Darren didn't bother to study the Oregon postcard- it looked like almost every single other postcard of Oregon he'd ever seen- some coastal site.
ANNIVERSARY
Mike ducked his head to double check the interior of his car. Confident that there was nothing valuable to tempt any would-be thieves, he slipped his other arm into the unoccupied strap of his backpack.
“All set, Barb? Pack, bug spray, wine?” he asked, then beamed and nodded. “Let’s go then!”
A few minutes passed while Mike scrutinized the surroundings behind the parking lot. It seemed that every year, he tried to memorize the exact location of the mostly-hidden trailhead, but then whenever he returned, his mental image of the landmarks matched nothing that lay before him.
Finally, the trailhead emerged from the surrounding foliage like one of these Magic Eye Illusion graphics that would pop out if one stared at the picture long or hard enough. Mike pointed out the location to Barb, jerking his head to one side to indicate that she should go ahead of him.
It was a short trail, only half a mile, but Mike took his time, enjoying the enclosed scenery. This was the Hobbit Trail, one of Seal Point’s best-kept secrets. A trail that led through a heavily wooded area almost in the form of a tunnel, hence the name. Then it would open out on a secluded beach, hidden from the public.
He smiled to himself, remembering the first year he’d experienced the Hobbit Trail with Barb. How they’d taken nearly an hour to find the correct parking lot with the naturally camouflaged entrance, and then how he had teased Barb about the ‘spectacular view’ he had as she walked on ahead of him, and she’d responded with mock outrage at his supposed leering.
While the beach was a secret, enough people had visited the site often enough to leave an impression upon the area. The cliffs which penned the beach bore many carvings- some ancient and mysterious; others were much more recent, more like graffiti than art. The overall effect was a mosaic of imagery evoking culture, history, whimsy, and self-expression. Mike recalled that Barb had a favorite- a carving of an old man’s face that kind of resembled the troll dolls popular during the 70’s and 80’s with the frizzy hair.
Mike called out to Barb that he needed to stop really quick. Stepping off the path, he made his way behind a large, twisted tree and unzipped his fly. As he urinated, he sang an improvised song to Barb. He didn’t hear her answering laugh or groan, so he peered around the tree. He flinched slightly when he realized a family of four people returning from the beach had stopped to stare at the singing tree. He smiled sheepishly at them before ducking back behind the tree to finish up. He probably shouldn’t have had that second cup of coffee along the drive.
During their second visit to the hidden beach, Mike and Barb brought along a bottle of wine. They’d discovered since the previous year that open beverages were legal on Oregon beaches. After finishing off the bottle close to sunset, they’d made love, furtively hastily, and a little bit uncomfortably, but it was a fun memory to have. He couldn’t believe that was already four years ago.
Mike closed his eyes for a few seconds just before stepping onto the sandy beginnings of the beach. He liked the illusion of being instantly transported from one place to another as he left the wooded trail and entered the open area of the beach.
He opened his eyes to the blueness of the sky and the water and breathed deeply. He smiled again. It was really a beautiful place. Very fitting for an anniversary celebration. He moved over to a small niche in the cliffs off to the right and removed his backpack, indicating to Barb to place her backpack there as well. When he was unfettered, Mike began to walk along the very edge of the tide surf, just avoiding getting his shoes wet. He remembered that two years ago, he and Barb had stayed especially late, well after sunset and the tide had come in and soaked their shoes, pants, backpacks and just about everything. Their trek back to the car had been a difficult one, in the dark with squishy clothes chafing in all the worst places possible. Yet they’d laughed and joked the entire length of the trail.
“I’m glad we’re here again together,” he told his girlfriend after about an hour of strolling. “Want to open up that bottle of wine? Yeah?” he headed back towards the spot where the backpacks were stashed, opened up Barb’s pack, and pulled out a bottle of merlot, the only wine they both shared an affinity for. Mike preferred sweet whites; she was into very dry reds. After uncorking the bottle, he carefully removed the swaddled wineglasses, carefully packed at the very top of his own backpack to prevent breakage. Especially after what had happened the previous year-
Mike dismissed the thought- what really mattered was the now, this particular anniversary. “Let’s go to our special spot,” he suggested to Barb, lifting up the hand holding the bottle and beaming at her. While making their way to the spot where they’d first sat all the years ago, after their initial exploration of the beach, with a very excellent view of the sea horizon.
Mike poured the wine slowly, making sure the level remained equal in both glasses. He believed in sharing equally. He scooped out a little bit of sand in two areas, then placed the glasses down in the depressions. He pushed some of the excavated sand back over the edges of the glass bottoms to weigh them down. He settled back into a seated pose, legs folded awkwardly- he had never been flexible enough to bend his legs all the way into a fully cross-folded position.
He drank his wine as he always did- draining his first cup almost at one go, then refilling it and sipping. He always enjoyed that first flush from the quick quaff, but didn’t want to get inebriated right away. As he drank, he talked to Barb, running his hand back and forth through the sand, shifting his fingers constantly.
Mike broke off his dialogue as his fingers came up something buried in the sand. His temples began to pound. He put down the glass, ignoring the wine spilling out as it tipped over, staining the sand with redness the color of the darkest blood inside the human heart. With quaking hands and chattering teeth, he began to claw at the sand.
Several minutes later he screeched in revulsion and fright. Pieces of vertebrae, entangled with honey blond hair now lay exposed to view.
Barb had honey blond hair.
Mike closed his eyes, hot tears burning down his face as he remembered the previous year; the shouted accusations, the angry and vindictive insults, the struggling, his scratched face, the bottle of wine he smashed over her head. Later, the burial and cleanup.
Oh my word! I did not expect that ending! Wonderfully written, with a clear picture painted in my head. Love it.
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