Spillway Review
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She hated waking up that way.  Sad to the core.  That feeling like something was
squeezing her heart. 

Not a lot.

Just enough to feel wrong inside.

There was only one place for her to go on days like this.

It was that changing time between summer and fall when there were only chunks of ice
floating on the sea, like accidental leftovers from the relative warmth of the short summer
days.  But there was that thought of winter in the air.  A certain snap against the skin and
the scent of snows to come.  It was her favorite time of year, and that would help.  That,
and the silence of the world out there where the existence of a God large enough for
forgiveness was still a possibility.

She couldn't go alone.  It simply wasn't allowed.  The twenty-first century had yet to
appear in her village, and the only sign of progress was the low-rider jeans that many of
the younger girls wore under their parkas.  The problem with low riders was that you
couldn’t wear long underwear with them, so even they were relegated to the two warmest
months of the year.

She left the 1982 blue Ford pick-up in the make shift parking lot and made her way down
to the docks to Ata, who she knew would neither question nor judge.  As always when he
saw her coming he squinted, looked her in the eye, nodded once, and began to untie his
boat.  She had never had to ask, and he had never explained how he knew, but it was an
understanding that neither one ever thought to question.

He climbed down the sea-worn wooden ladder from the pier and held the boat steady for
her as she made her way cautiously down the rungs, making sure to have one foot fully
planted before lifting the next.  More than one villager had been lost after falling into the
icy grey water, and no one would jump in after her if she fell.

It wasn’t that they didn’t care.  It was just the way it was.  Her village was a place of
constant witness and no judgment.  There was never that behind-doors whispering so
common to the outside world, but there was also no great curiosity, no great desire, no
great passion.  At least none that anyone talked about, and those that did feel such
things usually left young and were never heard from again.

It was harder for Hiti, as she hadn’t felt the growing unrest until her last birthday when
she turned thirty-two.  Past the age for running away to a new life in the beyond, but not
so far past that it didn’t strain at her insides.

And so out onto the water she went, again, instead.

She settled down into the front of the boat on one of the hard wooden benches and
watched the docks slip away as Ata rowed them out towards the open sea.   At some
point she stood up and moved to the very front of the boat, letting the breeze blow
against her face – the only part of her visible through the layers of clothing. 

Once they were over the horizon from the village the silence of the sea would begin to
replace the sadness.  It was a silence full of sound - the muted, internal cracking of ice,
waves softly lapping, and the occasional bump of wood on wood when Ata's oar would
glance against the side of the boat.  She remained standing in the bow staring into the
dark water and allowing the world to fill her up.

In the middle of that nowhere, Ata pulled the oar out of the water, slid it quietly along the
inside of the boat, and then turned and sat so that his back was to her.  A gift of solitude
between two people caught together. 

She backed up and sat down as well, knowing they would sit that way - back against
back, head against head - until she took in one, long, deep breath, leaned down away
from Ata and touched the oar.  The sign to go.  They would sit up to separate before
moving away, and as she went back to the bow to kneel with her arms along the top of
the boat's point, he would pick up the oar and slowly row them back to earth as she
watched with eagle eyes for the first sign of the village.

But not yet. 

Not until the silence flowed through her, filling the gaps and closing the doors.

It wasn't exactly peace, but it would do.

And they could wait forever.