Selkie Boyfriend: Jude (rough draft)

A few years ago my husband asked for a divorce. It was quite a shock, after all, we’d been sweethearts in high school, managed to stay together through college. Then all of a sudden he wasn’t happy? I didn’t know, and I certainly offered to try and make it right. He said in the simplest of terms there was no fixing it. Things had gone on too long, they should have ended years ago, he said. I thought maybe his mind would change, that he would come back eventually. Instead, he found something else. Someone else.

In the divorce, I was given the beach house his parents had left him. Not sure why he didn’t fight for it, but I figured I could use the place to recuperate. I figured I would go there to get away, try to finish my book before the deadline and my agent killed me. I didn’t realize until I arrived why my husband, my ex-husband, let it go so easily. The place was in such a state of disrepair and neglect that I wasn’t sure I could actually stay in it. The front porch had literally broken off the side of the house and was sinking titanic stye into the sand. Inside it smelled like cat piss and everything had a sandy, dirty feeling to it. It was all like someone had come off a shipping boat, having never bathed, and rubbed themselves all over every inch of the house.

That evening I sat outside while a dozen scented candles burned inside to somehow remove the smell of cat piss. I drank a bottle of wine while I sat on the sand before the house. Just the bottle, no glass involved. I would have to figure out repairs at some point, until then I was just going to exist on that beach like a drunk mermaid.

The sun reflected off the water, transforming the hue of the air to a dusky pink. I noticed a man walking along the beach. He kept his head down, his hands in his pockets. He eventually stopped and turned to face the sea, his long hair blowing about his head. He stood there for hours, just watching until the sun went down. I sat there and just watched him. He eventually walked on once it got dark, and after a while, I went inside. The candles helped, but the smell of cat piss would remain. I would probably have to tear up the carpet or get rid of the furniture.

I couldn’t do anything that next morning. I drank too much wine and now I was paying for it. The smell of the place sent me outside, but the air was too loud out there. I was cursed with this place and I wouldn’t know comfort while I was here. I sat on the back porch which faced the road, leaned over an old wicker chair that sagged it was so damp. A truck drove by, and for a moment, I thought the man inside was the one who was on the beach last night.

That afternoon, once I felt I could breathe without a headache, I tried to figure out what to do about this place. I had money in savings I could use, but I had to consider this place was a money pit. I could sink all my money into this place and come out with nothing. I also only had so much time to finish my next novel, and I couldn’t go back home.

I at least called someone to clean the carpets and the furniture. I also washed everything that wasn’t nailed down, hoping by some miracle I could get rid of that horrible odor soaked into everything. I got rid of the old sofa and rattan furniture, setting it out onto the curb with hopes it would be gone eventually. I would have to take care of the front porch next. It needed to be broken down and a whole new one rebuilt. Considering it had been built with no foundation, I would need to hire someone to pour a cement one. I guess I’ve decided to throw my money away on this place.

The town was small, mostly people with vacation homes, so during this time of year, the population was half of what it was during the summer. Most of the shops on the boardwalk were closed for the season, and the only locals that remained were fishermen. I had gone to a thrift store in hopes of finding furniture, and the place I went faced the dock. When I left, I saw the fishermen coming up and docking their boats, hauling their catches.

I saw that big, red truck again, and the man inside seemed to stoop over his wheel. He drove by, glancing at me and I watched him. I hadn’t found any furniture that day, but I had managed to get the numbers to some people who could repair my place. I bought new sheets at the local department store, which was a good thirty minutes out of the way. I couldn’t stand the pebbled up flannel that had been in the house anymore. I also got more wine.

It was getting dark when I got back home, and as I was putting things away, I saw from the bedroom window that man was on the beach again. He was staring out at the ocean, head down, hands in pockets. I hadn’t noticed last night if he was there, but maybe he was going to be there every night.

The next day, I called people to come take care of the back porch and I continued piling things on the curb. As I was adding even more rattan furniture to the pile on the couch, that red truck drove by, but it stopped. It reversed and stopped just before my curb pile of cat piss scented nineties sofa and soggy rattan furniture. The man rolled down his window while I mopped my forehead with my sleeve.

The man leaned out his window, long gray hair pulled back into a ponytail. He had a thick beard that was unkempt and very wild, and eyebrows to match. It was his eyes, though, that pulled me in; such beautiful, soulful brow eyes lined with the thickest, darkest lashes I had ever seen.

“You got someone to haul all that off for you?” He asks. “Because if you don’t, you’ll get fined.”

My mouth flops open like a landed fish. “I uh-”

Those beautiful eyes narrow upon me. “This isn’t the city, nobody is just going to take your shit for you.”

“I know that,” I say as if I don’t.

He sighs and scratches under his hat. “How long are you here for?”

I shrug and extend my arms out on either side of me. “Ever?” I shake my head slowly. “I don’t know.” I run my fingers through my hair.

The man in the truck tenses his chin. “So you’re moving here?”

I place my hands on my waist. “I really don’t know.”

He gets out of his truck and begins tossing the rattan furniture onto the back without a word. He’s bigger than I thought, tall as well as thick. His hands looked like they could grab my skull with enough room to hold a beer can.

“You’ll have to figure out what to do with that thing,” he motions to the sofa. “But don’t expect me to be going and taking care of it.”

I nod but I can’t look up at him. “I’ll call someone, yeah,” I murmur. “Thanks.”

He looks me up and down, scratching under his hat again. “Are you high or something?”

I shake my head slow. “I wish I was, but I’m depressed.” I finally look up at him. “You wouldn’t happen to be able to haul that in your truck, too, would you?”

He sighs, trying his hardest not to smile. “Are you here by yourself?”

I shake my head. “I ain’t telling you that.”

He scoffs, taking off his hat and smoothing his thick hair back. “Fair enough, I suppose.” He tugs his hat back on. “Welcome to the neighborhood.”

I motion to his truck. “Do I owe you money for anything?”

“Don’t worry about it this time. Next time, I’ll charge for the gas.” He gets back into the big, red truck then glances back out at me. He seems to want to say something else, but he drives away.

I look down at the sofa before turning back into the house. The people who are going to fix the front porch are supposed to be coming by later that day, so I start on cleaning the bathroom. When I walk on the linoleum, it sounds like there’s sand between it and the floor beneath. Everything had a crunch to it like that, maybe that was a sign I should just burn the place down.

I scrubbed the bathtub and sink, I even pulled out the drawers and washed them in the kitchen sink. I would have to clean the kitchen at some point, but it just looked too big. I hadn’t even opened the freezer the entire time I was here, I was too afraid to look inside it. After I finished scrubbing down the bathroom, I thought for sure the people I called about the porch would come. But no one showed. I spent most of the day on my bed, reading an old book I had found shoved under it.

It was getting dark and I hadn’t eaten much all day, so I decided to go out and grab something. But once again, outside my window, I saw that man standing on the beach again. Was it the man from the red truck? I couldn't tell. I just left to go get something to eat.

The local diner was still open, filled with mostly fishermen who had just gotten in and were looking for something hot to drink and a vinyl covered seat to relax in. I sat at the counter, looking up at the faded old signs that had probably hung in that place since the eighties. My ex husband's parents had owned the beach house a long time, I wonder if he ever came here to eat.

I have to scoff at myself, I need to stop thinking about him. I came all the way out here to try and escape, to bury myself in work, and forget. I hold my head between my hands as someone comes through the door. I look up and it’s the man with the red truck. He takes off his hat as he comes inside and he looks directly at me.

He comes up to the bar and sits around the corner from me. He looks over a menu, although I’m sure he knows it like the back of his hand. The waitress immediately brings him a cup of coffee in silence, which he begins to fill with sugar.

“Found someone to haul away that couch?” He asks.

I scoff. “Can’t even get someone to come tell me what to do with that porch that’s fallen off my house.”

“You burn it.”

“I doubt that wood will burn anymore,” I grumble.

He looks up at me, a slight smile on his face. “I’m serious. Save your money, just burn it. Take a hoe and pull it down, I bet it’s rotted enough to where even you could do that.”

I look him over, wondering why a sasquatch of a man like him is sitting at the counter when the booth would be more comfortable. “Is that what you did to that rattan furniture?”

He looks up from his coffee and shakes his head. “I took it to the dump. That stuff won’t burn for certain.”

I look up as the waitress brings me my food. “I’ll buy his meal,” I tell her.

“Don’t,” he grumbles.

“Don’t make me do anything, sir,” I huff at him.

He chuckles and sips his coffee slowly again. He’s silent for a moment, eyes focused on an ad for pie. “What are you doing here anyways?”

“Looking for food,” I say as I stab at my egg then run my bacon through the yolk. “What do you think I’m doing here?”

“No, I mean, here.” He points with his thumb over his shoulder. “This place. Why go to that old house that’s falling apart?”

“I decided to call it 3D,” I sigh. “Depression, Disaster, and Divorce.” I lift a finger for each until I wag three in the air. “It’s 3D.”

He clicks his tongue and nods his head. “Okay, now you’re starting to make sense.”

“Do a lot of people come here because of that?”

“No, a lot of people come here because it’s a fucking beach.” He looks up at me again. “But I’ve been going through this 3D of yours as well.”

I nod along. “You do get it.”

He sighs heavily and looks ahead again. “What’s your name?”

“Oswald,” I reply. “Hazel Oswald.”

His brow furrows. “Why does that sound familiar?”

I shrug. “No clue. Now pay up, what’s your name?”

“Jude,” he raises his coffee mug to me. “Jude Sutherland.”

I lift my cup to him as well. “Hey Jude.”

Jude moves closer, and has his meal beside me. We don’t talk much, but it’s nice to have someone around. As we both leave the diner, it’s quite cold out. I look up at the sky as my breath leaves me in white clouds.

“Is there any heat in that place?” Jude asks.

“No,” I laugh. “But it’s fine. I do better in the cold anyways.” I turn and look at him. “I have some wine, though, could warm me up. Would you like to join me?” I’m not sure why I invited him over. That’s a lie, I do know why. I was lonely and he was close. We never got to the wine, it never mattered anyways. We must have both been lonesome, or else I don’t think we would have given in so easily. I clung to Jude so desperately that night. It had been so long, so needed, I think I was almost crying. His body was big, warm, and heavy. I enjoyed his weight, his touch upon me more than I should have. I kissed him, and even with the beard, I enjoyed it.  I pressed myself against him, knowing my best days are behind me, but still, I wanted to give him everything I used to when I was young. I yelled from the passion, the heat, and yes, I cried during climax. His body hunched over mine, his breath snarled and whimpering. We kissed and moaned together as our bodies begged for more. I was surprised at his endurance, his recovery, he was very much a young man in spirit.

I sat up in bed at one point and left to go to the bathroom to give him a chance to leave without alerting me. I turned on the sink and stood over it, watching as the water went down the drain. My body felt soft and warm still. I touched my arms, my breasts, everywhere he had. I had never been with someone besides my ex husband. This all was brand new to me. I knew this was a moment of weakness for both of us, so I wanted to give him some dignity. After a while, I turned it off and went back to the bedroom. He was sitting up in bed reading the old book.

“Now I know why your name is familiar.” He says as he closes the book. “I’ve read your work.”

I get back into the bed quietly. “You caught me.”

He places the book aside. “Your novel ‘The Call of the Sea’ had been a favorite of my wife’s. She used to read it over and over again. I never really got why she liked it so much.”

I pull the blanket around me. “You didn’t like it, I take it?”

“I thought it was silly when I first did,” he murmurs. “Now, I can understand why she was so attracted to it.” He turns and looks at me with a sad smile on his lips. “What made you write about selkies?”

“I can’t remember now. That was my first book.” I lay on my back and put my hand over my forehead. “It seems so long ago now.”

Jude lays back down beside me. “There must be something you remember.”

I look over at him. “Why are you still here?”

“It’s too cold out and I don’t have a coat.”

I sigh and drop my arm. “Fair enough.” I look at the ceiling while we lay in silence for a while. “My grandmother used to talk about selkies a lot. She grew up along the coast in Scotland, so she heard all the tales.”

“So you wrote it for her?”

I shake my head. “No. I wrote it for me.” I turn my head and look at him. “I wanted to meet the selkies.”

Jude reaches out and places his hand on my chest. “That’s what my wife wanted as well. She wanted to go out into the ocean and never come back.”

I furrow my brow at him. “Did she?”

“I don’t know.”

I run my hand up his hairy arm. “So she just left?”

“One morning, I woke up to find her and my coat gone,” he whispers. “I found her footprints in the sand, just right out there,” he murmurs.

“Your coat?”

Jude nods and rolls over onto his side. “She left, so now I can never go back.”

“Jude, what are you trying to tell me here?” I chuckle in disbelief. “You’re not...really? Are you?”

Jude closes his eyes and the sad look upon his face almost breaks my heart. “Not anymore at least. Like I told you, she took my coat.”