The Wave by Kristen Crusoe (smallest ebook reader txt) 📕

into the trash, never imagining a time when she would have done anything to be able to hold one of those precious locks in her hands, feel the silkiness slide between her fingers again.

It was Devon who had launched her on this path, she realized, watching the flight map. He used to play a game at the beach, digging a hole and calling out, ‘I’m going to dig a hole to the end of the earth.’ Once, when Devon had just turned three and all things were still possible, Clair had pointed out on his illuminated globe the peninsula jutting out into the western Atlantic. Finisterre, she had told him. This is where it was once believed the earth ended. Finis Terrae. He loved the sound of it and would recite it over and over, ‘Finisterre, the end of the world’. ‘We’ll go there one day,’ she had told him. And so, now, she was. And in the way of energy, neither created or destroyed, always changing, she knew Devon would be there also. In some form. And she would know him.

Flight attendants were preparing for yet another meal. She needed exercise more than food so she asked the attendant to hold hers for a few minutes, while she walked around the cabin. Curious about where Michael might be sitting, she cautiously scanned the passengers. She was sure he hadn’t flown first class, and even if he had, she would have seen him when she walked through that cabin on her entrance. She didn’t find him anywhere. Maybe he was in the bathroom. She made a second round. No Michael. And no backpack with a scallop shell leaning up against a seat.

An announcement directed passengers to return to seats and fasten their seat belts, they were expecting turbulence. Reluctantly, Clair did so, curling her legs up on the empty seat next to her. Twinges of tingling ran through her legs, both feet suddenly becoming numb from her ankles to her toes. The neuropathies that often accompanied chemotherapy, she realized, looking at her ankles, swollen and stiff. Gingerly, she stretched first one leg and then the other out towards the aisle, rotating each ankle, flexing and extending each foot. Shockwaves of feeling returned, heat and waves of ice. Good shoes will be the first thing to buy, Clair determined. With a slight moan, she promised herself that she would get back to the daily stretching and self-massage for the lymphatic system Naomi had shown her and the other members of the support group. This final quest mustn’t be undone by side effects. Only head-on actions now.

Watching the morning clouds lift to reveal a carpet of green, a wide ribbon of blue, and areas of cultivation that looked like ancient markings in the fields, Clair felt overwhelmed with gratitude for her life, this chance to regain, or perhaps discover, her true self. Yes, Devon may have launched her on this course but as she felt her body begin to awaken from the deadening grips of toxicity, her spirit also felt a kindling, a stirring of feelings she hadn’t experienced in a long time. The first time she had drawn bow across cello strings and felt the vibrations deep in her bones, wind in her veins. Making love to Adam, without self-consciousness, joy stirring in her belly with the first signs of life.

Each step of this pilgrimage will be both a penance and a homage, to all that has gone and all that is to come. I will join that sea of humanity that has loved, becoming love itself.

As the plane began its descent, she thought about Michael and what had happened before. Had she dreamed the whole thing? Did he exist or was the experience one of the hallucinations she had been cautioned about, another side effect of chemotherapy? But he seemed real, and his story? How could she have dreamt that up? She didn’t know anything about peyote or the mountains in New Mexico. But his story, it did speak to her. And his living each day, making penance, finding joy and comfort in whatever the present presents. Michael had talked to her about simplicity; waking each day, eating, walking, sleeping. Each step a prayer. That also made sense to her. What if he wasn’t real? She might never know, so she would keep his story in her heart. A remembrance of a time when a friend found her when she needed one. She looked at her hands, feeling his large, rough, but gentle hands enfolding hers. His touch remained on her skin. How could that be imagined?

At the first vendor she passed after disembarking, she purchased a small day pack, toothbrush, toothpaste, phone charger with adapter, lip gloss, and hand cream. Michael had told her the Camino would provide whatever she needed. But she wasn’t sure about good walking shoes, a change of underwear, and a warm jacket. From her research on her phone during the flight, she knew the walk along the coast would be wet, cold. Shuffled through all of the checkpoints, she finally found the main doors opening up to brilliant sunshine. She waved down a taxi, to take her into the city center. Clair knew she needed to get properly outfitted. She also had to charge her phone. Reluctant to speak with anyone, she mentally drafted a message, telling Ben, Jodie, Adam and Jet that she was fine, would be out of touch for a while, and not to worry. She would reconnect once she felt more stable. For now, she needed time, to find a way to be in the world with this knowledge, that she only had a few months, maybe weeks, left. ‘I’m OK,’ she said to herself. Weak from the effects of chemotherapy, but so far, no pain. So, I’m going to walk.

Clair felt, for the first time since hearing her diagnosis of terminal cancer, that she was living, not dying. She hadn’t done any of the right things one is supposed