The Last Selfie

Note to readers: Hi! These are the first draft of the first two chapters of a story I’m working on and I would very much appreciate any feedback from you — is this story interesting to you at all? If not, why? Thank you!

Chapter 1

It had begun so well.

From the moment I met David, I knew he was a force of nature who would take over my life, but I was ready for that. I was tired of fighting on my own. I missed having a shoulder to lean on. I wanted someone to tell me: there, I solved it. I yearned to breathe an endless sigh of relief and dissolve into his arms knowing everything would be taken care of.

At the time I didn’t think about the possible downsides. It did not occur to me that my freedom was at stake. Or rather, I was ready to give it over to anyone who would lift the burden from my shoulders. I was ready to make a deal with the devil if that’s what it took. I had imagined our life together to be this reassuring, stable existence full of friends and family, no money worries, playing house, playing with babies and dogs, playing cards, cooking together, traveling together — an enchanted life.

The cards I dealt myself turned out to be much darker. The Cinderella prince was angry and violent at times, entirely selfish, and I was simply a convenient yet disposable accessory in his life. My life since then had been a series of steep (and sometimes exhilarating) peaks and frightening abysses in close succession, and now here I was, exhausted from the endless rollercoaster that had at this moment dumped me on an industrial dock somewhere in a Greek harbor, taking one desperate last selfie in the harsh overhead work lights, a selfie I wasn’t sure what to do with. Send it to him, with a brief sarcastic note about how appealing the dark water looked? Or just leave it on my phone, waiting for the coroner to find it?

I was tired of feeling like a figure in a paper boat in the middle of the ocean, fending 40-foot waves, taking on water, and constantly running out of air.

I stepped to the edge of the dock.

*******

Chapter 2

“Miss, you can’t be here”, he said in heavily accented English. I felt pulled up from a deep dream and looked at him with a puzzled face. Who are you and what do you mean. He pointed to something above my head. A huge yellow crane was dangling a shipping container that could’ve flattened me out in a fraction of a second. I started laughing. Perhaps that would be a better end than being tangled up in my gown in this cold, oil-stained water with desperate gurgling as the soundtrack. He pointed to the end of the dock with a gesture that meant: go, now! He probably thought I was one of those obnoxious Instagrammers.

I moved as if through molasses and sat on one of those huge metal yellow things that they throw ropes around to tie up the boats. Nothing I intended ever seemed to work out, even something as simple as death. The air flew out of my lungs, my shoulders collapsed, my head fell on my knees and I cradled it in my arms. The hem of my dress was soaking in a puddle of dirty water, my hair was a mess and I heard my phone hit the ground. I didn’t care. I was drained. What do I do now?

The light from the overheads was suddenly cut off. I raised my head. There was the guy again from the dock, looking at me with a kind face: “You OK Miss?”

That little bit of kindness did me in and I started crying softly. I heard him holler something in Greek and then his hand on my arm, his other hand signaling me to get up and his head nodding in a direction, which I followed. I did not have it in me to ask questions. Pretty soon I was sitting inside a trailer and he put a cup of hot coffee in my hands and looked at me for a minute to make sure I was taking a sip. “Good.” He tapped on his watch and added: “Soon, I come back. Stay here. Is OK” and left. At the door he turned around and took something out of his pocket: my phone. I whispered a thank you and I automatically looked at it but the battery was dead and I thought why the battery, why not me.

**********

I remembered saying a series of goodbyes to my friend Xavier. He had gotten sick with the big C, had been operated on and everything seemed to be OK and on track when all of a sudden it appeared that the cancer had metastasized everywhere in his body at the speed of lightning.

Everything after that was a blur, it all happened so fast, and his many friends united around him, bringing food and comfort. Every time I saw him, I thought: this is it. Before we knew it, we would be holding his hand, waiting for the final pill to ease him over the threshold. It felt like the heaviest of shoes was about to drop on our heads.

At that point, I understood that a major segment of my life had closed itself off. He had been an integral part of it and had saved my life many times even though he did not know it. It became obvious I had to make major changes in my own life and so I undertook this crazy sailing adventure that had landed me here in a modest trailer on a dock on a Greek island the name of which I could already not remember, holding a cup of coffee that a kind stranger had put in my hand.

Life had once seemed like such a party. I was young and traveled with the jet set, blissfully moving from one party to the next, going through relationships like magazines — skip through your pages one minute, swap you for another one the next. Thoughts from my life flooded my mind in chaotic disorder. Sitting on a mountain field as a child on a beautiful spring day, picking narcissi and reveling in their intoxicating scent. Walking through the woods with my brother to the village store to pick up the milk pail, a few cents in our pockets to buy a small toy or a piece of gum with. Hearing our nanny singing mountain songs in the utility room while ironing endless piles of our little clothes. Much later, coming down from an awful acid trip I had taken with my then-boyfriend and driving through the terraced vineyards sprawling to the lake and the mountains beyond, blown away by the piercing green of the leaves and the blinding blue of the lake in the morning sun and feeling nothing would be ever so beautiful ever again.

There had been dark times too, prolonged periods of deep depression caused by a breakup or looming financial disaster. It was hard to say how I had gotten to this point because it could’ve gone one way or another. Yet here I was, feeling so deflated it seemed there was no getting out of there alive.

*******

“Here miss, this, good.“

The old man was back with a smoking hunk of breakfast. I looked at him incredulously. The kindness of strangers. I started crying again. He made a ‘tsk tsk’ noise with his mouth and pointed to the plate. “Eat, eat“.

I took a bite, tentatively. The second the eggs hit my tongue she realized how ravenous I was and I inhaled the rest of the food. The old man looked at me with a kind smile on his face nodding in approval. “There, there. Better now”. I looked up at him, consumed with gratitude.

The dawn was beginning to crack. I had no idea what to do next. The old man took the plate and made to leave. I got up and almost keeled over — all this emotional turmoil had taken its toll. I remembered one of the few Greek words I knew and repeated it: thank you thank you thank you.

********

I slowly made my way down the harbor to my hotel, climbed the stairs to my room, closed the curtains, dropped my gown to the floor, and crashed. Tomorrow would be another day.