It was a late afternoon on the northern California coast, the time of year with the Autumn light and the Indian Summer heat. As I began to wind up the narrow coastal highway, I thought I might just drive straight, straight across the curve of the road, over the edge, into the clear air, toward the brilliant shining ocean. I would give myself up to whatever might happen. There were no guard railings, just dirt and sun and sky and light and water. I was driving up into the blue sky and the light shone on the ocean to the west. I thought about this so clearly that even now I think I might just have done it.
I had spent the afternoon at a friend’s birthday party north of Stinson Beach, at a bird sanctuary there. Most of the guests were gone by the time I arrived. It was so quiet there, no cranes at this time of year, just their empty nests.
When I asked the hostess if her Dad was still at the party, she got a look of profound confusion on her face, He’s been dead for a year. And then I felt haunted. My Dad died last spring and I think I see him sometimes too. Time for me to go.
I walked down the lane, shaded by old oaks and scrubs, and crossed a stream on a smooth plank, very long, maybe from a redwood. It was dark and cool in there. Pausing in the middle of the makeshift bridge, I breathed in the scent of the water and looked at the leaves flowing loose in it.
I came out of the dark to the grass and dirt parking lot, where it was dry and hot, and a lizard ran across my feet and under my car. I thought it would be hard to pull onto the two-lane road because it was a Sunday afternoon and a very beautiful day. But there were no cars coming in either direction. I paused anyway and just looked at the marshy bay across the road. It was mesmerizing, the late summer afternoon light, the very blue sky and the bright water. Ten years ago I spent my 40th birthday in a house across the way.
I pulled onto the road and drove for a good ten minutes before the traffic came to a dead stop. People turned off their car motors and opened their doors. It seemed strange to sit completely still for so long. I wanted to stop in Stinson Beach and see if a friend was at home for a drop-in visit. So I waited, along with everyone else.
When we started moving again, people were walking along the road with their beach towels and bare feet, getting into cars parked helter skelter. I drove up the hill, making a few circles looking for the right street. The house looked empty but recently lived in, and a window was slightly ajar. Maybe she was walking the dog at the beach. I wended my way back down the hill and found a payphone to call her. I put in 50 cents and remembered how to work a payphone. It was sort of funny and retro, I guess. She was at home in Berkeley.
The grocery store wouldn’t let me use their restroom so I had to walk out to the beach. There were throngs of people with sandy children, running, crying, after a long day in the sun. Weary and sun-burnt parents coaxing them to remove their bathing suits before getting in the car. And I remembered the days I spent in this exact place with my daughter, her ears and nose and fingernails full of sand. It seemed so very long ago and so real. She was all mine then and I never imagined how that could change. She loved to run around naked even in the winter and the older women would lecture me about keeping her warm. She left for college in Scotland three weeks ago. I feel a simple and inconsolable ache. I wonder about her and hope she’s happy.
Pulling back onto the road, some of the traffic cleared and I began to wind up the curvy highway, up into the blue sky. It was mesmerizing. I thought I might just drive straight, straight across the curve of the road, over the edge, into the air…
But I dragged my mind back to the road and the curves and turned my wheel to stay in the lines. I was heading home.
