Jules, the Moon, and the Surf

A microfiction story to bid summer farewell

The ocean and the moon had captivated Jules’ imagination all her life. Sitting atop a cluster of rock, looking out at the cold Pacific Ocean, she felt a chill start at the top of her spine. Tip toeing downward, it lightly brushed each vertebrae until it reached the middle of her spine. There it sent a horizontal wave throughout her upper body. She shivered and the chill vanished.

Judging from the low position of the sun Jules knew the time had come. What with the strength of the surf pounding the rocks and the increasing volume of the water creeping closer to the huge cluster of rock she was perched on, it was imminent. Not leaving now would surely be a grave mistake.

She thought of the will that she had recently completed. Having had it witnessed by a Notary Public, she took pains to confide in her only child Ricki that should any sudden death occur she would get everything.

God knew there wasn’t much. But she figured her car would be a step up from public transit. Jules felt good about that little bit of a lift she might bring to Ricki’s life posthumously.

Her thoughts then turned to the costs that come when someone dies. Nobody ever talked about them. She remembered her life insurance policy at work would cover the cost of cremation and a basic vessel to hold her ashes. Or partial funeral costs.

So Jules, of course, opted for cremation to simplify things. Specifically, so that nobody else would be burdened with the need to plan her funeral and to pay the expenses.

The sound of the next wave against rock triggered her to action. Still on the rocks, she quickly flung the leather strap of her bag over her head to rest on a shoulder and trail between her breasts. The bag fell on a hip at just the right spot. She grabbed her book, tucked it in the bag.

Her eyes darted first to the left, then the right. Water was closing in on the rock cluster. The sound of the pounding surf was at times like gongs in a Buddhist temple.

From somewhere behind her she suddenly realized there was a trailing voice ferociously trying to compete with the pounding crescendo.

“Get offa there!” shouted a man in a forest green windbreaker and khaki pants rolled up to his shins. His feet were bare. “It’s closing in on you!”

Now that Jules was focussed on the man standing straight behind her, she could clearly see that only the sand at the back of the rock was not yet immersed in water.

“Get offa there!” he yelled louder than before.

The back side of the rock cluster was covered with a blanket of barnacles and a dark green sea plant. The rock stood at about 12 feet at the back. The problem with Mother Nature’s love of symmetry when she built this rock cluster was that she had not factored in any human need to climb up and down the back of it.

This was an ultimate challenge. Jules had not anticipated anything remotely like this when leaving her cabin at 5 O’clock that morning for a walk on the beach. In bare feet.

Hesitation would have consequences.