Short story about moving on.

Rain. It always seems to rain when I do this. Rainy and dreary; dark. Drive my 1967 Chevy, the one that's spent more time in a repair shop then on the road, to the cliff, every two weeks.

You know, the cliff.

That beautiful, two-hundred foot rise on the edge of swirling blue-green ocean, as water churns around sharp rocks below. The rocks look like teeth. They're like a giant mouth gargling salt water.

Ten years ago my best friend arrived at this cliff at 40mph, black ice is slippery like that, barreling over grass and shrubbery to get here, and tumbling over a weak guardrail into the mouth below. Into the cool, icy breath below. They say icy breath is refreshing. I don't think she felt refreshed.

Doctors said she died on impact with the water, head colliding with steering wheel, car too old for airbags. We were stuck in the past like that.

Ten years I've visited this place. Kind of a long time. When I look left or right along the cliff I realize how much the crab apple trees have grown since I planted them. They were her favorite kind. The trees perfectly framed this small section of the cliff, and the dull thud of rain hitting the leaves was soothing.

They were taller then me now, the trees, I felt short. Like around her. But she had a way of making me feel, if not taller, more important. Height was simply there for nights we joked about high heels.

Rain dripped down my face. Some was caught by my shirt, as if it wanted a drink.

For some reason, right then and there, I decided that this was the last time. The last time that rocky ocean mouth could cackle at me, the last time the rain would leave me going home in shivers, unless those were caused by the sadness.

I took one last look. The grass waving at my feet in the wind. The crab apple trees. The rocks. They still gargled. The infinite horizon that stretched out with tales just like mine. I put a hand on the new steel guardrail; it felt strong. Perhaps one day it would save a life. Perhaps because my best friend died.

I turned around and sloshed through wet grass. I was done here. Done with being stuck in the past.

My car managed to start first try. I set off, and as I drove away, the clouds seemed to part for the sun, allowing it to brighten my path.

The End

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