The Love Story of Edmund James Faul

The man stood on the sand, standing as lightly as he could in his Smith dress shoes. He was middle-aged and without as much hair as he used to have. His Jackson slate-grey suit was clean, crisp and ironed; he was ready to drive straight to work once he was finished here.
He spun the plain band ring in his hand, taking in the tumultuous water before him. The sky above was grey and overcast, as was to be expected based on this morning’s report. The water was also dark, and grey, not at all inviting, despite the few surfers he’d spotted for their sunrise ‘surfs’. They had left though. Though the weather was growing tempestuous – meaning a lack a sun-loving bums and families – the water was not quite tumultuous enough for the surfers either. It was not a beach day. The man appreciated the privacy.
He took a deep breath to compose himself, and his nose twitched at the distasteful smell of seaweed. He was ready; he was ready to throw it. He was moving on. He had moved on, this ritual was just to symbolise it. She had moved on, clearly. She hadn’t found it too difficult either. Neither would he. He hadn’t found it difficult, because he had already moved on.

The woman had left. She had been beautiful and perfect, but years had passed and she had become emotional and neurotic. She had drifted further and further away from the man she had married. The woman’s husband had done what she’d wanted. He attended the dinners with her friends, with her work mates. He worked hard for the money to buy her happiness, buy wine, buy clothes, keep up appearances. She wanted to travel, and he followed, touristing the dirty streets of unfamiliar cultures or following a guide from temple to temple. He preferred the hotel rooms and resorts. They at least provided breakfast buffets.
Maybe he would not be at the beach, had he spoken up, had he been assertive. But no, she forced him away from his responsibilities, wasted his holiday time, dragged him by force out of his comfort zone. She’d had enough of it. She had needed someone crazy, adventurous. Probably exotic. She had left. What had it been – a year? Now she had a new ring on her finger. She had tossed her ring aside, and so would he. Quite literally.

Now he stood on a beach, in his suit on a chilly morning. The sand was stiff from rain the night before. The air was cool and moist. He was ready. He spun the ring in his hand one more time, moved his arm back behind him, above his head, and lobbed the ring.
Plop.
Edmund James Faul lowered his arm. He stood for a moment, and breathed. The ring was gone. His hand was empty. He had done it. The vigorous waters moved forward and back, alluring. He checked his Kors watch. He had time. Edmund bent down and slipped out of his dress shoes, placing them side-by-side, placing his socks inside - careful not to get sand on anything - and rolled up his pant legs. He rubbed his finger as he walked forward a few steps until the water met him, embracing him by the ankles. The sky was grey and overcast, it looked like there might be rain, and so, as he breathed, the air sent a cool, crisp chill through his lungs. Looking down at the water, it appeared much clearer up close. He could see the sand as it moved with the waves. He watched as he rubbed his finger. Maybe he would spot a nice shell.
A sparkle caught his eye. He stared, as the sand moved around the object, revealing its gold colour, its circular shape. A band. His ring.
Damn.
Longing and regret overwhelmed him, and the man splashed forward, reached into the water, fingers grabbing at it, at his ring. He held it in his palm, covered with wet, course sand and he stared. There was an engraving etched around the inside of the band.  
To Jan   With Love   Bob   1959
The man let out the breath he had been holding. He hadn’t realised that he had been holding it. He spun the ring in his palm, the sand scraping against his soft skin. His sleeve was wet and clung to his arm, as did his pant legs. Sand itched between his toes. The cold water stung his skin, and the wind picking up didn’t help. The man’s nose twitched. His sigh hissed through his clenched teeth. He really did prefer his comfort zone. With his other hand, he pulled out his Banks handkerchief, wiped the sand from his hands and from the ring, and returned the handkerchief and the ring to his suit pocket.
The man checked his watch. He could afford to be late. He needed to have a shower and change his suit.