The Walk to the Ocean
By Cullen Corkery
Ruth Marie Pollock was a waitress at a small Chinese food restaurant a mile from the ocean. She still lived with her parents, something that was growing to embarrass her at the age of 24. Their home was five blocks from the restaurant and Ruth walked to work every afternoon, smelling the salt of the ocean and hearing the faint crash of the waves.
She’d met Grant during her shift one night at the restaurant and he’d told her, among a multitude of other sweet nothings, that his apartment was only three blocks from the ocean. You can just see it, he’d told her. He had a toothy grin and dark blue eyes, and he seemed to punctuate all of his sentences with a small chuckle, something Ruth found endearing the longer the night when on. He paid and was getting ready to leave when Ruth told him if he wanted to wait around or close by until 11, then she would like to go home with him. He smiled at that and when he’d walked out, promising to be out there when she was through with her shift, Ruth smiled too. When her shift was done, she met him outside and together they walked through town to his apartment.
He said his name was Grant, but Ruth had her doubts about that being true. Men always lie about their names when they want in your pants, her mother had always told her growing up. You have to be careful, Ruthie, she would tell her now as an adult. I worry about you, Ruthie, she would add. Ruth’s father said nothing, which to Ruth meant he agreed with her mother’s distrustful inhibitions. So, Ruth was careful and always had been. But, as she mournfully came to realize, such caution eventually morphs into isolation, an isolation she found quickly festered into resentment. Grant, she’d decided, was her chance to finally, rebelliously, not be careful. He was going to be her pushback against that resentment.
As they walked to his apartment, the night air cool and the smell of the surf hanging strong around them, he told Ruth about his hobbies, body surfing and metal-detecting at the beach. She told Grant about her interests in horses and learning the piano. They told each other jokes picked up at work, his from the tire shop where he worked and hers from the restaurant, plus jokes from friends and some from childhood. The closer they got to the apartment, and the more amorous they became, the jokes turned bawdier and the quicker they seemed to walk. Ruth felt herself relaxing in a way she had never done so before, both her body and her mind, as together they strolled arm-in-arm. Her mother’s voice dissipated as she listened to the sweet timbre of Grant’s.
Ruth couldn’t see the ocean from Grant’s apartment, but she could smell the salty aroma and clearly hear the crashing waves. He made her a drink, a vodka cranberry, and made himself a gin and tonic. They watched some television on the couch, one of the late-night shows, talking all throughout, laughing and touching. Then, when the drinks were done and warm in their chests, they made love on an area rug in front of his electric fireplace which he’d turned on low. Afterwards, warm and satisfied, they cuddled together under a blanket and fell asleep on the couch, content in each other’s embrace.
Ruth awoke as the first light of the morning sun crested over the horizon, peering in on them through the window in the kitchen. Her stomach hurt, but she knew it was not from the drinks. As she silently gathered her things and dressed, the faint voice of her mother echoed in her mind. I worry about you, Ruthie. She left the apartment, leaving Grant sleeping soundly on the couch. She thought of kissing him goodbye but decided against it. She smiled as she glimpsed him one last time before shutting the door, proud of what she had done, and happy to have done it with him. Instead of going into town toward home, Ruth went the other way, walking the three blocks to the ocean at a calm, leisurely pace. Cars passed by every so often, but otherwise she saw no one. When she arrived, the beach was empty, which she thought was good.
She took her shoes off and walked out in the cold sand toward the ocean. The sun, just above the horizon, gleamed behind her, dancing off the blue-green water. She undressed there in the rising light, piling her clothes neatly together, just as her mother had taught her, and strode out to the water’s edge, stopping for a brief moment to let the cool morning breeze dance across her skin before she slowly waded in until the water was up to her hips. The water was cold but refreshing. Small waves lapped at her stomach. She waded in further until the water line was at her chest. The waves splashed up at her face, wetting her cheeks and her hair.
She looked back at the beach, then out toward the horizon, the sun now dazzling off the water as it rose further in the sky. She took a deep breath then plunged under the surface, holding her breath while letting the tide flow around her, washing her off, cleansing away who she had been with Grant, making her again the woman who waitressed at a Chinese restaurant and went to church on the weekend with her parents. She surfaced and left the ocean, standing on the beach and watching the waves while she let the chill morning wind dry her off. Then she dressed and made the walk home, feeling free and light.
Bio: Cullen Corkery is a writer living and working in the Philadelphia area. He joys writing both fiction and poetry across a plethora of styles. When he is not writing, he enjoys reading, spending time with his family, and cycling.
Author’s Notes: The Walk to the Ocean started with the simple idea of someone deciding to chart a new path in life by making a change, even a small one, and blossomed from there into the present story. Many of the feelings that Ruth grapples with in the story, including the fear of change but desire for more, stemmed from my own emotions as I transitioned into adulthood and helped to serve as the building blocks for the narrative.
