Short Story: Sand Between The Toes

Short Story: Sand Between The Toes

Walking fast she considers a change of identity, running through a choice of names. All are rejected, with only one retaining any merit. Maud. She knows its old fashioned, but there was a woman she admired named Maud who gave performances three times daily as a burlesque dancer. With long legs, a rounded rump and classy, well-made eyes and nose, she was a solid gold draw. She had to be a well-heeled lady of leisure by now with a catalogue of memories, and a good many ribald stories to tell. She wishes it was as true, knowing she’s not a patch on Maud, and anyway it was a long time before.

No, Maud won’t do. And how would she support herself with a new identity? She could take to using her maiden name; the family name, the family she rejected. Even now there may be a few who remember her from those distant years. But in point of fact she comes from a past with little currency for the present. Her face is cold; stained by the wind, by years of hardship and neglect. She believes herself fallen; a creature from the pages of cruel fiction, and is no longer able to decide her own fate.

A bus transports her to the harbour where there’s a ferry to the other side of the lake. She made no choices when she set out, but beyond the horizon a whole new world awaits. Not if the Authorities catch up, but she’s got a head start. They won’t find the body until the cleaning staff comes in. It’s a foregone conclusion there won’t be anyone else in the frame; it’ll be just her. Perhaps this time they’ll listen and really hear what she has to say? Perhaps someone will finally take notice? It’s been hard and she just needs someone to talk to. Why don’t people listen?

The lake is choppy but she remains on deck watching birds hover to swoop. She recalls the phrase “Free as a bird” and once gave it little credence, now it has an altogether different connotation. On shore she takes a seat in the coffee shop beside the quay scrutinising people. All these people, with all their separate concerns. She’d love to ask them what they do to get by. She probably knows the answers, or most of them, it’s just that for her none of them work.

She boards a train at the station, falls asleep as the steady rhythm takes her two hundred miles east. Wakes to find the sun steady over the horizon; already it resembles a different country to the one she’s been used to. It gives her hope to believe she may get away yet, but still the pain remains. The same she started the day with, but now it’s packed down hard, like a rock within her head. Will it never spring free? The weather is improving and it won’t be long before she has sand between the toes. After that whatever will be may come upon her, but let it be after that.

Gets down at the platform as it curves away before her, but she cannot take a step. Faces hover into vision, voices speaking at her head. Sinks, exhausted, and when she finally regains focus there’s no one around to help. Beside her a large billboard occupies pride of place displaying a poster of a happy smiling family having fun. It starts her crying, but tears turn to ice as she remembers what she’s done. Struggles to her feet, an anonymous middle aged woman stumbling towards the exit point. On the street taxi cabs queue to take her anywhere she desires. She stares at them overlong, unable to make a firm decision.

Turns and walks; going anywhere. There’s a beach she’s been to in a past life hovering like a vision in her head. It has to be somewhere along the road before her. It has to be exactly as she imagines, with sand between her toes. She’ll get there, and then… Then it will be over. Her journey will be done. It’s warmer than she remembered; pauses to remove a layer of clothes. All these people milling about; all these people that arrived before her; she wonders what they came to find. Walks to the end of the Parade; the sea, the beach, the boats floating in the calm. It’s like a dream – a vision of destiny. She takes a seat, removing stockings, shoes, to dip a toe. There’s a scent of ice cream, hot dogs, candy apples on the breeze.

She doesn’t know what to do next, or where to stay, or what to say to people that will ask her questions about herself.

“I’m Maud.” She may answer. “Maud Miller – I was a dancer once.”

Now she’s smiling, now she feels she’s arrived and it’s the right place.