing so close to him now that their arms are touching. She has leaned her head against his shoulder, and he doesn't quite know what to do. But he does what she says. He pretends that they know the kind of love they show in movies. And he lets the quiet of the night roll over him, and tries to quiet the beating of his heart.

  After a few seconds, she looks up at him, and