Status: Re-uploaded 1/12/2012
Salt
Salt
It was salt in her wounds, the way the fish and chip shop served oysters on the half shell, with the other half missing. Could the teenage boy who smiled at her order tell that her other half was missing, too?
There was also a cruel slice of lemon on the tray, for zest. Christian was acidic, and so was this tear-filled bay he called home. Everything here stung, or cut, or smarted. Sharp rocks and splinter-laden piers weren’t meant for bare feet, and Victoria had never gotten the hang of balance.
She poked at her meal, scavenging her own chips, but she couldn’t eat the oysters, in the end. They were raw and tender, like her, and alive, she suspected. She didn’t want to be the callous one to bite into them. Christian had told her that oysters were spineless invertebrates that couldn’t feel pain, but how could she be sure?
Everything was spineless to him.
She slumped forward on the bench that was hers alone, resting her elbows on the table beneath the big umbrella. Seagulls gossiped about the deck, whose white wash was peeling, just like her normally porcelain-smooth, pale foundation. They were gossiping about her, she could tell. The world would soon know what had happened. Just from looking at her, it was no secret.
She needed Darcy. She needed to talk to someone, anyone…
No. She needed to talk to him, specifically. A slimier, less comfortable feeling than oysters squirmed inside her. She couldn’t talk here, out in the open. She couldn’t talk openly where all the people and seagulls could overhear any snippets of conversation the wind wasn’t merciful enough to snatch away.
What if she cried?
But, on the other hand, she didn’t plan on coming back. Nobody who heard her would ever see her again. Time would wash the memory and the stain of her away, just like she hoped the tide would roll in to take her sadness, and float her someplace balmier. The cold current would numb her, and when she washed ashore, the sun would kiss her back to life.
Yes, she decided. Now was as good a time as any to call. She hadn’t rescued her phone from the shack all for nothing.
The bags packed at her feet represented a weight that had been painstakingly heaved off the seafloor. A lot of things had come uprooted with it, and the water was still cloudy with abrasive sand, down there where her thoughts sank once they had sifted through her consciousness. Carrying her anchor, she had navigated the dangerous reef Christian had inhabited.
Now, she couldn’t allow it to drag here, where the village was a mere sandbar impeding her progress. She had to make it to the open ocean, a place where infinite tears could drown– the ocean, and the open arms of her friends.
She flipped her phone open, and felt the solid weight of a clamshell in her hand. It had two hales, and was made to connect two different worlds.
‘Darcy?’
‘Victoria?’ He sounded pleasantly surprised. ‘How are you?’
‘The sun is nice here…’ she muttered, losing her confidence already. In reality, the white-hot ball was malicious, casting a lidless glare over every surface and knifing off the sharpest waves. Even sunglasses couldn’t tame it. She squinted. Above the dehydrating water, a desert flashed. For reassurance, she sipped her drink. She was always sipping things at home.
‘The sun is nice here, too,’ Darcy replied. ‘Well, really, it’s the same sun. Victoria…?’ She had been quiet for a while. Now, dry sobs were crackling down the invisible line against her will. ‘Oh, no… He didn’t? What did he do?’ She mumbled, but he caught her drift, as always. ‘Why?’
‘He said it was a mistake.’ Victoria choked up bitter saltwater, and felt her throat rasp. Her eyes watered, burning with something like lemon juice. ‘He never explained.’
‘Of course,’ said Darcy, darkly. The sharpness in his voice was only for the absent, former member of their trio. It eclipsed a warm radiance, unlike the hot, all-seeing one that burned over the beach, turning sand to blisters. This sun was for her, Victoria thought. Maybe the sun on Darcy’s end of the phone could be for her, too. ‘He never explains anything.’
‘Mm.’
‘Listen.’ After another silence, it was he who asked the question she hadn’t dared to hope for. ‘Do you want to come and stay with me for the rest of the summer? There isn’t all that much to do on the farm, but I hate to think of you alone in the city, cooped up in that apartment. What do you say?’
Like a life-saving lungful of air, she said yes. Just like that, the ordeal was over, and the oppressive weight of her ocean of tears broke around her. There was fresh foam and bubbling in the form of fresh sobs, but it was the floundering, gasping and spluttering of resuscitation. She wasn’t sinking anymore. A moment later, she had learned to float. Her shipwreck was behind her, her anchor long lost. Her spirits picked up, and her sails filled with new winds of change.
She was going home, not to the apartment her too-wealthy parents had given her, but to her real home, with a friend she could trust. She was the one who had made the mistake, she told herself, not Christian. It wasn’t his mistake to make. She wasn’t his to direct. She went wherever she wanted.
Right now, she was going ashore, towards to the bus stop, and then, after that, the airport. After that, there would be dry land, at last.
The tide was turning.
There was also a cruel slice of lemon on the tray, for zest. Christian was acidic, and so was this tear-filled bay he called home. Everything here stung, or cut, or smarted. Sharp rocks and splinter-laden piers weren’t meant for bare feet, and Victoria had never gotten the hang of balance.
She poked at her meal, scavenging her own chips, but she couldn’t eat the oysters, in the end. They were raw and tender, like her, and alive, she suspected. She didn’t want to be the callous one to bite into them. Christian had told her that oysters were spineless invertebrates that couldn’t feel pain, but how could she be sure?
Everything was spineless to him.
She slumped forward on the bench that was hers alone, resting her elbows on the table beneath the big umbrella. Seagulls gossiped about the deck, whose white wash was peeling, just like her normally porcelain-smooth, pale foundation. They were gossiping about her, she could tell. The world would soon know what had happened. Just from looking at her, it was no secret.
She needed Darcy. She needed to talk to someone, anyone…
No. She needed to talk to him, specifically. A slimier, less comfortable feeling than oysters squirmed inside her. She couldn’t talk here, out in the open. She couldn’t talk openly where all the people and seagulls could overhear any snippets of conversation the wind wasn’t merciful enough to snatch away.
What if she cried?
But, on the other hand, she didn’t plan on coming back. Nobody who heard her would ever see her again. Time would wash the memory and the stain of her away, just like she hoped the tide would roll in to take her sadness, and float her someplace balmier. The cold current would numb her, and when she washed ashore, the sun would kiss her back to life.
Yes, she decided. Now was as good a time as any to call. She hadn’t rescued her phone from the shack all for nothing.
The bags packed at her feet represented a weight that had been painstakingly heaved off the seafloor. A lot of things had come uprooted with it, and the water was still cloudy with abrasive sand, down there where her thoughts sank once they had sifted through her consciousness. Carrying her anchor, she had navigated the dangerous reef Christian had inhabited.
Now, she couldn’t allow it to drag here, where the village was a mere sandbar impeding her progress. She had to make it to the open ocean, a place where infinite tears could drown– the ocean, and the open arms of her friends.
She flipped her phone open, and felt the solid weight of a clamshell in her hand. It had two hales, and was made to connect two different worlds.
‘Darcy?’
‘Victoria?’ He sounded pleasantly surprised. ‘How are you?’
‘The sun is nice here…’ she muttered, losing her confidence already. In reality, the white-hot ball was malicious, casting a lidless glare over every surface and knifing off the sharpest waves. Even sunglasses couldn’t tame it. She squinted. Above the dehydrating water, a desert flashed. For reassurance, she sipped her drink. She was always sipping things at home.
‘The sun is nice here, too,’ Darcy replied. ‘Well, really, it’s the same sun. Victoria…?’ She had been quiet for a while. Now, dry sobs were crackling down the invisible line against her will. ‘Oh, no… He didn’t? What did he do?’ She mumbled, but he caught her drift, as always. ‘Why?’
‘He said it was a mistake.’ Victoria choked up bitter saltwater, and felt her throat rasp. Her eyes watered, burning with something like lemon juice. ‘He never explained.’
‘Of course,’ said Darcy, darkly. The sharpness in his voice was only for the absent, former member of their trio. It eclipsed a warm radiance, unlike the hot, all-seeing one that burned over the beach, turning sand to blisters. This sun was for her, Victoria thought. Maybe the sun on Darcy’s end of the phone could be for her, too. ‘He never explains anything.’
‘Mm.’
‘Listen.’ After another silence, it was he who asked the question she hadn’t dared to hope for. ‘Do you want to come and stay with me for the rest of the summer? There isn’t all that much to do on the farm, but I hate to think of you alone in the city, cooped up in that apartment. What do you say?’
Like a life-saving lungful of air, she said yes. Just like that, the ordeal was over, and the oppressive weight of her ocean of tears broke around her. There was fresh foam and bubbling in the form of fresh sobs, but it was the floundering, gasping and spluttering of resuscitation. She wasn’t sinking anymore. A moment later, she had learned to float. Her shipwreck was behind her, her anchor long lost. Her spirits picked up, and her sails filled with new winds of change.
She was going home, not to the apartment her too-wealthy parents had given her, but to her real home, with a friend she could trust. She was the one who had made the mistake, she told herself, not Christian. It wasn’t his mistake to make. She wasn’t his to direct. She went wherever she wanted.
Right now, she was going ashore, towards to the bus stop, and then, after that, the airport. After that, there would be dry land, at last.
The tide was turning.