The night is pitch black. The ocean air feels moist.
In a little town just outside Morro Bay,
a 40-year-old man is standing naked on the beach.
His legs spread wide; his arms raised above his head.
Suddenly, he lets out a guttural scream
even the crashing waves behind him cannot drown out.
In the little beach bungalow we are renting,
I lie awake in a small bed with my sleeping daughter.
I hear faint screaming in the distance,
and wonder where my husband is.
I feel his absence from our room and our lives,
the distance growing between us with each passing day.
I call to him. I say his name.
It’s 2:00 am.
I slide my tired feet into my slippers,
and begin my search for him.
First the bungalow,
then the deck,
hoping the unnerving screams are not his,
knowing in my heart he is the source of the chaos.
I trudge wearily down to the beach
In the distance I see a pasty white figure.
Adrenaline rushes through me,
an unnerving sensation that is all too familiar lately,
it settles in like a 10,000 pound weight on my chest,
exhaustion immediately follows.
He is alone,
naked and screaming,
releasing the past 40 years of anger, frustration and
I don’t know what.
My sleep deprived brain can only register a silent
I am getting tired of his extended mid life crisis wreaking havoc on everyone who comes in its path.
I’m getting tired of the lies and picking up the pieces of our world he’s shattered so selfishly and impetuously.
He is having an affair.
This man screaming naked on the beach at 2:00 am is my husband.