Threads in the Wind

I typed 'Aislinn drowning' into the search field and hit Enter. Immediately, a flood of news headlines popped up. 'Girl, 19, Drowns in Local Canyon'. 'Tragic Drowning in Nine Whistles Canyon'. 'Nine Whistles Drowning Case Sparks Debate.' I clicked on that one, skimming the article. Aislinn McMenamin had died at 19, on an unassuming August afternoon. She'd left behind her parents and brother, her last words to them having been, "I'm going to go for a walk." When she didn't come back, they'd called her cell, and when she never answered, the police. They combed the canyon and surrounding areas, eventually finding her body washed up on a sandbank. No one could know if it had been an accident or deliberate. When her family was interviewed, they revealed that Aislinn had suffered a bout of depression a year back, and it could have been possible she'd started to relapse. But no one could ever say for sure.

Except for me. I had to find them. I had to tell them the truth. So maybe it was eleven years past, and consequently, my memory of the event could have been distorted, or the family would be furious at me for waiting so long. But I was sure I'd remembered correctly - it was just so vivid. And all that time, it'd been half-buried too, less vulnerable to the rough edges and ravages of everyday life. And besides, the truth was better than nothing at all, wasn't it?

I searched 'McMenamin' next on a site that could give you the address of any given person. Surprisingly, there were nearly a hundred entries distributed over four continents. I thought about Nine Whistles Canyon, a thousand miles away. Aislinn's family had been living near there when she died; what was the chance they would still be living there? I took the chance, and refined the search to that area. A single result came up this time, with three smaller name entries underneath it. The names matched those in the news articles - it was perfect. I printed that page and the article, put them in a manila folder, and took the bus to the beach, feeling full of purpose.

That day, I didn't feel like picking up anything lost, even though I saw a pair of yellow flip-flops, a bottle of sunblock, and a bookmark with a tassel on the end. The entire time, I expected to see Hannah, but I never did. The more time that passed without her appearing, the more I thought about her. I wondered if she did anything like my collecting lost things. I wondered about her dreams, if she dreamt in black-and-white or color. I wondered about her loves, and wished to see those affairs so I could learn from them and supplant them all. And if they'd hurt her, I wanted to hurt them too. Then my thoughts took a random turn to whether she liked mayonnaise or not, and what her parents were like. The wind was blowing in hard, salt in its dips and curves, and people were packing up and heading back to their cars, wrapped in towels. I wanted to stay behind and watch the sea get rough and opaque, but the bus was coming. It glided along at the top of the sea cliff, a box of white and tinted glass with yellow and blue stripes on its side, and I jumped with the anticipation of who I was starting to associate with buses.

Of course she wasn't there. I rode the bus past my stop, into downtown, and picked a random stop to get off at. The sky was overcast, rain blowing in from the sea. I saw an art supply store and decided to go in. Throughout the store, they had pads of paper laid out so you could test different brands of a certain medium. I picked up an old-fashioned fountain pen near me, dipped it in a bottle of India ink, and wrote 'Aislinn McMenamin' in a large, slanting script on a sheet of thick, textured paper. I stood there staring at the ink soaking in, dreaming. Wandering through the store, I tested out what felt like everything there - oil pastels, pencils, paints, charcoal, markers. Except every single time, I wrote Hannah's name instead. Someone asked if I needed any help. I said no, I was just looking. Rain began to beat on the roof.

I went back outside. Gusts of wind sailed through the air, shipwrecking themselves on the stony, low-hanging clouds. Rain spilled out, sweet and salty, yet also neither of those. Lightning flashed in the distance, gilded, threadlike veins of the sky. And in that moment, who should come out of the bakery next to the art supply shop but Hannah. She was carrying a white box with the bakery name and logo across the top and seemed mildly alarmed at the fact that it was getting wet. Spotting a bus shelter not far off, she took off toward that. I followed. She'd never taken notice of me. As she stood under the roof of the bus shelter, I made sure to stand outside of it, looking like I was hardly even aware of her. I became reasonably soaked before the bus arrived, and it wasn't even the bus I needed to take, but I didn't care.

The interior of the bus was dark; only a few sections of the light strips flickered anemically over the stolid faces of the passengers. I stood near Hannah, grabbing a pole. As the bus moved forward, I watched as she took out a pack of gum from the sunflower bag, unwrapped a piece, and folded it pensively into her mouth. And before I realized the words had even formed in my brain, I heard myself asking, "Can I have a piece of gum?" She looked up at me, not seeming surprised that a random person had just asked her for gum. "No, that was my last piece. Sorry." "Oh," I said, and hated how small my voice sounded. "That's okay," I finally managed. For a while, I did nothing but stare at the quivering droplets of rain as they slid down the window glass and were replaced by more droplets.

"Actually," Hannah said again, "that wasn't my last piece. I lied. I'm sorry. I know you probably hate me now." She handed me a piece of gum. The little silver rectangle caught a fragment of cloudy light and glowed in the almost-darkness. I stared at it, entranced, before realizing I looked like an idiot doing that. "Oh, thanks," I said, taking it. "I don't hate you." And then, "You're one of the most honest people I've met. And I don't know you." I laughed lamely. It had been a dumb thing to say, really, so uncharacteristic of me. But Hannah smiled. The rain let up slightly. Suddenly she asked me, "Do you want a cupcake?" "Huh?" I said, probably sounding extremely sophisticated. "Do you want a cupcake?" she asked again, and lifted the lid of the white box in her lap. It was filled neatly with cupcakes in clear plastic pastry bags. "I - uh, I'm good," I said. "You sure?" she said. "I gotta give all these away by the end of the day." "Well, I...I guess one would be nice, I guess," I mumbled in a way that I'm sure wasn't pathetic at all. Her face lit up and she held out the box to me. "Take one." I examined the cupcakes, but eventually decided on a plain one with vanilla frosting. "Thanks." "Mm-hmm."

I stood there with the cupcake in my hand, not sure if I should eat it in front of her or not, and then thinking how inane it was that I was even thinking that. Soon, however, she announced, "Well, I'm getting off here," and stood up. "Bye," I told her, and winced at the way it came out, like a question. "Bye," she said. "Have a nice day." I tried to tell her, "You too" but suddenly my voice couldn't go above a whisper. By this time, she had already walked off down the aisle. I watched her go, unable to process the fact that we'd just had a conversation.

I stayed on the bus until I recognized some buildings that were vaguely near where I lived, then got off. The clouds were beginning to clear, and the air smelled beautifully of the rain. Trees were dripping and sidewalks were drenched. I walked along, listening to the repeated sound of car tires cutting through puddles. In my hands, I cradled the cupcake. I'd been planning to display it on a shelf indefinitely, but as I walked along in the reborn world I couldn't say at all why I'd wanted that. So I sat down on a bench, unwrapped it, and ate it. I got frosting on my nose but was able to lick it off with my tongue. I'd never known before that I could touch my nose with my tongue.