Pebble

January 21st, 2012

I fell in love with the tide. He came in. He went out. I waited about.
“You know I can’t stay…” he replied when I inquired how long. “Just go with the flow…”
“But I am a rock,” I protested, “I don’t flow.”
“But you could rock’n'roll.” He waved “good-bye” as he sailed out again.

Those one-liners kept me anchored and over the years his waves wore me down.
I became small and soft.
A little round in the middle.
We were opposites but I knew we fit together somehow.

I felt particularly weary late one windy day.
I caught my reflection in a calm pool that seemed very out of place on my beach.
To my surprise I didn’t look like me at all.
Once a proud, jagged precipice, I was now something much smaller.
I felt at risk.
And the very next day, my fear was realized.
A couple came and spread a blanket across the sands of my beach.
They ate from the same dish, drank from the same bottle.
They kissed in the sunlight.
The boy scooped me up in his hand.
Years ago, he wouldn’t have been able to lift me. I was so sharp and heavy.
But now I felt at ease in his palm. I noticed his skin was callused. Maybe he built things with those hands.
He presented me to the girl.
“Here. Keep this. Remember this day. The day we were friends.”
She accepted me with a sad-happy face and tucked me into the pocket of her jacket.
It was time to go Home.