by: Sophia Hill
It was the smoothest sky I’d ever seen. Gooey blue, fading in and out of cool, muffled hues. Each heaven-sent petal burst from its blooming peak, billowing over us like an old painting tarp, cast way up by a sudden gust of wind. So smooth, it was almost fuzzy, snuffing out every life that dared to wander into its domain. So silent, not even the call of a Laughing Gull could be heard that day. Then again, perhaps it was that frigid December heat which kept away their cries. I could barely stand it, myself; the singing pain in my throat and the steam puffing out with each labored breath was proof of that. Even the ocean toiled and bubbled under that merciless sun. Though I think if she was there that day, she would’ve tsked and sighed at our intolerance and left us to read her books peacefully on the edge of that boiling bay.
But among the hostility, the sky remained untouched, and this clarity offered respite from our shifting temperaments and more restless countenances; since beginning this trip, flying up to the Northeast Coast, driving up and down beautiful snowy mountainsides and walking amongst the jolly New York City celebrations blooming in light, garlands, and tourists, the faces of my family morphed quietly in the background. We had entered with the mindset of similar celebration, hiking, eating, sight-seeing, like any other vacation, but vacations rarely had a mission this significant involved. It took its toll with swift and clear effects: my eldest sister, usually drawn up by a strange, yet optimistic, curiosity took on a suspicious light in her eyes, flitting and flying as if trying to trace the path of a fly. My middle sister – the unaffected type whether in the eye of a hurricane or in front of a spotless lake – I caught staring out car windows, looking back at the passing scenery as if she’d forgotten something precious there years ago. And my mom, who sits straighter and tighter than the most devout monk, who smiles like Buddha and listens like a tiger on prey, still sat, smiled, and listened, as if the world was the symmetrical and simple problem we once believed it was. She was completely unaffected, save for the small moments when she believed no one was watching; it was at those times a deep sigh would escape her chest, and I could see a thousand more waiting for their turn, ever so patiently. I’m not sure what sort of strange affect I took on, and I would spend the duration of our week-long trip considering what the others might be thinking of my own inner struggle. Perhaps they didn’t think there was anything in there at all. It is my greatest fear that they are correct.
After many days exploring the nature and cityscape, it was finally time: the night before our journey to the coast, to the edge of country and sea. Though we came up apprehensively, we had planned to meet with some extended family which I knew about as much as a Christmas postcard and idle gossip. It is always awkward at first, meeting people you might’ve shared a passing glance with at the age of 23 months, but the evening soon filled itself with the joy of reunion. These strangers became friends and stepping into that house started to feel like home; stories, exchanged like precious heirlooms, took their rightful place in each of our souls as we feasted on manicotti, memories and merlot. Loud with classic Northern gusto, they complained lovingly about anything and everything in life, and we soon found ourselves adopting similar mannerisms that perhaps only matters of shared blood could explain. As the night began to take hold, we told the little ones about our home, far far away, as if it was a magical fantasy land with wide concrete rivers and spacious suburb sprawls. They giggled at our naïve astonishment as the smallest, most delicate snowfall began to flutter down to Earth, sparkling defiantly among the Winter drear. It felt like that moment could last forever, frozen in time.
The morning of our trip, though, revealed the dirt-filled slush of that once beautiful flurry, ravished and spoiled by the early sun, and with it, our brief time of peace. We soon prepared for the freezing cold, suffocating ourselves with whatever scavenged layers we had procured weeks prior: shiny new puffers, thin jackets, childhood scarves, branded hats, mismatched gloves, woolen socks and triple layered Longjohns. It’s as if we were kindling one large human bonfire which didn’t seem unlikely with the amount of dry skin and static energy we shared amongst us. Just one jet-lagged skirmish could have set us all aflame. Thankfully, we avoided spontaneous combustion long enough to stuff ourselves in a van set Eastward. It rattled along never-ending stretches of road which became sandier by the hour; sardonic remarks about the local politics and insufferable tourists cushioned the ever-rising tension as we approached the inevitable, but it all came rushing back the moment we stopped, parked across from the big blue sea.
Stumbling out of the sliding doors, I remember the shock still. That sky! We made our way, slugging through fine white sand, mounds of it, though I barely noticed it above the way the atmosphere scraped the edge of outerspace. So complete and gushing in all directions that I couldn’t believe how the pastel vibrancy choked suddenly at the end; A tiny gray line of clouds slicing through the horizon – clouds which could have been mountains at a glance. It didn’t feel fair that those ugly things could steal away the glory of that clearest day, but it did, nonetheless. The heavens tore away from the lonely sea, and I watched as the clouds marched ominously into the lazy distance, further and further from our view. Or maybe closer? They always seem much too far away to worry about, anyways.
And under that seamless sky, the Earth tilted curiously below; seafoam balanced precariously upon well-practiced waves, those of which bent dangerously close to breaking. With every push and pull, they dampened and darkened the sand, like a child’s idle hand searching for objects to fancy an eternal boredom. It stole only a few grains before returning back to the depths. Perhaps in a decade, the beach will only have a penny-size of a difference, and perhaps, then, a penny will be nothing. I thought of that ugly thing you once had – some beach themed ceramic basket- used to hold dirty, green pennies from years of collecting, which in turn spent years collecting dust. I remember stealing them from that basket, thinking it was a never-ending supply of money. It never once occurred to me that they could run out.
But it really was just the softest sky. Even on that day, it tickled our good humors and soon wore out our flimsy resolves. Our bundled bodies, wandering aimlessly on that beachside, let it leak into our lungs. With every strand of hair that flowed with the wild, sea born wind, one more shoulder fell. The brisk air purred at our warmth like a beast un feasted and reminded us of our own hunger for all things good, pure, and right. The battle was well-fought, but in the end, we lost every ounce of anger and resentment to the steady undertow of the water. And that beautiful blue sky.
Against all odds, I wished to believe the sky was blue because of you. I think I could, in another life, where you were made of clay or sea foam, shaped into the perfect being. I can imagine it so clearly, a kinder world where nothing went wrong; a place with no disease, no treatment, and no symptoms. I wish you could’ve had another chance at life, so that I might’ve had the chance to meet that girl who just loved the beach. Perhaps then, I could imagine you weaving the threads of that clearest, bluest sky just for us. But when it was time to let you go and you flew into the wind, the sea didn’t part for your ashes. The waves didn’t halt when you muddled its foam. The sky didn’t split open and fall apart. Not one thing stopped for you.
But I swear I saw it bend. Maybe for you, it slowed and tightened in time. Perhaps it hesitated in the wake of your return, a young laughing girl that it used to know on the weekends of an easier time. When I thought of you like that, being on that beach carefree and unaware, I knew it was where your soul had been hiding away all this time. I hope the freezing tide warms when you are riding the surface of a wave. I hope the wind cradles you gently as you travel the ends of the Earth. I hope the sky is as soft for you as it was for me.
And when you are done, I hope you return to your beach and melt into the beautiful sky. Return your love and life to be loved and lived yet again; hopefully by a girl with a happier story to come. Return back to your home. We’ll meet again when I return to mine.
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