It’s kind of eerie as I sit here at the end of the pier, the light from a nearby post giving me just enough to see what I’m doing. There is no moon. I was hoping there would be. There is the occasional light from the Fort Caswell Lighthouse, that beacon searching the strand. As a young woman I was made to think it was searching for lost souls, calling the sinners over to a Baptist retreat, washing their stains with cold salt water. Now as I look down toward the point (I have a flashlight in my purse should I get up the nerve to walk down there) I keep expecting to see you there standing out on the top step. I guess you might know that the folks who own that house hate you for killing yourself there. I don’t anymore. Tonight as I bent down and kissed my husband I had the strange sensation that I was two people living two lives, at least two! I think I’m really like an old alley cat, a big old pussycat with one life blending right into the next. I feel like I have been everything, done everything.
