As the sea is

Meredith Hayes planned to throw herself to the sea. One more conversation shouldn't hurt.

She planned to end it all that day. Along the shoreline, atop that dingey pier that even the fisherman don’t use. Well, “planned” might be too steep of a compliment really; she’d simply thought to end it all one day, and the pier was the quietest way to go out. She would take a dangerous amount of the sleeping pills prescribed by her doctor - a quick fix to the nightmares and sleepless nights she’d suffered for years - and simply wait along the shoreline until she passed out into the sea. Drowning, suffocating without an idea that it was happening.

It had been days since she last slept. Flitting between day and night, dreams avoided her - in the past three days alone she’d only slept maybe 2 hours? Something she hadn’t bothered to keep track of. Not like it mattered much anyway. The pier was waiting for her.

With just her bare-bones purse in hand, she wore her most basic clothing and shoes - her nice things could go to her sister Genevieve anyway, the two shared sizes in most everything anyway. Plain, dingy off-white sneakers. An older long sleeved shirt in muted gray, a holey sweater in stained black. Plain jeans, ones that used to have no holes in them. In her purse: her pills, a bit of water - she hated taking medicine without it - and the bits to write a note. Nothing to explain or justify her exit from the world, nothing to cry and lament her shit-filled existence, just a final will and testament for those she leaves behind. Her official one is outdated anyway, people no longer in her life still on the pages clinging to her last belongings.

Sitting along the bench at the very end of the pier, rickety and filled with holes and rot, she began to write.

My name is Meredith Hayes. My mother is Fatima Hayes, and my sisters are Genevieve and Sheryl Hayes. My father died in 2003, so these are my only living relatives. I am writing this as my official will and testament, to supersede anything written before this note. My belongings will be divided evenly between my three living relatives, and any money I have left in my savings will be given to my mother to help with her medical bills. My apartment is already taken care of, and my animals have been handed off to a close friend under the guise of a work trip. There’s nothing left for me to handle aside from the act itself. My hotel key is in my purse, if someone wants to return it for me. Thank you.

Meredith put down her pen on the bench beside her, careful to not let it fall through the cracks of the creaky boards. She wondered if it’d be smart to write any more, define anything further so people she loved wouldn’t fight after she was gone. Then again, her family was never the fighting type - her father didn’t even bother with chemotherapy way back then, saying it was easier to die at home than burden the family with more bills to pay. He was a stubborn man in that regard, stubborn enough to pass it along to his oldest daughter.

The wind picked up. Just above a gentle breeze, enough to take a loose page but not enough to yank it away. It smelled of salt, smelled of fish and of fishermen; the air carried memories and dreams of people lost to time, her mother always told her when she was young. Now that she was old, her mother was old, and the wind was old, Meredith wondered whose dreams she could smell at the end of it all?

“Lost in thought, are we?” A sudden voice startled her - though to an outside eye one couldn’t tell. Meredith turned to meet the voice, matched up to a man in dreary coveralls. They were stained with darkened blotches, faded from many years of washing and scrubbing to remove them as best as he could. Rubber boots worn with many stories in the soles, with rubber gloves just as worn to match hanging slightly from the pocket. A new beard was growing in on his face, scruffy and unkempt laced with silvery streaks to match his equally unkempt hair. Despite the wear and tear on everything this man wore and was, he had an unnatural brightness to his eyes, as if the sun hiding behind the clouds was tucked away in his retinas. Meredith was too lost taking in the sudden addition to her final moments to speak.

“I can always tell. There’s many like ya, y’know?” He spoke more, seemingly hiding what could be the usual crass-ness in his tone. “Still, ya seem calmer than most of ‘em. What’s the reason?”

Meredith paused. Reason? She looked at him oddly.

“A reason. To jump, right? You ain’t got one?” She thought.

“My life isn’t great.” Hoarse but clear her voice was. She hadn’t used it in so long, she was surprised it worked at all. “Not much going for me, and it’s expensive to live, so…” The nameless fisherman nodded.

“Suppose ya right.” He leaned back against the bench, a subtle creak to accompany him.

Silence. The wind, still carrying the scent of fishermen and their lives, began to die down. Meredith wondered many things, her thoughts stirred by his words.

“Why do you ask?” She pried. He looked her up and down, then locked his gaze to his hands in his lap.

“Suppose I was just curious.” The odd fisherman rubbed his calloused hands together. “I hear many stories ‘bout people drowning here on purpose, figured it’s a spot t’do it.” Ah, so that’s it, she thought. Many people do bring themselves here to die, being a small pier in an even smaller town away from prying eyes. Not many succeed, the panic of drowning - or even just the thought of it - usually stops them, but Meredith remembered the location anyway. Cursed to prevent death, even being the most perfect of spots to do it in.

“I see,” she muttered, “I figured you would stop me. Most people would.” He shook his head.

“Not like most of ‘em. I know when people get their minds on somethin’, it’d be hell or high water to drag ‘em away.” Meredith only nodded, glad to avoid an unnecessary conversation. Therapists time and time again attempted to prove the worth in living to her, but it was always the same repetitive nothings. Promises of nicer things to come if she kept with the program. But what are promises to her anyway? Promises were nothing but niceties, extra words to convince you to work for something that might happen, and Meredith was tired of working so very hard for a “maybe”.

Maybe she’d get into the school she’d wanted.
Maybe she’d finish her book and publish it.
Maybe she’d be able to wait for him to come back.
Maybe, maybe, maybe.

Even the waves can’t keep a promise, calm during stormy nights and raging on sunny days. Even the weather can’t keep a promise, cloudy on days where the sun was to take center stage. Even Meredith couldn’t keep a promise, unable to wait until their mother passed before deciding to sleep forever at the bottom of the pier.

Promises are nothing but air, wind carrying dreams and aspirations that might never be anything more. Meredith’s wind carried nothing these days, not even a liar’s promise.

“Then if ya so sure, do you mind?” The fisherman finally spoke again. “I just… I’d like to pick yer brain for a bit, if ya don’t mind.” He chuckled to himself. “I don’t think yer goin’ anywhere but into the sea anyways.” Meredith thought for a moment.

“That depends. I hate speaking in absolutes.”

“I’d just like t’know what got ya here. Nothin’ deep, I just like hearin’ stories people tell.”

Another pause. “Nothing deep” he says, and yet…

“Asking me how I got to the point of killing myself is already a bit deep, don’t you agree?”

He shook his head.

“When ya pull back the layers, it ain’t as deep as most of ya believe.” She looked at him, and he stared right back.

For a moment, the wind stirred. Nothing carried on it, but the stir was enough.

Meredith leaned back against the bench, her body not enough to even make a creak against the rotting wood. “By all means then. Peel the layers, as you say.” A slight grin touched his face.

“You write a note right?” She nodded, pulling the page half-baked out of her purse for a moment before returning it. “Put any thought into it? Tell ‘em how you really feel?” She shook her head.

“Just a last will and testament. I hate the idea of my family fighting over my belongings.” The fisherman made a subtle sucking sound, as if he had to stop his disappointment from leaking through. “They wouldn’t care to know a reason anyway. Just being the way I am has upset them enough, it’ll be better to stop making them angry this way.”

“Why would they be angry? Seems a lil’ silly t’me.”

“Family never acts rationally, at least mine never does.” A statement as strong as that from Meredith was a rarity. She never spoke in absolutes, something impossible to back up in reality. “I would rather avoid that as much as possible.” The fisherman thought about it for a moment. A moment that lasted much longer than a moment should. He looked as if he was ready to say something, but he set it aside in his mind.

The two sat in silence. The fisherman took his time thinking of another question for the downcast woman - he’d never been a hard thinker in his life. Since his birth his life was kindness and fishing, working on the same boat his grandpa built board by board; he would bring in fish and crab and scrape barnacles from the hull, sell them in markets on his days on land, and sit along the docks to watch the waves swell and fall far into a horizon. He was but a simple man, in a simple life.

A simple man, now presented with something more complex than the stars above. Was it a problem he could solve? Was there even a problem to solve?

Was he in over his head?

“What’cha like ‘bout the sea?” he asked. Lost for any other question, he asked what was familiar to him. And what was familiar to him caused a spark in Meredith’s eyes, unprepared for the sudden turn in his questioning.

“...the sea?” she asked, a gentle inquiring feeling slipping into her voice. “Why do you ask?” The fisherman shrugged. Meredith turned her head away, gazing at the faded line along the horizon that divided the sky and sea.

“The sea…” Meredith had to think on that one. The sea, the sea? Such a simple question, and yet… she had never truly thought about what drove her to the sea in the first place. Truthfully, she had no connection to the sea. No relatives, no special memories at the pier or the beach, nothing to drive her to sleep forever underneath the waves. If she wanted something more poetic, she could’ve done the same in the woods; hiking through brush and dense treelines was always a release for her in the many dreary days she lived. But the sea?

“Th’ sea’s been my life for ‘s long as I can remember.” The fisherman’s sudden words spurred her from thought. “So, jus’ figured… maybe ya chose the sea for a reason?”

The sea. Did she have a reason? A reason, just like a reason for ending it all - what would it be? Maybe Meredith didn’t have an answer to either, but something about leaving the question unanswered felt… wrong.

“I…” she started, trailing off. Her eyes never left the horizon, but she could feel the fisherman’s gaze shift to her. “I think…”

She couldn’t finish her statement right away. With emotions as flippant as the wind and a resolve as intangible as the dreams along the wind, she just couldn’t answer right away. It was the first time in a long time that her mind was no longer certain, all over a question about the sea. The two sat in silence for a moment - however long that moment was, is anyone’s guess - only accompanied by the ambiance of the waves and the wind. It felt like an eternity passed between the two before she spoke again.

“I like how it is.” The fisherman tilted his head quizzically at her reply.

“How it is? What’s that s’pposed to mean?”

“I like how the sea is, as it is.” Meredith sighed gently, her breath blending in with the breeze. “The sea is unbiased, the sea is natural. But the sea looks different to everyone who looks at it.” She turned to meet his gaze. “To someone who has spent his whole life on the sea, it looks far different to you than it does to me.” The fisherman nodded slowly, keeping the silence to keep her talking. “To you, the sea is a way of life - food, shelter, a home and a history. But to me? I have nothing to do with the sea.” She chuckled to herself. “This is actually my first time seeing the ocean outside of a movie or videos online. I’m glad it smells just like I imagined.”

“You ain’t seen the sea in person before?” She shook her head, almost amused by the fisherman’s childlike bewilderment.

And it was true, Meredith had never seen the sea before today. Her family was never the traveling type, living near enough woods for family outings - a night camping in the backyard was good enough for them, and kept them entertained in their childhood. But now, reaching the middle - or end, maybe - of her life, the curiosity pulled at her. Tugged at her. Moved her, moved her until she stopped moving at this very bench miles away from home looking at it for the first time. Salty breeze carrying dreams and ideals stinging her face and scarred skin, ocean waves crashing into a cacophony yet to be interpreted… the sea, as it is and as it will always be.

“Never, but it feels nice to be here for my last moments.” A tinge of sadness washed over the fisherman’s eyes. “But I do like the sea as it is. So unbiased and wild, but beautiful and calm. I do like that.”

Silence. The fisherman strained for something else to say, but couldn’t muster a word. The gnawing, obvious question lingered in his mind. Did he dare say it?

“S’ppose it’s been a while since I seen someone else.”

Meredith nodded silently.

“You don’t actually have anybody waitin’ at home, do ya?”

Meredith nodded silently.

“Th’ plague took em out… right?”

Tears. Meredith nodded silently.

“Plannin’ t’ join em, that’s why ya came here.”

Rivers. Meredith nodded silently.

It had been a long two years. Plague swept the world, leaving very few people behind. Most couldn’t cope with the loneliness, with the disease; if the plague didn’t kill them - some few “blessed” people found immune - most killed themselves to avoid a solitary life.

Most were dead now. Objectively speaking, Meredith hadn’t seen anyone in the past six months aside from this mystery fisherman. Her family died very quickly into the peak of plague times, leaving her immunity as her lonesome doomed fate. There were no repopulation efforts, there was no cure research, nothing. Just a broken world, falling apart at the seams.

And God was she tired.

“I want it to end,” she cried, stifling her tears as best she could. “I… am tired. So tired.” The fisherman nodded, knowing how she felt. Silently, he placed a calloused hand on her shoulder. There was nothing he could say anymore.

The two listened to the sea, crash and wave as it always has, on the edge of a quiet world.

The sun faded into the horizon, but the waves crashed as they always have.

The sun rose above the horizon, and the waves crashed as they always have.

The two stayed until their skin ran cold, and the waves crashed as they always have. Meredith broke the silence between the two.

“I suppose I should go now.” She stood, the bench beneath her creaking from the release. The fisherman nodded, knowing he could say nothing to stop her- he couldn’t stop his own father from the sea’s embrace after all. She removed her coat, placing it and her purse on the bench besides the fisherman, and walked towards the end of the pier. No jump, no theatrics. Within a blink, Meredith disappeared beneath the waves as quickly as she appeared.

And the fisherman sat, the last man alive, and watched the sea as it is.