In the Real World

“Ready for your mystery tour, madam?” Vince asked as the mild, blustery, westerly wind blew his hair on the doorstep. Nikki looked at Vince and glanced at the grey, fast moving cloud above; “rain today?” “Not forecast for where we are going. Just windy.” There was an air of resignation about them both; it was inevitable, it was just a matter of when. They no longer had the strength. Small talk condensed the time spent travelling to the M4 motorway and onto the Almondsbury interchange with the M5. Nikki began to quiz; “OK, where are we going?” “It’s a mystery tour. That’s the whole point; you don’t know until you get there.” “OK, I’ll guess, um, Bristol Airport”, observing the motorway signs. She gasped; “plane spotting! Love it!” Facetiousness to the extreme! “Try again.” “Avonmouth?” “Give up, woman.” It was a considerable distance (or so it seemed) from the “Weston Super Mare” sign to the seafront. “We going surfing?” joked Nikki. “No, deep sea diving!” Vince replied. “Weston Super Mare, eh? Where’s the sea? Can’t see it.” “It’s out there somewhere; low tide.” They meandered through the streets and strolled along the promenade. Nikki found herself holding one of those pretty child windmills on the end of a white stick. It appealed to the little girl within. By default, and without thought, their arms interlinked; it seemed natural but forbidden and premature. “Look!” she said releasing herself from the entwinement, which had lasted a mere few seconds. She ran to the - one of many – tourist kiosks along the seafront. “I honestly do not remember ever flying a kite!” she shouted with excitement. “It’s windy! Let’s get this kite!” Vince didn’t get a chance to answer as she made haste to the till with her purchase. They emerged from the shop; Vince, hands in pockets watching her frantically tear away at the wrapping as she walked toward the sea wall. She discarded the unwanted material and trotted down the stone steps to the wet, flat, compacted sand below. Vince followed, hands still in pockets; a little reluctant when considering they seemed to be the only people visible on the beach. “Put your foot here!” She ordered as, battling against the relentless wind coming in from the Bristol Channel, she struggled to insert the dowel rods to create the necessary box frame and tie the “frilly bit” and lines on. Her impatience was fuelled by her excitement; like Christmas come early. She extended the line and ran in the direction of where the sea should be; not much effort was required as the wind took hold allowing her to extend the line even more. She continued to extend and walk backwards, maintaining stability, ensuring adequate distance from the sea wall and the road behind it. The more line extended required more moving away; Vince caught up with her: “This is your first time with a kite?” He asked, slightly out of breath. “Am I a natural?” “I’m impressed!’ She continued to walk further and further, tugging the line, taming the box kite. A solitary seagull flew nearby. “They’re a protected species! Don’t knock that one out of the sky!” he joked as the seagull took timely evasive action. “Not too far”, said Vince, “look how far we are away from the front!” he shouted against the wind. He trotted to catch up with her again but she kept moving away – her sole concentration seemingly fixed on keeping the kite aloft. Vince gave up and chose to watch from an ever-increasing distance as she edged away toward the reflective wet mud flats. He placed his hands in his jean pockets and observed woman and kite. “She has to be a good two-hundred metres away from me,” he thought to himself, wishing he could keep up with the enthusiasm and – anyway – when would it be his turn? He hadn’t flown a kite for over fifteen years; he never flew a box kite, period. She finally came to a stop in the distance; looking up – her arms visibly taming the kite like some wild airborne horse; Vince began to walk slowly toward her; his feet splashing on the surface water resting on the sand. He then saw her concentration move from the kite as she looked down towards her feet. He saw her entire figure wriggle and appear to almost lose balance as she continued to look downward; this was followed by an anxious twist of her head toward him. He couldn’t hear a thing due to the rush of wind in his ears. She looked down and wriggled again. “What is she doing?” His pace quickened. He glanced skyward at the kite retaining its own flight then looked back at Nikki. “What’s she doing on her knees?” “Vince!” could be heard amongst the rush of wind, “Vince!” Vince began to trot. “Help! Vince! I’m sinking!” He sprinted. “Don’t move! Stay still!” he commanded at maximum volume as he ordered his own legs into overdrive. He reached her; not on her knees – she was up to her knees. He treaded the ground in her proximity and tested its integrity; he would have to keep treading through fear of succumbing to the vacuum like grip of the wet sandy mass himself. “Put your arms around my neck!” She complied. “Now pull yourself towards me; pull on me!” She pulled. At the same time, Vince threw his arms around her, wrapped them above her waist and arched his back away from her to assist the lift. “Don’t let go! Keep hold! Pull! Pull!” Vince treaded the sand and twisted them both as they were interlocked. She had him by reverse strangle hold; Vince arched his back even more and straddled his legs apart – still treading. “OK, OK, it’s letting go! Go on! Keep pulling! Come on! You’re coming up; hold on! Come on, Nikki – hold on!”