Haar: a cold sea fog, (colloquial Scottish).
Because no one can see what happens, happens among the Haar.
You find yourself along the coastline of Fife on the eastern edge of Scotland. The sea is rough and churching that night, thrashing, and swirling, dragging its claws along the rocks of the shoreline. Out here the sea is protector, is enemy and is sovereign. You do not question it; you cannot fight it. Any ship or person caught in the pull of its current, among the landscape of its waves, at its mercy, will testify you never, ever, win against the sea…
–
The Haar rolled in the following morning. It built over the water, a brewing storm. Then like a spectral reflection of the sea it came crashing onto the shore, beckoned by the waves to climb across the dunes and up into the village. A place the sea could not reach. Splitting into tentacles it funnelled down the corridors of the village peering in windows and leaning against doors. It jumped across the rooftops and lingered down alleys. It settled across the entire village filtering the sunlight to a pallid glow as weak as a dying candle. And not just the light, sound was forced to labour slower through its layers. The Haar had dressed the village by the time the sun had fully risen (not that it could be seen now), it was an elaborate white shroud, a sprawling wedding dress. As people left their houses come morning they struggled through it, cars inching uncertainly, people searching for landmarks or signs that they had taken for granted before – suddenly at a loss as to how to get to the grocers, or to the butchers, or to their dear friend Katherine Mackie’s.
Across the sea and on the beach, it settles the thickest. It was there Oliver found himself not sure which direction to go. He also was not sure if he stood still, he would ever find him. Direction had become meaningless, if he was walking in circles he had no way to know. He stumbled into the sea and turned back to search for higher ground. The sand was shifting underfoot. Nothing felt solid. Where even was up (was there?) when faced with no sky. There was always haars here, especially in the summer here but rarely one so thick.
“Ollie,” the voice was intimately close. Then he was beside him. “Ollie!” Archie appeared through a doorway in the fog, he pulled Oliver into him crushing him against the fabric of his coat. “Let me breathe”, Oliver protested squirming until Archie lessened his embrace slightly. Their eyes met, then their lips. They kissed gently and Archie drew Oliver to him. Amidst the chill of the fog, they caught a flicker of warmth between them, like nursing a flame.
Sand in their hair, slipping down their shirts, crackling in their mouths. Archie shook it out of his hair as they lay together panting. “Stop”, Oliver protested laughing as more sand fell on him. He poked Archie in the ribs sending him rolling away with squeals of laughter. “Right” Archie said, his smile split every corner of his face as he jumped on top of Oliver who squirmed and wheezed with laughter as Archie pinned him to the beach. The haar swirled around, creating a world with them alone in it.
Everything else had fallen away into the whiteness.
Because no one can see what happens, happens among the haar.
Oliver rested his head on Archies chest. He listened to his breathing rising and falling in time to the waves crashing nearby. “Are you cold”? Archie asked. He did not need an answer. He could feel Oliver shivering. Archie fumbled to pull of his coat off and draped it over them both. “Better”? “Better”, Oliver said burrowing in. Archie stroked his hair; Oliver was heavy on his chest, but he did not mind.
They lay like that for some time. Two explorers resting during a long expedition through a foreign landscape. Oliver traced a hand up Archie’s neck and along his jawline. “I wish it did not have to be like this. Only meeting like this.” Archie sighed he got up on his elbows causing Oliver to slip down to his stomach. “I know, but not for much longer. Once we finish school we can leave here. We can go far away.”
Oliver said “we can be together there? Properly I mean?”.
Archie smiled and kissed him on the cheek, throwing an arm around Oliver to pull him up to his face.
“Yes,” Archie said “here people don’t understand, but there is a whole world out there that is not here.”
“What will it be like?”
Archie, stroking Oliver’s hair, began: “We can go to Edinburgh, or Glasgow, Manchester or London even. A really big city. You will study English because you love it; I will do Geography or Philosophy or something. We will get separate places to begin with because we might have different friends. But we can go over to each other’s and see each other every morning. We will stay the night together of course. I can take you to the film house, the theatre, we can go for walks and coffees together. We can hold hands Ollie, and I can kiss you and we will not have to worry. And we can dance Ollie, I have heard that people dance into the early morning in these places.” Oliver closed his eyes as Archie’s words moved like brush strokes painting a picture before his eyes. A watercolour of what was to come.
“But for now, we can only meet like this Ollie. In the haar. For no one can see us then. It’s our secret. A secret that will be swept out with the haar, out onto the waves to the horizon, and over the edge of the world. Only the sea knows Ollie, and it sends the haar to let us have this.” Oliver met Archie’s eyes; they were so close their breaths mingled. He could feel Archie shift beneath him. His hands push under his shirt.
He wished they could always be like this. Together. Oliver tilted his head back, Archie leant forward.
“I love you”.
–
Who knows what happens when the haar floods in? When society’s eyes are blinded by fog?
What unhindered people do show?
The love that can be allowed to grow.
When no one is watching.
Because no one can see what happens,
happens among the Haar.