Message in a Bottle

Whenever I needed to get away to clear my mind, I would drive down this stretch on PCH between Bolsa Chica and Huntington Beach with my windows down at night. I took comfort in the dark anonymity of the night. The faintly salty sea air intermingled with burning firewood calmed my spirit. Then, I would stop, just short of the bustling main street pier and park. I'd sit there with the haunting green glow of my radio as my silent companion, and I'd listen to the endless soundtrack of the crashing waves.

Tonight, I took my San Diego version of that drive. It was a detour on the way home from work or a night out down south. I found myself turning onto this road reluctantly, as I did in the past; because it meant something was weighing heavily on my mind that I couldn't ignore.

Today was the day that I knew was coming, yet I didn't know how I would react. I hadn't let myself dwell on it much because I didn't want to preoccupy the past present with the imperfect future. I got up and dressed for casual Friday as any other week, excited for the prospect of the weekend and the happy hour that kicked it off. Everything went as usual; I was in a great mood, amazingly. The VIP farewell lunch was just as it should have been, followed by a Starbucks run. Then we went back to work for a few hours knowing we would all regroup again.

Somewhere between running code and listening to my Ipod on shuffle, Matchbox 20's When You're Gone transpired through the wavelengths. My nose twitched with the ache that always preceded tears, like the swift breeze before a storm hits. I fought the instinct with disbelief and indifference. It didnt' work. I realized if I didn't want to look like a psychotic female that wasn't knocked up at work, I needed to mitigate the situation fast. I got out of my seat and briskly walked to the bathroom while trying to balance the tears that threatened to break the cohesive seal on the surface of my eyes. I turned a corner, and a trickle went down my right cheek. I quickly wiped it away with the palm of my hand and hastened my pace. Once I locked myself into a stall, the rest was history. I indulged the emtion, and I told myself I was past it. I let out a deep sigh: No waterworks allowed at happy hour.

The first happy hour was uneventful. It was intended as a formality for the peripherals to pay their respect. Awkwardly, coworkers with nothing in common tried to mingle and socialize while drinking discount drinks. The guest of honor was restless and ready to move on to the real happy hour at the regular watering hole. And so we headed over to the true happy hour, except it wasn't too happy for reasons I won't go into detail. Soon enough, the guest of honor grew tired of putting on a charade and wanted to go home. As she said her final good byes to people she saw everyday for the past three years of her life, tears escaped down her cheeks.

We hurried to the car, and I tried to convince her that tonight should go out with a bang, like the good old days sans Bug streaking. She wouldn't budge. Her tears didnt' phase me. I pretended to drive while Asian to lighten the mood and suggested ice cream. She still wouldn't budge. A few blocks later, I confessed I was craving ice cream. As a favor to me, she conceded and off to Cold Stone we went. After that I dropped her off. Satisfied that she was in better spirits I went home.


I then got on the phone and berated one of the parties responsible for the lameness of everything. This was not how I had envisioned the night for my dear friend. It made my blood boil and heavy at the same time.

Hiding behind the anger and disappointment in others were my true feelings about my bestfriend's last day at work. They surfaced as I pulled into a spot facing the ocean. In the dim melancholy glow of the radio with waves crashing in the background, my face grew hot and tears poured forth. How did I get here? It's not even that time of the month. I watched the waves break on the beach and searched for an answer. This was what the ocean gave me:

Life's like a beach...everyday the incessant waves wash a little bit of sand away as the daily grind wears us down. Once in awhile, a big wave hits and takes a heap. (I already feel the void.) Yet, tomorrow the beach will still be there just as it was the day before and the day before that, and it'll continue to be there despite the waves. The beach won't be the same, but it won't cease to exist. Life goes on a day at a time changingly unchanged.

Cool sea breeze wafted through the window and graced my burning cheeks. I watched people frolic in the distance enjoying the crisp crests of the water, unaware of my presence. Slightly uplifted, I wondered how next week will ensue.