A Visit to Monterey

"We argued for about a state," John says, sipping his Malibu Rum and Coke. I just had to laugh at the words, even as my hands trembled of you.

John regrets letting her get away. I regret leaving this town. There's nothing like regret to excuse drinking to drown.

I walk by myself, memorizing each dusty step of the PG trail. I remember walking this path after lonely days of work. The waves still crash on the rocks. The smell is the same, salt mist dangling, clinging to flowering cliffs, and I think of how I came here to shrug off the day so I could come home and greet you with a smile.

I sit off the trail now, watch the green and blue waves, lean my head on a wet rock. It shields me from the cold breeze. I cry with beauty. A fly lands on my shoe, washes its face. I wonder what or who I was in my lives before this one. Why can't I be this beach fly, know nothing of love or sadness, feast on the shit in life?

I stand up and a hoard of flies rush at me. I walk back and a blackbird follows me. He stares at me, cussing, calling me, demanding that I stay. I keep walking. The path narrows and I put one foot in front of the other. A sparrow watches me pass. I wonder why he didn't fly away. My heart bleeds through the soles of my feet, leaving fresh prints that I can't protect.

by E. M. Soos