The smell of the sea. That is what woke her, she thought. John must have opened the bathroom window. It’s odd that even though their bedroom windows face the ocean the briny smell never comes through as it does through their bathroom window. The wind patterns from the bay or something, she had been told before, but didn’t remember. It was still pitch dark. She felt an unease as she lay there. It reminded her of being a kid, when she would awake from a nightmare and want to call for her parents or run into their room but knew that she was too old for such silliness. She would tell herself she was safe under the covers on her island of a bed. Nothing could get her while she was covered, but if she exposed an arm or a foot then she could be taken or grabbed by a creature that lurked just out of sight of her door frame. Here she was 30 years later thinking those same thoughts, she and John would both be safe if they just stayed covered under their faux down comforter. She could barely make out John’s head in the darkness, but she could tell he was asleep. She laughed out loud at the memory of being afraid of the creature just outside of her room. But despite her laughter, she lay there not daring to move, buried deep under the comforter. Then she became more aware of the smell of the sea. The smell was so strong she thought the wind must be really blowing, but she couldn’t hear any wind outside only the faint crash of the waves. Maybe a wave had crashed through the window and the bathroom was full of saltwater, but she knows that’s impossible, even during the highest tides of the full moon the ocean could not reach the second floor of their house. Maybe during a hurricane, but no wind stirred. John rolled over in his sleep and his left shoulder peeped out from under the cover. She hastily pulled the comforter over his shoulder. Her movement woke him.
“Sorry I woke you,” she whispered.
“You didn’t. Gotta pee,” he murmured.
“Wait, don’t.”
“What?”
“Can you hold it?”
“What? Why?”
“Nothing,” she tried to laugh.
She watched as John walked across their room and disappear into the darkness of their bathroom. She held her breath as she heard him pee. I’ll exhale when I see the whiteness of his boxer briefs, she thought. She waited for the flush. Nothing. Her unease started to rise, but he doesn’t always flush in the middle of the night so not to wake me. Nothing. He knew she was awake too, but still force of habit, she told herself as her eyes strained in the dark to see any movement, his white boxers, him. Nothing.
“John?”
Silence.
“John? John!”
Silence and blackness. No sight or sound of him or even the faint crash of the waves, only the briny smell of the sea. She made herself get out of bed, cross their room and step into the bathroom. The window was open, but John wasn’t there, only a strand of kelp and puddle of water on the cold tile floor.
©2020 by Amy Driesler