I had awaken in a series of small steps. First, there was a vague feeling of pain- not piercing, but certainly not pleasant, either, radiating from my side and my calf. Needles and pins in my left arm, for I had been sleeping with it underneath me. Small steps. A soothing roaring of water all around me- approaching, then receding, then repeating in a hypnotic rhythm. The horizon tilting in fits and jerks. The cries of seagulls. Salty mist. Small steps.
Curious, I popped my head up. My small life boat, or, what was left of it, had run aground on a tropical beach. The waves were spanking aft, making the pitiful remains of it yaw with every slap. The water foamed and churned as it washed over the rocks and sand around me, roaring as it had for millennia. The beach was pristine, excepting the odd bit of flotsam, like children's toys across a carpet of white sand. About twenty yards away lay a lush growth of ferns, brush, flowers, then trees reaching high up into the morning air. The sky was a canvas of pastel colors- vibrant pinks and piercing violets, as the sun crested the horizon behind the thick clouds far away. The same clouds, maybe that had produced the tempest that had sunk my sailboat? I wasn't sure.
I looked at myself to see if I had been injured during my ordeal in the night- aside from some bumps and bruises, and the stiffness in my side from sleeping against the hard wood, I was fine. My clothes were little more than a faint memory- they had been ripped from my body by the ululating winds that ripped my sail clean off, stranding me even then as if the wave that I had the foresight to see, a 30 footer at least, came at my sailboat (a wedding present from Father) giving me the precious seconds to drop my lifeboat into the water before the wave overturned my sailboat and sunk it faster than my marriage. How I survived in my tiny life raft- not even 8 feet long- was astounding.
Curious to explore my new home, I stepped out into the luxuriously warm water, feeling the sand pull from between my toes by the tide. Something caught my eye, and I bent down to pick up a periwinkle. Holding the shell in my palm, I admired the soft colors spiraling around it, as the breeze caressed my hair like an experienced lover. Here I was, stranded, with no idea how I would survive, but it was so liberating. I had grown up spoiled absolutely rotten with lavish gifts and opportunities most women only dream of. Horses to ride on, dance instructors to teach me waltzes, I had an art studio once my teachers thought me good enough to do it for a living, parties that included moneyed families of Newport, fancy cars, designer original dresses, closets and closets of the latest in fashion. But there was also the pressure. "You must be a perfect lady, as befitting one of such a proper family," Mother would often remind me. Everyone controlling every aspect of your life. A staff of 8 servants growing up to run the house, and 3 of my own once I was married. My parents had even 'arranged' who I was going to marry. There were times I felt so trapped- and I craved freedom.
When I went to private school, I would envy the so-called "normal kids", who drove around in common autos, having real friends, going to greasy spoons on a date. Hanging out in the mall, flirting with members of the opposite sex quite blatantly at times. They seemed so free. When I got married, I had stars in my eyes. My marriage to Roland was perfect, like something from a fairy tale- an original wedding gown, ice sculptures, hundreds of wedding guests, wonderful gifts, an elegant home on Martha's Vineyard. Unfortunately, we had had no children, for I was sterile as an operating theatre. Soon after the magic of our wedding day faded, I was studying how the other side lived, and I began to despair. They had barely enough money to get by, but they had love. They had passion. Passion for each other, and passion for life. Poor little rich girl, I thought, but the problem with cliche's is that they are so often true.
When I had discovered Roland had been having affairs with several of his staff, I lost it. He assured me it would never happen again, and part of me wanted to believe him, but I still watched him closely. I wanted to tell myself that I loved him, and that he would never do anything to harm me. Of course, I found out he had no intention of being forthright and honest. He was becoming a cruel man- secretive, paranoid, almost criminal. Apparently, the law firm he was partners in saw the same things. He was cast out quietly when they discovered he was embezzling. I tried to be supportive, as a good wife should be, but he began drinking and yelling at me, telling me it was my fault... he HAD to steal to support us and my lifestyle. "Poppycock," I replied. "I make quite a living selling my paintings- enough to support myself, and I do." Roland looked at me angrily and actually grabbed me. He called me all sorts of vile things, and when he drove me into a corner and slapped me, I knew it was over. I filed for divorce within the day.
I moved out despite his protests that he'd never raise his hand to me again, but I wasn't having any of it. I purchased a home, for myself, no staff. Mother and Father urged me to reconsider, but I was enjoying my new life. It was harder, but I was becoming rebellious. I had freedom.
To celebrate the success one of my showings had just achieved, I decided to take my sailboat, a 45 foot Beneteau I had christened "Pinxit" (that's Latin for "I painted it") for the Bahamas, nowhere in particular, I just wanted to go. That seemed like a lifetime ago, that showing. And, in a way, it was. I was beginning a new life.
