Part 12 - untitled continued at last

The day was hot, cloying, damp. Clothes stuck to the body and hair frizzed out in awkward curls and strings. No one moved but the cicadas buzzing and humming in the trees. Even the few passing cars seemed quiet, as the making noise in the intense heat was too much effort. Behind the cicadas was the fainter drone of air con units pumping refridgerated air into empty stores and rich people's houses.

A few people sat in plastic chairs of bright primary reds and blues, pulled in under awnings or trees. Their movements were slow - bringing cold drinks, glasses dripping with condensation to their lips while ice cubes clinked and waned. Occasionally one would summon the energy to comment on the heat, or an empty glass in need of refilling.

A child approached a shop, a bill clutched tightly in her fist, strands of hair escaped from her ponytail were sticking to her sweaty plump face. She pushed the door and a bell chimed within. A few minutes later she appeared again, the bill replaced with a vibrant pink stick of ice that had already begun to glisten as the frost melted.

A small dog trotted across the road and began sniffing and routing around bags of trash baking in the sun. A cat slunk from under a car and disappeared like a liquid shadow around a corner. A few other dogs lay panting in the shade, their eyes half-lidded, but ever watchful.

She walked slowly down the hill, lingering in the sparse shade offered by the young trees lining the road. Glancing in shop windows, stopping to peruse the toys in a sidewalk bin, the shiny plastic and bright colours still alluring despite her age. At the bottom of the hill she could see the ocean, vibrant blue beneath the cloudless sky. A light wind ruffled the surface, and further out she could see the while lines of crashing waves. She passed an open door and the air con spilled out on to the street, momentary relief, then back into the swelter. The strained sound of a distant radio broke through the white noise of fans and cicadas, and a sleek car covered in flashing lights passed her, it's windows rattled with the thumping baseline.

A bakery pumped the smell of bread and sugary icing onto the street, but her stomach wouldn't be brought out of its heat-induced strike. She swigged from her now tepid water bottle and continued on.

By focusing on the minutia; identifying, describing, categorizing what she saw and felt, she could keep her focus, keep her mind off the past. There was no use remembering the moment she first realized he was gone, her panic at being once more abandoned. No amount of scrutinizing would bring him back to discuss her reactions, nor turn back the time so she could change them. There are very few hard and fast rules in our existence, but one of them is that we currently have no way to undo what has been done, or unsay what has been said.

Reaching the end of the road, she leaned against the railing and looked out to sea. The sound of the waves crashing against the shore is supposed to be calming, soothing; people buy cassette tapes of waves crashing to help them relax. Instead, she felt restless, stirred. Her instinct to move on, some might even say run, was provoked by the sight of wide, ever moving water, and the possibilities of what lay on the other side. But for the first time, she felt that she wasn't moving from something. This felt distinctly different.

Before, she'd always felt as though things were unfinished, that she was leaving to escape, to leave behind something that she didn't like. But she'd realized now that she couldn't leave it behind. Like the monsters of nightmares, her problems and hangups relentlessly persued her, and reared their ugly heads when she felt she'd finally freed herself.

She needed to stop the aimless wandering. She needed to ground herself, because she couldn't expect others to ground her. She stared across the sparkling blue at the indistinct line where the sea becomes the sky and smiled.

No answers yet, but she knew they were there. And now she finally decided to seek them out, to stop regretting the past and take control of herself. She realized she could only ever be what she made of herself. It was time to stop the wallowing and take the first steps towards her future, whatever it may hold.

Of course, it had taken a while to get to this point. At first, she'd lain in bed for hours, not wanting to think or move or be. Finally her brain had taken over. Enough is enough, it said sharply to her heart. You're hurt, I get that. But our stomach is hungry and our whole system needs water, inside and out. I am too smart to be wasted on replaying the unfortunate events of yesterday. You and I both acted poorly, but we need to get up. We need to eat. We need to shower and we need to move on.

Her heart had protested this, but since her brain held more sway with the rest of her body, she did what it said. The shower did feel good, and drinking water felt better. It helped to remove the foggy pain in her head that had been tormenting her almost as much as her memories. Even better, it gave her the energy she needed to finish dressing and leave the hotel room in search of food.

Who needs him anyway! her brain chanted defiantly, and began singing a rousing chorus of I Will Survive in an attempt to drown out the heart's sad response, we do. We liked him.

She found a restaurant that served western style breakfasts all day, and ordered eggs, bacon, toast and coffee. While she ate, her brain continued it's attempt to win over her heart by extolling the virtues of independence, and reminding her she'd survived worse heart break before. Besides, she scolded herself, before the conversation last night you thought it was over in a few days anyway. So, while it happened a little earlier, and on not great terms, we were expecting to be alone again. So let's get on with it.

The next day she packed her bags and left the hotel, catching a train to a seaside town recommended in her travel guide for it's beautiful beaches and friendly locals.