Eternal Journey

by Carol Hutton

  They proceeded side by side down the long, deserted beach. The stranger with the deep soulful eyes looked at Anna and asked, “What is it about your friendship with Beth that is making you so sad, Anna?”

  Anna felt her cheeks flush with anger. “Because she’s dead, that’s why I’m sad. How can you ask such an obvious question!”

  “Ah, but Annie,” he continued, seemingly oblivious to her anger, “you just told me the last words Beth spoke before she died were ‘I’ll always be here for you.’ You loved and trusted your friend, didn’t you, Annie? Beth O’Neill wouldn’t make a promise like that if she didn’t intend to keep it.”

  Startled by his bluntness, Anna almost turned and walked away. But she looked over at him and those kind eyes kept her right on the path they had started. She looked down at the tracks she was making in the sand. That’s funny, she thought, I don’t remember mentioning Beth’s last name.

  His words sank in. Anna considered what he’d said and had to admit he had a point. She had never really listened to her dying friend’s last words.

  “You know,” Anna began, “maybe you’re right. My sadness has more to do with me than our friendship or Beth. I have had so many losses these past two years that I just gave into the emptiness when Beth died. Maybe this feeling has very little to do with death and loss. Maybe it’s really about fear and change.”

  The two of them stopped and sat on the dune. Anna began digging with her heels, making deep crevices in the sand, and continued to speak.

  “All my connections have shifted, much like the sands under our feet. Nothing seems to be permanent anymore, though that sounds ridiculous even as I say the words. Nothing has ever been permanent, but somehow it’s different now. I suppose I need to see the loss as just a transition—Beth is still here and still my friend, just in a different form. I need to learn how to rework the connection so the relationship can continue.”

  “Beth will always be a real and permanent part of your life, Annie,” he said, “if you will allow yourself to let the old way of connecting fade away and open your heart so you can see her as she is now.”

  Anna looked over at him and wondered if she understood.

  They stood up and together walked to the tip of the cape. They sat down again on the sand and silently gazed out into the horizon. The rain had stopped, and there was some promise of sun. As she turned to tell him he’d been right, they would have sun after all, she caught a blurred glimpse of him fading out of sight on his way down the beach.

  Anna walked slowly, in a deliberate sort of way, back toward the dunes. The sun was fully out now, shining uncharacteristically bright for November. What a strange turn in the weather, she thought as she lifted her face to bask in its rays. While it was not any warmer, Anna felt perfectly comfortable as she unzipped her jacket and faced the forceful, yet soothing, waves of the Atlantic Ocean.

  Anna closed her eyes, drawing the misting sea air deep within her lungs. Over the screech of the gulls, she heard her grandmother’s voice.

  “Annie, Annie, be careful! Don’t get too much sun!” her grandmother had warned her over the sound of crashing waves. “Come here and at least put a cover and hat on. I know it’s not hot out, but the sun will burn your fair skin.” Anna ran to her beloved grandmother but fidgeted, anxious to get back to the water’s edge and resume playing in the waves.

  It was early summer. Anna, her parents, and her grandmother had driven down to Ocean City, Maryland. They were staying in a hotel right on the boardwalk. During the chilly nights, Anna would walk hand in hand between her grandmother and mother, fascinated by the noisy arcades with games of chance. They browsed the bright stores filled with endless glitter and enjoyed the delicious smells of peanuts and cotton candy, saltwater taffy and macaroons. The little girl never toddled far from her grandmother and when she returned, she was quickly gathered into those familiar, soft, and so reassuring arms and walked briskly back to the hotel room.

  Anna smiled at her grandmother and declared, “I’m okay, Grandma. I’m a big girl now and you don’t have to worry about me anymore.” The little girl loved her grandmother more than words could say.

  “So much love for such a little girl,” her grandmother would remark as she gathered her into her large bosom, smelling of talcum powder and perfume.

  Anna remembered how her mother would put lemon juice in her hair and rub ointment on her shoulders between her trips back and forth to the water’s edge carrying her orange pail to fill the hole she and her father had dug in the sand. Sometimes, in later years, when there were more children, Anna’s father and mother would drive the family down to the shore just for the day during the summer. Anna never knew until much later that this was because they couldn’t afford to stay in a hotel during the peak season. She believed her parents when they told her that the best time to go to the beach was when the crowds were sparse and that was why they went to the shore in early June or September.

  Anna had hated having to put her shoes on over her wet and sandy feet to make the trek over the scalding sand to the car. Her mother would carry her brother and she would have to walk. She really didn’t think it was fair, but her mother told her that was what growing up was all about.

  “I should have asked her before she died what she meant by that,” Anna mumbled aloud. “Was it that growing up meant walking unassisted, or did she want me to get used to those irritating grains of sand in my shoes?”

  Those early years, Anna was convinced, solidified her character. She knew she had been blessed even before she could speak in sentences and knew, even during the later, more difficult times, that she was indeed lucky to have been born to such fine people. Anna was the oldest of six children, each as different as they were similar. Anna was the first not only of her clan, but of twelve grandchildren counting both sides. For almost four years, the little girl had been the only child of doting parents, two sets of bickering grandparents, a slew of strange but equally doting aunts, uncles, great- and grandaunts, and some distant cousins often talked about but rarely, if ever, seen.

  These are the most critical years of development, she would later learn as she sailed through her psychology classes, thinking that most of what her professors took three hours a week to cover was simply common sense. As she listened hour after hour, day after day, year after year, to the horrors experienced by those troubled souls who sought her counsel, Anna grew even more grateful for her early years. Not that they were perfect by any stretch, but her family ills and quirks paled in comparison to the stories that filled her office. She knew that her blessed upbringing was just preparation for her life’s work, and that in a strange, almost karmic way she would be able to help people feel better about themselves, and their lives, if only they would listen.

  Listening is, in essence, the job of a psychologist. Of course, it is much more than that. But, truth be told, Anna was convinced that if children had parents who really listened to them, there would be a lot of unemployed psychologists. Her colleagues were appalled when she came out with blunt simplifications like that, and they had virtually ostracized her as her message gained popularity and credibility. Initially, Anna was quite disturbed about all the uproar until Beth and Chris pointed out that she had never cared what people said or thought about her, and that was what made her so refreshing to be around. So Anna ventured even farther out on a limb and said that the ability to listen and to love were the hallmarks of a well-functioning adult, and that everything else was just window dressing. While not rocket science, Anna knew these abilities were harder to practice than any exercise regimen.

  Maybe that’s why Beth meant so much to me, she considered as the waves touched the tips of her sneakers. As time went on, Beth was the only one who really listened to me. Maybe she was the only one all these years I’ve allowed in my heart.

  Anna could taste the salt in the air as the wind whipped her hair back from her face. As she looked down, a foaming wave crested over her feet, soaking them. The bitter cold
of the sea shocked her into awareness.

  Now she was uncomfortable, her feet clammy and cold. “I hate wet, sandy feet,” she mumbled and began sloshing toward the Explorer.

  As the sand gave under her feet, Anna was distracted by yet another familiar voice. She stumbled down the dunes, then slid, not watching her footing because she was concentrating on listening. Losing her balance, she fell backward. In frustration and resignation, she sat in the very wet sand. Anna was stunned to hear a stern yet comforting voice call to her over the dunes.

  “Annie Carroll and Beth O’Neill, get in here this very minute. You two girls will not be getting any sympathy from me or anyone else if you get sick and miss your Christmas play,” Anna’s mother had scolded.

  She had been a solid, consistent, and very Irish woman who demonstrated little if any affection openly, except when it came to Beth. Anna remembered how her mother had embraced Beth after her own mother died, pulling her in as one of the family. She was able to show Beth a tenderness she withheld from her own offspring. Anna never minded. Her mother’s way of caring was to scold or criticize—it took Anna some years to figure this out; once she did, though, she relaxed and generally overlooked Mother’s abrasiveness. This time, however, was different.

  She was very angry at her mother and, in typical twelve-year-old fashion, turned to Beth and said, “Just ignore her. She’ll forget about us in a minute or two, once we are out of sight. Let’s go make angels in the snow.” And so they had.

  Anna and Beth, both soaked to the bone, had walked the two miles to the public school playground (it was much bigger than the Catholic school’s), and made the best angels ever, until their arms ached and their lips turned blue.

  “Look, Annie,” Beth said. “I’ll bet we’ve made at least fifty different ones now. Let’s go pick out our guardian angels.”

  By the time they had carefully sorted through the figures they had created and decided which each would claim for her own, it was dark, very cold, and both girls were close to being frostbitten. And while these two less-than-angelic girls did miss out on their Christmas play, they had no regrets. The playing they did together was much more fun than any old costume pageant. Anna’s mother, while not sympathetic, propped her up in the big double bed, put on the vaporizer, and had her brother and sister bring her cups of tea. She even got to watch her favorite TV show, over protests from her siblings, of course, because it wasn’t her turn.

  Anna laughed out loud as she got up and started again down the dune. But not before she made a very big and very beautiful angel in the wet sand.

  “Please watch over Beth up there,” Anna whispered to the figure she had just created. “She’s new to heaven and could use a friend.” With that Anna hopped into the Explorer, drove to the ferry landing, and drifted across the harbor to the other side.

  Anna looked at her watch, surprised to see that it was one o’clock. She had taken off her shoes and socks and put the heater on full blast, directed toward the floor of the Explorer. By the time she drove off the ferry, her feet were dry. The shoes and socks, however, were another story. So she drove back to Tisbury by way of the Beach Road, her bare feet working the accelerator and brake. Smiling to herself, she turned the Explorer toward Oak Bluffs, picturing Beth laughing and her mother shaking her head in disapproval. She wondered if these kindred spirits had found each other yet.

  Oak Bluffs, the funky summer town of the island, was bordered by a picture-postcard array of gingerbread houses built by Methodists at the turn of the century. Anna loved the place. With their pastel colors and decorative trimwork, the houses reminded her of childhood fantasies. The town itself held memories of those wild and reckless times from which everyone needed to escape in the late sixties and early seventies. It was a somewhat inconsistent place, a mixture of illusion and decadence, nightclubs and revival pavilions, populated by newly rich celebrities dressed like bums, and bums living off million-dollar trusts believing they were celebrities.

  She saw him almost the minute she made the turn into Oak Bluffs. Strange she should recognize his back. But she just knew it was him. Honking the horn, she slowed down and pulled toward the curb. He looked up, stopped the bike, and smiled.

  “How about a lift, stranger?” Anna called, suddenly aware that she had not yet asked his name.

  “Where did you get to, Annie? I looked for you but there was no sight of either you or the Explorer, so I just headed off to see the rest of the island, and was lucky to see the ferry pull up.”

  He looks different, Anna thought, barely hearing his question.

  “Annie, Annie, Hellooo! Why are you in bare feet? It is the middle of November, not June, you know!”

  Startled, Anna looked down at her feet and laughed, realizing for the first time how cold they were. Smiling, she told him about her mother and her grandmother and the angels in the snow.

  Anna stared out at the clear skies and rough ocean as he strapped the bike to the roof of the Explorer. Only dimly aware of the activity around her, Anna listened to the waves break against the seawall.

  A powerful wave of memory crashed into her consciousness as the seawater foamed and frothed against the wall. Anna distinctly heard Beth’s plea, even over the churning waters of a turbulent ocean.

  “Annie, I don’t think I can continue much farther,” Beth said as she pulled the bike off to the side of the road. “Let’s rest a minute, please.”

  Anna looked at her pale and winded friend. Promptly, she parked her bike as well, and hailed down the first pickup that came along. It had been an ambitious plan, Anna had thought from the beginning, but Beth was insistent. Anna had gone along, despite her misgivings, thinking who was she to deny her friend anything? They had rented the bikes in Vineyard Haven, and had made it through the hilly part of the trip, past the Flying Horses building. The faint sounds of accordion music wafted from the oldest carousel in the country and drifted past them as they struggled to make it up the incline. They were almost to the easy part of the trip, the turn in the road to essentially flat terrain. As they passed by the hotel on the hill, Beth had called to her. She was weak and shaky, but once they got a lift back to the house, her color had improved, and her breathing had returned to normal.

  Anna was fixing hot chocolate when she heard Beth pull out one of the kitchen chairs.

  “Sit down, please, Ann,” she said, her voice flat and unusually firm. Anna couldn’t remember a time when Beth had called her just Ann.

  “What is it, Beth? What’s the matter?” Anna sat directly across from her, looking into those blue eyes that suddenly seemed very far away.

  “I’m not going to make it, am I?” Beth asked abruptly. Anna just looked at her. “Don’t bullshit me, Annie. Tell me what you honestly think.”

  Beth rarely used profanity, so that, coupled with her tone of voice, took Anna off guard. She was speechless and then became very uncomfortable. Anna put her head in her hands and began to run her fingers through her hair.

  “Beth, I don’t know how to answer such a question. How do I know what your chances are? I’m living each day believing you will make it. I haven’t allowed myself to seriously consider any alternative. And that’s the truth.”

  “Well start considering it,” Beth said in a firm, flat voice. “I want to talk about the alternative, because I don’t think I can fight this any longer, and I need to talk it through with somebody. I don’t want you to pull any professional crap on me, okay? I just want you to tell me honestly about what you think and feel in your heart. You’ve always had a sixth sense about things, Annie, and I know you’ve got a feeling about what’s happening here, too.”

  Anna sighed and pushed the chair away from the table. Since this last round of chemo, and after seeing how Beth looked as they sat huddled on the deck of the ferry on their way to the island, Anna knew her best friend was going to die. She knew death was imminent, and she had known they would have this conversation at some point during this trip. Still, she hadn’t expected
it now.

  “Okay, Beth. Let’s talk about it,” she said softly. Taking her friend’s hands into her own, Anna said, “I’m not in control here, Beth. You are. This is your life, not mine.”

  Beth began to cry and pulled her hands from Anna’s. She pushed her chair away from the table and went over to the window. Her back facing Anna, she again asked, “So, what do you think, Annie? Am I going to die?”

  Anna got up from the table and went over to her friend. She turned her around so that the two faced each other. Anna put her hands squarely on Beth’s shoulders and said, “Yes, Beth, you are going to die. So am I. So, what’s new here, huh? You are not going to leave until you decide it’s time. You are in control of that.”

  “Do you think I have much longer, Annie?”

  “You have as long as you need, Beth. So let’s talk about what you have left to do.”

  It was either the door opening or his voice that brought her back. “So, what do you have left to do today, Annie?” he asked as he climbed into the Explorer.

  Somewhat startled, Anna looked at him and said, “For right now, how about something and someplace warm?” And with that, she scanned the rearview mirror for cars or bikes before pulling back onto the road.

  As they drove past the pavilion on the green, the sun glistened off the windows of the Victorian houses lining the avenue. The pastel dwellings with their intricate latticework and open porches always created a feeling of nostalgia in Anna. She felt a deep longing for times past as she tried to shield her eyes to cut the glare.

  “These houses are amazing,” she heard him say. “Do people actually live in them?”

  “Only in the summer,” Anna responded. “They aren’t winterized.”

  She drove slowly, carefully studying the kaleidoscope of color until she found the rose-colored abode.

  “The pink house is my favorite,” she said, pointing to the left.

  Anna stopped the Explorer abruptly and stared as if caught by the spell cast from the Victorian house. Over crashing waves, she could faintly hear a familiar, high-pitched childish voice call to her.