After the conversation tonight I wanted to be outside, naked. I put on the kimono a friend's mother made me and went down toward the dock.
I am sure when I do things like this that I won't come back.
I wanted to goto the dock, to be close to the water. I was sure on the way down that I was alone, just like I wanted to be. But as soon as I started down the ramp a door openned somewhere on Cambridge Avenue. A light flickered up near the top of the hill. The tide was going out. Still, there was enough water to swim away if I needed to. But it's really the water that I am afraid of. For years I have thought that if I should go, it would be the water that would take me. I don't want to be afraid of it anymore.
I stood there on the dock for some time, gathering courage. It's not that I am afraid of being naked. I am afraid of being naked alone with the ocean. By this time I am shaking. I don't feel safe. I haven't felt safe for years. I was determined not to give in to it. This summer I will no longer be afraid of the ocean. I will go in on the first count of three. I dropped my kimono and stood there, in the moonlight, for only enough time to know I was there.