Chapter 3

I awoke with a start. 

The alarm, off station, hissed menacingly at me. I turned it off and sat up. Argh. Work. I dragged myself downstairs and poured a cup of coffee and headed for the shower. 

Contrast. Without it, the universe would cease to exist. Psshh. what-ever. I sighed, wondering why conflict and contrast had to keep spoiling my good time. Yes, I know… if I were to really think about it, if I wasn’t faced with something I didn’t like, I couldn’t very well figure out what I do like. But at times, like now, the contrast felt so ‘in my face’ I couldn’t think of what it is I really want. 

Not that I ever knew. What do I want? Each time I ask myself that question it was easy to conjure all kinds of material things I wanted; a new laptop, maybe one of those new Apple tablets… oooh what about that house in Hawaii? No, I needed to find out what I really wanted as in love, peace, and harmony. Sure, I want all those things, and yet… how to define them in terms that I could quantify. What does peace mean to me? What does love look like? How does harmony feel? I had a vague notion, but I couldn’t traverse the chasm of imagining myself in a perfect state of being.

I wasn't really feeling a perfect state of being at 3:05 pm while I sat there in the coffee house, with a gross tasting cup of coffee served by a surly emo kid who doesn’t have the first clue of how to make an Americano. All I’d wanted was the comfort that a tasty coffee could bring, to soothe me into feeling better. I’d had a really lousy start to the day at work, getting a ‘talking to’ about not following procedures I had no idea had been instituted. I really disliked getting into trouble unjustly. I sometimes thought working at the art store was not for me, but it was pretty great getting all my art supplies at a discount. I smirked then, realizing I had already found a better feeling thought about what moments ago had been some major contrast. Huh. I am getting better at this. Taking another sip of coffee, I frowned, right back in yucks-ville. Meh, it can’t all be happy and good. Okay, what is it that I do want? I want good coffee. Okay, imagine yourself drinking a really good coffee, just the way you like it. I saw myself at home, in my beloved leather chair, sipping the rich creamy goodness from my favourite mug, feet up on the ottoman… I want a job where I am happy and feel appreciated. I thought of all the people I work with, how we felt like family, where we worked together and accomplished our jobs and managed to have fun at the same time… There, that’s much better. And the coffee’s cheaper at my house too! I got up, leaving the mug of grossness behind, and headed for home.

When I got there I no longer had a desire for coffee, it had been soothing I needed, and I managed to do that thinking of what I wanted and imagining myself having it. I plunked down on the couch, turned on the TV, but instead of watching, I found myself pondering. It had been a month since my trip to Ucluelet. The events following my chance encounter were blurry, as if I’d gone through the motion of being on vacation, but hadn’t paid much attention. I did not run into him anywhere for the remaining six days, I hadn’t really tried, but I had hoped. Then the day came to pack up and go home and I’d reluctantly left, feeling as though I was leaving piece of myself on that beach. I couldn’t bring myself to return to Florencia Beach, though I had spent no more than a few hours with him, it seemed too weird to go back.

I had a photo of him, much of his true radiance lost in the digital translation of him, plus his face was small in the image, and when enlarged, it became a mass of pixels. If I squinted at the small likeness, I could picture all the wonderful expressions his face could make.

 I kept his note and his plaid sleeve in the bottom drawer of my nightstand. I am sentimental as a rule, and I maintained a futile dreamy fantasy of meeting him again one day. As I moved through my days, I sometimes pretended he was watching over me, not like a stalker, no, but like in the movie, ‘City of Angels’ where the angel kept vigil over the human woman he fell for. Yearned for. I found myself getting all romantic and mushy often in these past few weeks, which was totally unlike me, yet, I didn’t mind the change, although some of my friends and coworkers disagree. ‘Why are you so mopey?’ ‘What’s up with you?’ ‘You’re weirder than usual Alexis.’ They would say, not trying to be mean, but attempting to make me act more like myself, or get me to talk about what was bothering me. I never told anyone what happened on that trip. It was too personal, too private, and too unbelievable to share with even my closest friends. Besides, if I had told anyone, and was actually believed, they would probably confirm what I knew in my heart - I been an idiot for running away. In reality, some may have thought it might have been good for me to get laid, likely thinking that is the way of the world. But not in my world. I was not at all attracted to the idea of having sex with a total stranger and feeling okay about it. Yuck!

I know, I am different from most everyone, but I just could not do that. I had done that very thing - once. I still felt like I had betrayed myself. I’d been drunk, which in itself is amazing as I rarely drink, and it all happened so quickly, and afterwards it was so... disgusting. Totally unsatisfying and embarrassing. No. If I was going to get intimate with someone, there had to be mutual feelings between us, time to get to know each other. I guess I did not have sex. I made love. So, if there was no love... This was probably the reason I was single, the guys I met didn’t seem interested in ‘getting to know each other’ and because I wouldn’t ‘put out’ after a couple dates, they usually stopped calling.

In reality, I was fine with that. I did enjoy my solitude. It wasn’t forced on me; I chose to have only a few close friends, and I spent much of my time creating and playing. I created art in innumerable forms and various media, loved photography, tried to play guitar, loved books, loved travelling, hiking... I sighed.

Journaling was one way I knew would always soothe me more than anything else. I didn’t spend a lot of time talking anything through with my friends, and whenever I did I rarely felt better, usually because I’d start bitching and complaining and that seemed to compound the negative energy. I realized I had aimlessly wandered into my studio, and was seated at my work table, the TV still mumbling in the distance. I pulled out one of my favourite journals, one I had created and hand stitched with my own two hands. I rarely wrote words in my journals, instead using acrylic paint, creating new and different colour combinations and textures, which gratified my tactile senses. I might add images clipped from various sources, or draw or paint my own. I flipped slowly though the pages, few were complete, most were at varying stages waiting for inspiration to carry them further. I stopped briefly at each page, running my fingers delicately across the surfaces, noting my internal reaction, feeling for the right page to work on. Ahhh... there you are. I felt a shift in consciousness at a particularly sombre blend of deep reds, browns, and bronze tones with a wash of walnut stain over top, which darkened the mood of the pages, causing them to appear old, worn and forgotten. Deep inside, I felt similar. I knew this time, on these pages, with these feelings... words were going to be necessary.

I hovered briefly over the top left corner with my pen, waiting. I felt the words well up to the surface, pen meeting paper and words flowing freely. Soon they were pouring out of me wanting to become real, solid, lasting. It was if I’d opened a faucet as they spilled onto the page, creating an interesting pattern on top of the deep colours. When I reached the bottom of the first page, I flipped the journal sideways and continued, now writing crossways across what I had just written. This created a visually striking and intricate pattern of horizontal and vertical script overlaid. I was not writing to record thoughts, emotions, regrets, confessions to be read and re-read later, I was writing as a release, a way to get all of it out of me, to free myself of feeling clogged up.  By the time I completed the one full page of criss-cross writing, I felt a huge sense of relief. I knew this was the first step in letting go and moving on.

 The days ran into each other, weekends began to rush by, only to be replaced by another chunk of workdays, which started to drag as my interest waned. I was starting to get excited, as my spring trip back to Ucluelet was getting closer. I felt trepidation at the thought of dredging up sad feelings, but I couldn’t wait to get back to the rainforest, to breathe it all in, to immerse myself in nature. If I was lucky I would get to experience some storms, there was nothing like storms along the west coast up there, they were magnificent in their sheer force and spectacular imagery.  Waves crashing, wind whipping, rain pelting, no wonder the landscape there was so striking. This trip I had booked an extra side trip to go up to the hot springs at the remote northern end of Clayoquot Sound.  I would stay in my usual cabin for a couple nights; I would then stay up at the springs for two nights before returning to Ucluelet for three more nights. Eight days and seven nights!  I packed all I think I might need for the cool March weather, much cooler than last September been up, bringing extra batteries and flashlights as the cabin at the hot springs had no electricity. The more I thought of my trip, the faster the workdays flew by.

It was still dark as I crammed things into the back of my FJ, I was eager to be on my way. I loved to get up early as a rule, but on days like this, I got up hours earlier in anticipation. I was off! As the FJ climbed the Malahat summit on the winding Trans Canada highway, I wondered where my first stop might be. Sometimes I got so excited I forgot to stop at all, and arrive at my destination sick from hunger and overloaded bladder. I decided on Coombs, my mouth watering at the thought of having breakfast at the market restaurant, they have the perfect breakfast consisted of one pancake, one sausage, one slice of bacon, two eggs, and hash browns. Yum! I could never eat it all, but I got to have a taste of all of my fave breakfast items. The market was also great for getting some food for the cabin; they made awesome breads, and had unusual cheeses and other deli items.

A couple hours later, after finishing nearly the whole breakfast this time, my hunger sated to near bursting, I was on the road again, headed to Port Alberni and beyond, where the road twisted, turned, and occasionally hugged cliff sides on its way to the Pacific Rim. I drove into Ucluelet’s quaint little village, if you could even call it that, after 11 am. It was much too early for check-in at the cabin, but a perfect time to find a good Americano and take a walk around. I pulled into a spot near the government wharf and slid out of the driver’s seat, stiff and sore from the drive.

My eyes caught the back end of an old classic FJ40, and I tore my eyes away and started walking to the wharf. Of course I’d seen many more FJ40s in the past six months, none of which been his, as this one was not his, wrong colour, wrong year. Stop it. I told myself.  I didn’t want to mope and yearn, I wanted to live and have fun! Part of me wanted to run back, look inside the truck, maybe he changed the colour... oh jeepers... five minutes here and you’re already losing it. I halted in my tracks. I shook my head. I was going in the wrong direction. I had meant to go get an Americano first, so I could stroll, sip, and smoke. A most delightful pastime in my opinion. I turned around to walk in the direction of the bookstore where they made killer coffee drinks. “Hey, Hi!” I heard a deep voice call. I kept walking. “Hello.” The sound was close now. I looked up. A native man was looking expectantly at me as he stood in the middle of the road. I felt a tiny pang of  frustration at the idea of having to use my ‘No, I’m not here alone.’ line so soon after arriving. I always said something along the lines of I was on my way to pick up my husband who was out fishing – except that one time... –  and formed the words I would use this time in my mind to block out the memories. “Hi!” the man said again, and I wondered if he might be inebriated... uh oh... why am I such a magnet for odd people?             I thought idly... “Hi.” I said politely.  Always polite, I could never walk away, nope, that would be rude, and I didn’t want to be rude... “Hey, did you just get into town?” he talked as if we were good friends. “Uh, yeah, this morning, early.” “Nice, so good to see you.” Huh? Do I know this guy?! “My name is Larry. I’m the chief’s son, from across the bay.” I decided he was not inebriated, I did not know him from Adam, but he was a nice, friendly chief’s son. “Hey, that’s really cool. Uh... I’m Alexis, it’s nice to meet you.” “Welcome!” he said heartily. “I hope you enjoy your visit!” and at that he turned, waving at me as he walked away. Huh. That was nice, being so warmly welcomed by the chief’s son. I continued to the bookstore, walking right past the FJ40. I slowed as I passed, looking at the licence plate. Trying to memorize it, knowing it would slip from my mind a in few minutes, as did almost anything else I tried to memorize did.

I was walking back to the wharf, Americano and cigarette in hand, feeling the carefree sensation of ‘being on vacation’ creep into me as the corners of my mouth turned up in a happy smile. The mixture of low tide, tar, diesel and fish boats assaulted my nose as I strolled along the wharf, looking for a place to sit and enjoy the view. These smells - they might not be appealing separately or in combination, but it was a smell I’d known all my life, and it was familiar and grounding.  I sat and basked in it all, warm sunshine, great coffee, deep drags on my smoke, the subtle sounds of the docks creaking, waves washing up the beach, seagulls flying and cawing, and inhaled another deep breath of the wharf smell. Bliss was beginning to return. I put out my cigarette, stuffing the butt in my back pocket, stinky bad habit I know, but I was not a litterbug. I looked at the newer building above the wharf and saw a sign saying ‘Gallery’. Mmm – art. Yes, next on the agenda that was not an agenda was browsing an art gallery. I walked into the small gallery, looking around at all the paintings on display, noticing colour, texture, various mediums. My own art was not gallery worthy, not meant to be. It was more just for me, as a release, my own self-satisfaction of creating. I liked sharing it with my few art friends, but that was all it was ever intended for. “Hello.” A man said from behind a small desk in the corner. “Hi, how are you today?” I asked brightly. “Very well, thank you - and you?”  “I am great!” and I was. “I have a coffee, should I leave it outside?” “No, try not to spill, you’ll be fine.” was his jovial reply. People were so nice I mused.  As I looked at the paintings, he followed, not in a rude, policing way, but to tell me the various artists of whose work I was seeing. Speaking not in a pushy, salesperson way, but in a friendly, informative tone, he was obviously proud of each artist and their progression through their various pieces. We had nearly made our way around the entire gallery when I came around a corner and I gasped aloud., before me, was a painting of beach! Our beach! Oh my god, what is it with you?!  It was large, at least 3 feet by 5 feet, expertly done in acrylics, realistic and clear, not impressionistic or making use of bright tones. This was my favourite style of painting, like a photograph but with a magical, ethereal edge. I remembered I should breathe which I did as I took in the beauty of the image. The gallery owner noticed my reaction to this particular piece. “Isn’t it stunning?” I nodded, speechless. He continued. “Yes, I think this might be Daniel’s best piece...” What?! What?! Did he just say... “...he hasn’t been around lately; I don’t think I’ve seen him for more than five months...” he stopped when he saw my expression. “Uh... are you okay? You look pale...” “I....uh... I feel... dizzy...”  I stammered as my mind reeled. It has to be a coincidence; it’s not him, not him... I reasoned with myself. It’s some artist whose name happens to be Daniel, who happens to have painted our beach... my mind was swimming, I was drowning... “Excuse me, I need some fresh air!” I all but shouted as I rushed outside, heart hammering in my chest, I didn’t stop until I was safely ensconced in my FJ, taking deliberate deep breaths – innnn – ouuuut.– innnn – ouuuut, all the while telling myself it was some cruel coincidence... calm... zen... relax... okay, that’s better.  Well, so much for my bliss returning...

I sat trying to collect myself, and this time I refused to panic and revert to old thought patterns, instead forcing myself to look at things with the eyes of my many teachers. I reasoned with myself. Yes, you were feeling blissful, wonderful. You were happy. You were feeling very good, as you had felt when you first met him, it make perfect sense to have another encounter somehow involving this mysterious man who has haunted you for six months. It doesn’t mean he is going to leap out of nowhere and carry you off in to the sunset. It means as long as you work at feeling good you can get closer to him if it is what is meant to happen. The more time you spend feeling unhappy, worried or freaked out, the less chance you have of anything pleasant happen. I continued to breathe deeply, calming myself, looking for things to feel good about. For one, I was in my favourite place, it was a beautiful sunny day, I had many more glorious days of freedom ahead of me, I had a new adventure to the hot springs to look forward to, I held a delicious coffee in my hand, I could do anything I wanted to do. I sighed, feeling much relief, and much better. See, it just takes practise, I told myself.

I decided to pay a visit to the local Co-op grocery to pick up the things I did not get in Coombs. I filled up the cooler in the back of the FJ and made my way to the cabin. It was still early, but they were usually good about checking me in early. I suddenly felt weary. I put the last of my gear on the floor in the cabin, and set about my routine of putting things away in the fridge and unpacking some of my gear and clothes. I grabbed a book out of one of my bags, threw my travel pillow on the bed, flopped down, and opened my book.

I sat straight up in the bed, looking around frantically with a feeling of complete disorientation. Ah, yes, the cabin, okay. It’s okay. I lay back with a sigh. I’d fallen fast asleep while reading. No wonder, it had been a busy morning. I looked around some more, realizing this was the same cabin I stayed in six months ago, and I found this fact comforting rather than distressing. I got up to boil water for coffee, and enjoyed my coffee and smoke out on the deck, breathing the forest in and feeling anxious to get out into it. It was still early afternoon. I packed my back pack, and headed toward Tofino, just over 40 kilometres north of Ucluelet.

I stopped at the Wickaninnish Interpretive Centre parking lot, used the washroom and started down the trail heading to South Beach. The signs clearly stated bear and wolves were about, and to use extra caution when hiking. Never hike alone. Well, rules were made to be broken. I’d always been stubborn, especially around silly rules regarding not doing things alone. Sure, I see how it would not be wise to walk alone in the back alleys of downtown Vancouver at night, but I couldn’t figure out how walking on a trail in the woods alone would be so frowned upon. I’d lived my entire life on this island, much of it spent in the wilderness. I always used common sense and listened to my instincts when it came to wildlife. I’d come across bears many times, and heard wolves in the woods around me now and then.

They weren’t on a mission to stamp out humans, and besides, I am different from most humans. I always held on to this crazy and childlike idea I had a special relationship with animals. I felt they would never harm me intentionally. I knew it sounded ridiculous, thinking I was some female ‘Beastmaster’ but it was a fact that all domesticated creatures were drawn to me, cats would come across an entire field to say hello and weave around my legs. Dogs strained with all their might against their leashes to try to come over to me. Even some wild forest creatures seek me out, against their instinct to fear humans. I could stand quietly; making tiny chirping sounds, and soon little birds, nuthatches and chickadees would curiously come nearer and nearer, chirping back at me, daring to come within a foot or two.  I had practised various raven calls, and persuaded them to talk with me, sometimes swooping low to see who was in their territory. And of course there was that day in the woods with him, when the little squirrel came to check me out... I’ve been so lucky to have seen many animals in the woods, usually not seen by humans, and could not imagine I would meet my demise at the paw or jaw of a wild creature.

I was already at the beach. I came down the last of the stairs and stepped on to the pebbles of the beach. I walked towards the huge rocks to be the signature features of South Beach.  It was now cool and overcast, but the heat radiating off the dark pebbles was noticeable.  I sat, propping myself against one of the huge rocks, my butt warming on the pebbles, my back on the warm rock. ‘So,’ I began musing to myself. He might be a painter, an artist like me, only far superior. This possible fact did not bother me in the least. I was not a competitive type.  Maybe if we... maybe I could learn from him... I sighed, deciding on a different approach. Well, he has a similar vehicle to mine. His was a classic original form of my modern, retro styled truck, a Toyota FJ Cruiser. He had green eyes too, although his were a pure, unusual green seeming to change hue depending on his mood. I recalled the deep emerald eyes that looked at me with such desire after he held me. He really had held me, although sometimes it was like a dream in a far away past, in this moment, it felt like it had just happened, and I could imagine him looking at me in that indescribably breathtaking way. I exhaled, not realizing I been holding my breath. Feeling light-headed at the vividness of this memory, I continued... His hair was the same colour as mine, he loved the outdoors, he... I stopped, simultaneously realizing I’d run out of similarities and wondering why I was trying to come up with them at all. It did feel good to think of him, and I was trying to think thoughts that felt good...

Besides, it didn’t matter. People did not have to be exactly the same to be compatible, to be friends, to be...  lovers. As the word drifted in from the back of my mind, it was as though it was a completely new word to me. Yes, in the past six months I romanticised our time together, danced on the surface of what passed between us that day, analyzed every word and action, relived the touches, the feelings... but never ventured into the territory of imagining him as my lover. Perhaps here, in this place I felt free, free to be myself completely and do whatever pleased me allowed me the ability to take it to the next level.  My lover... I rolled those words around in my mind, as I let my imagination run with it.

It wasn’t graphic, more like impressions flashing and sensations rushing by; his hair brushing my face as his lips moved across my chest, feeling his skin on mine, his arms holding me close, his breath hot and fast in my ear, my fingers exploring his body... oh my god...wow, this was exciting, letting your mind loose and giving in to your deep desires.

I decided to rein myself in for now, feeling embarrassed although no people were anywhere near. I looked around again to be sure. I saw a familiar bird, a stellar’s jay sitting on the end of a log eyeing me suspiciously, as if he ‘d read my thoughts and reaffirmed to himself humans were odd creatures, not to be trusted – unless they had food. He studied me a moment longer, determining I did not have food and therefore was of no use to him, and he flew off squawking in a gruff manner. I heaved a huge sigh, running my hand across the top of my breasts where his imagined lips kissed me, and stood to walk off whatever remained of my erotic little diversion. As it was too chilly to go barefoot, I continued down the beach above the waves. I began to take in my surroundings, when I first arrived I was focussed inwardly and hadn’t noticed the beauty around me. Relief and joy flooded through me as I realized I had so many days to play. Complete freedom. I glanced up and noticed a young bald eagle on a tree branch not far from where I walked. I stopped, pulling my camera forward and switching it on. I could tell he was young as he was a motley brownish colour, dishevelled, probably losing his baby feathers, of which I’m sure there was a much more scientific term for – maybe moulting – , which would reveal his sleek black sheen with a striking white head. As I zoomed in on him, I thought soon he would learn to leave when humans approached, as most of his adult counterparts. Eagles, in my experience, always kept the farthest from humans. I had gotten close a few times, and had them come to me on rare occasion, but always at a greater distance than other creatures. I always wondered why, as they were a protected species, and people didn’t hunt them or go out of their way to harm them as far as I knew. And this young one was letting me get close, he continued to flex his powerful talons on the branch, move his head this way and that, it was like they learned at a later age to stay away. Animal behaviour was as interesting to me as human behaviour. I backed up quietly and gave him a large berth to allow him to stay where he was.  I continued down the beach, knowing if I kept going for some distance I would arrive at Florencia Beach. Our Beach. I did plan to return, but not today. I checked the time using my iPod and realized it wouldn’t be long before sunset and I should start back. It was one thing to be stupid and hike alone when the sign said not to, and a whole other thing to stumble along a trail in the dark alone. I could be stupid at times, but I am not an idiot. I laughed to myself as I turned back down the beach. I decided to walk along the beach towards the parking lot instead of using the trail. 

Chapter 2a

He drove around aimlessly, not even sure why he had gotten into the truck. He realized then that he was looking for her, hoping to run into her again. Oh sure, he thought to himself, and then what?! He’d just walk up to her and say “Hi, remember me? I freaked you out a couple days back… Can we hang out?” Or “Hi, will you go to dinner with me?” Yeah, sure, like any of those would work. No, he had screwed up, and screwed up big time. There was really no point in hoping to see her; nothing to fix what had gone wrong.

He pulled into the Schooner Cove parking lot. Shit! A silver FJ Cruiser was parked there. It had to be hers, there were not many trucks like hers around. He admired the looks of it, knowing it was like his, only all new and retro, but he smiled despite everything, thinking of yet another similarity between them. He blew out a breath feeling like a fool, why was he even thinking about things like that. He pictured her face, as he had done so many times. His heart tightened at the idea of never seeing her again. Knowing he would regret it later, he pulled into an empty spot and headed down the trail to the beach. His thoughts of her continued... What if he ran into her on the trail, what if she saw him? She would know he had followed her and dislike him even more. She might even phone the cops, he was really acting like a creep, he’d deserve to be arrested. Clenching his teeth, he continued down the trail to the beach. He was momentarily blinded as he came out on to the sunny beach from the dark woods. He kept to the edge of the tree line to stay out of sight, feeling like a criminal doing so. Wishing he had never come, he looked down the shore as his eyes adjusted to the brightness. Seeing no one, he walked down the beach a ways, and stopped to sit on a log, lighting a smoke to calm his nerves.

The wind began to pick up, blowing the clouds over the sun. He could feel the rain in the air, knew it was coming soon. Butting his smoke, he stuffed the butt in his back jean pocket as he decides to leave; he sees how ridiculous he is acting. As he stands and turns, his eye catches a head of curls far down the beach. He squints, trying to pick up more detail. His breath hitches as he realizes it is her.  Her head is down; she is walking away from him, farther down the beach, down near the water. It is low tide. She seems to be looking for something. She stoops, picking something up, replacing it closer to the water, turning towards him she squats down, holding her camera low, close to the sand.  She stays that way for some time, moving to sink one of her knees in the wet sand, she shifts position and takes pictures from the new angle. 
Again he is entranced by her, standing there watching her every move, unblinking. As he looks on, she throws her head back, lifting her face to the sky as her body heaves with a huge sigh. Her curls float around her head in the increasing wind, giving her an ethereal quality. As he feels the first drops on his back, he sees her face change.  Her other knee drops to the sand, she tosses her camera back behind her arm, under her coat and wipes her hands across her face. He longs to go to her. The gesture agonizes him; he can’t help but think she looks so very sad. Did he do that to her? He shakes his head, dismissing the thought. No, he’s just projecting his feelings on to her, she’s probably just enjoying the weather. 
As he tears his eyes away from her, embarrassed that he has gone to such lengths to see her, something blurs in the corner of his vision. A large dog is bounding toward her. His jaw tenses as he feels protective of her, and she does not notice the dog. It’s a big male Rottweiler, and he begins to move in her direction as it continues running at her. He stops, seeing her rise up slowly and deliberately, turning towards the dog. She seems to be looking at the sand in front of her when he sees the dog slide to a stop a few feet away from her, almost exactly where her eyes were looking. The dog sits, looking submissive with his stubby tail wagging slightly. She looks up at the dog, turning her head to the side, he sees her smile and hold her hand out slightly from her body, palm down. The dog goes to her dipping his head and dropping his tail. She puts her hand on the dog’s large head and holds it there momentarily. As soon as she lifts her hand, the dog trots away in the direction he came from.

He stands in awe of her, knowing she did not know that dog, knowing that Rottweilers can be quite intimidating, yet she showed no fear, instead she seems to control him with graceful ease. It was fascinating to watch. He realized she does not need his help, she was quite able to take care of herself.

He walks towards the trees, and when he is between them, he stops. He turns slowly almost against his will and his eyes move towards her. She is now standing, her face tilted up to the sky, the rain drenching her. She looks so beautiful standing there. He wonders why she is not running for cover from the rain, as most females do. A little itch in the back of his brain reminds him she is different. He shrugs it off. Yet, there she is, dripping wet, looking like she is totally enjoying it. She looks like an amazon warrior woman, tall, proud, and fearless. He feels another urge to go to her. No! He shouts in his head. Not going to happen. He turned back to the trees and not following the trail, he walked through the quiet woods back towards his truck. There’s nothing he can do to fix this. He’s just got to stop being a fool, and forget he ever met her. He frowned as he climbed back into his truck, pulling back on to the highway, he decides he needs more paint supplies, and turns off in the direction of Nanaimo.

As he drives, he remembered something his grandfather said to him so very long ago.  “Don’t dwell on the negative Daniel, things will only get worse if you do. There is always more than one side to a story, try to look at another side, try to find the good in everything and everyone.”  He smiled, his grandfather had always taught him so much. He had tried to follow his words, and whether he did or he didn’t, he always saw the truth in them. Now, his thoughts listless, returning again and again to the events of that wonderful, horrible day. If only he hadn’t behaved like such an idiot around her, what had he been thinking letting himself act in such a forward manner towards her. Of course he had freaked her out, maybe she’d even thought he’d meant to... oh dear god, is that what she thought? What had caused him to act like that he’ll never know. He had been so intrigued by her, so incredibly drawn to her, he’d spoken and acted before he could stop himself. It just happened, as if he were in a dream, directed by forces beyond his control. And dammit, it was as if he’d met her before, as if he already knew her somehow. Everything about her was so familiar at the same time foreign. He was so confused. The emotions he felt were so uncomfortable to him.

He tells himself she is better off not knowing him, reminding himself of the other failed relationships he’s had, how the women found him boring, and eccentric, his artistic soul pulling him in different directions than ‘normal’ people. They had wanted material things, stability, partying, flashy cars and to go to the big city. None of them could figure out why he lived out in the middle of nowhere as they called it, with nothing to do. She came from the city, she would probably feel the same over time, bored, wanting. Something tugged at the back of his mind, insisting she was different, that she was so very different from anyone he had ever come across. He shoved that thought away, knowing it was better this way. He reflected on another piece of advice from his grandfather, Not to worry about what other people thought of you, but to just do what feels right, what makes you happy. He had tried to follow those wise words his whole life, but he still felt uncomfortable being different from everyone, sometimes he felt like a freak.

He stood back from the canvas, tilting his head while he scrutinized his work. The painting was pleasing to him, the beach in his mind was coming through well on the canvas, colours and tones just right. He knew it was like putting salt in a wound, but it also felt like a release, to pull the image of Florencia Beach out of his brain, and get it on the canvas, letting it go. Letting her go. It had been a few weeks now, and he was pretty much back to his old self, he still thought of her, but it was easier now, like she had been a great character in a story he had read. Feeling finished, he tossed his brush in the water bucket, stepping farther back and taking in the whole image he had created. Satisfied, he sighed, and taking a smaller brush, signed the bottom left in deep purple acrylic.