Sandstorm

In my dream there's wind and sand and the dry air sticks to the roof of my mouth.  I'm looking, searching despratly and silently for something I dread finding.  He's here, I know- this place is haunted by sweat and piercing blue eyes.  Row upon row of cooridor walls and every step is one closer to inevitable heartbreak. 
When I find him it's unsurprising, there is the farmiliar faded brown shirt and dirty blond hair cropped close.  And that's when everything goes grey.  No breath, no tears, nothing at all except for the words I've been failing to say for years.
In my dream it's too late, it's always too late.

Doors

There are so many different shades of me here.  I see them in the shadows, on the brick paths and darting in and out of imposing buildings.  Some laze in the sun on grassy lawns, others linger in the doorway for a farewell kiss-a few drag their downcast faces across the lawn in an endless battle against unseen opponents. 
I am everything here, and I am nothing.  Somewhere there is a girl smiling down from a balcony while torches burn and one figure in black gazes back at her lithe figure.  Less than a quarter mile away there is the girl who didn't make it lying face down in a ravine after a flight with a jarring end.
A million places I could walk tonight, and see a million things- but somehow my feet take me back to the beginning of this path that I am on now.  Through a door and up a set of stairs, pausing to rest a hand on a worried knob.  Locked of course, and then back out and up another short flight to stare unseeingly at a door that I cannot open even if I had the key.  I know what is inside, pain and love and desire. 
I have followed this tradition that a million coeds before me knew; not a sorority ritual or a plank of wood-but the loss of innocence and the first real glimpse of the world.  I pity the girl behind that door, and I'm proud of her.  I know that she has years of hurt ahead of her but I also know that this one survives. 
My first day back on campus I suck away and stared at this door, somehow this is the one shade I can't escape.  I suppose somehow that means something, whether or not I'm willing to admit it. 

And tomorrow I will go through with a charade that is pure pageantry, but still it will mean that this place no longer belongs to me.  I pick my pieces up and walk away and leave only shades and shadows and one brown locked door.

Astrology 101

 Cocktail parties are just plain boring.  She thinks this to herself as she bats blue eyes and offers her simpering smile to tall strangers with gleaming watches and crisp bow-ties.  Boring, and they smell like the old woman perfume that wafts from Dolores Ebony as she fills her fourth cup of spiked punch and titters to her date that she isn't a day over forty.  Somewhere around the room her own date is awkwardly tripping over his shoes as he rushes to introduce himself to the high profile account executive who just arrived.  Sighing she stirs the maraschino cherries at the bottom of her cup and wonders if it would be impolite to pick them out by their long stems.

"You look bored."  A startled glance up reveals a pair of brown eyes standing in front of her, one brow arched in a knowing smirk.
"I'm sorry, excuse me- was I in your way?"  She's realizing that perhaps she's had a glass too much of the punch herself, because now the room seems too warm and she can feel a blush spread across her cheeks.
"Well if you were I'm glad- come on and smile, I'm only teasing."  Across the room the band swings into action again, and couples all around begin to make their way to the temporary black and white dance floor. The young man is still smiling at her.  "You have a date tonight?"  She looks around, half shrugging;
"He's around here, somewhere...."
"Well, how about a walk outside?"  He's suddenly shy and glances down before she replies.
"Sure, I mean I would love to get out of here for a few minutes, but I don't know where we would go..."
"Oh, don't worry.  I know a place."  The gleam is back in his eye and before she can think twice he is off weaving through the room and disappearing out the patio door.

The cool air is calming and she can feel the heat vanishing from her cheeks.  The back porch has a few party goers that all share the same tired look on their faces that she is sure was mirrored on her own minutes before.  He is standing against the porch railing and she moves to stand beside him;  he smells clean and faintly of musk.
"The stars are beautiful tonight."  He doesn't look at her when he speaks; she watches him watch the sky, fascinated.
"They're pretty, I've always loved imagining what they're really like." 
"I think they're powerful, there are whole worlds, civilizations out there that we have never discovered.  Out in space... I would love to see everything from out there sometime."
"You mean like the earth?"
"Sure, yeah the earth but everything else too-we have such a finite perception of the world.  We only know what we can see, touch-everything else is pure guesswork.  What are you standing on?"  He turns to look at her and his eyes are burning, she looks around for an answer, cheeks flaming to life again."
"The porch, I suppose."
"Yes but under that?"
"The ground."
"And what's under the ground?"
"The earth's core, I suppose.  Molten lava and all that."
"Are you sure?"
"Well, of course.  All the science says so."
"Yes, but how do you know it's there?"  She pauses, meeting his gaze, captivated and a little frightened by his passion. 
"I suppose I don't."
"Exactly."  Silence falls again, and when he breaks it his tone is softer and more reverant.
"Old stories from all over the world talk about giants roaming the earth.  Today we suppose this is just a per-historic exaggeration but how do we know it's not true?  What if there is a whole world beneath our feet, giants and all sorts of things we thought were just fairytale."  They're standing close now, and without even realizing it had happened she realizes his arm is around hers and they're staring skyward together.  Abruptly he turns and takes her hand,
"Wanna go on an adventure?"  For a moment she pauses, thinking about the poor bumbling fool inside by the punch bowl.
"Of course."

Her heels clutched in her arm she follows him around the vast expanse of lawn to the front of the house, ducking past lit windows and around neatly trimmed hedges.  At the front of the house he stops in beside the picture windows.  Through the half drawn blinds she can see the band and bits of people dancing and talking, but he isn't looking through through the glass.
"Ready?"
"For what?"  His brow is arched again and he simply points up; leaning her neck back she can see a roof three and a half stories above.
"How are we getting up there?"  He smirks and points at an old trellis winding it's way past the windows and up into the darkness.
"We climb."

The wood is old but sturdy, after the first ten feet she learned her lesson about looking down.  At the second story the trellis ends, but the roof flattens out above be the raised ceiling of sitting room. He looks at her, offering his hand to steady as she climbs over the lip of the roof to sit beside him.
"You want to stop here? I didn't even ask if you were afraid of heights."
"I've never had the chance to find out, but lets keep going."
"You sure?"  His are burning with passion again, but this time they burn into hers.  She nods and the grin spreads from his eyes to his lips as he jumps up and leads her away from the edge.  There is an old wrought iron fire ladder in the shadows; rung over rung, hand over hand they climb-her bare toes gripping the cold metal.  Finally his foot disappears above her and strong arms reach down to pull her up the last couple of rungs.  The air seems cooler up here, and the wind whips around them and without knowing how she got there she is bundled in beneath his arm.  Spreading his jacket before them, he stretches out and looks expectantly at her. Thirty seconds later she is in his arms and they both stare skyward, his fingers weaving themselves into her hair.
"This is perfect."  The words escape her in a sigh, and he brushes her lips with his fingertips.
"Shhh."
The night whispers around them and she closes her eyes, safe in the knowledge that nothing is for certain. 

Paradise found

There is nothing better than a soft kiss and a dimpled cheeked smile and a whispered "don't go..."  Curling deeper into the oversized shirt that smells like sweat and deodorant and cologne, I kiss the fingers that are stroking my arms.  Safe, for a few hours.  Here there is no heartbreak, there are no lies to be told and no pain to ignore.  I can't stop laughing.  He is worried, I know, that I'm laughing at him but I'm not.  I'm laughing at the world, for proving me right.  I stopped looking, I gave up- I was going to let the pieces lie and walk away. And then, this.

You told me not to beat myself up, but darling that's just what I do.  So here is my compromise: Thirty seconds of moderate self-loathing, and when I'm done writing I will let it all slide out the back of my head and hope that it isn't sticking in yours. 

I guess what it comes down to is this: I am sick to my stomach and shaking because of my own actions, and because I hurt you.  You, who have been so incredibly kind and sweet and understanding; you who I'm falling for more and more every day. I daydream of being wrapped in your arms for all of eternity, and I am the fool standing in my own way. 

There is more that I want to say but it involves a little four letter word and I'm still terrified of saying too much.  I just know that I'm falling into something with you that I won't be able to stop, and I don't want to. 

Right now I would give anything to look up into your beautiful warm eyes and hear you tell me that you care.  Instead, I'll do just as you said and let the hot water take my tears and my guilt down the drain.

Eden

The odd jumble of shops that made up Main street seemed to lean into each other for support in the heavy summer heat.  Inside the grocery store, a tired sounding man announced over the wireless that it was the sixteenth straight day of record breaking temperatures, and to please remember to wear adequate sun protection and not run the sprinklers between the hours of eleven and six.
A girl in a sundress perched on the curb, long pale legs stretched before her and a book draped across her lap.  She sat hunched, squinting down at the bleached white pages that reflected the glaring light.  Her auburn curls were messily tumbling around her shoulders and she didn't look up as the purr of an engine approached.  The door slammed in the parking space to her left and she flipped the page.
"Excuse me, miss?"
"Hmmm?"  Her eyes didn't leave the page.  He waited for a moment and then seemed to decide that this was as much of an acknowledgement as he was likely to receive. 
"Well, you don't know where a fellow could get a bite to eat around her, do you?  I'm just passing through, a visitor..."  She snorted, still not looking up.
"You're all just visitors.  But yes, I suppose I do.  Wait a moment, I'm almost done with this chapter and the Count is about to escape the Château d'If..."  He stood, idly fingering a quarter and watching her as she sucked a deep breath in through her teeth.
"Poor old Abbé Faria.  You wanted to eat?  This way."  With surprising speed she was on her feet and tucking the book into her bag, she had taken three steps before she realized the stranger was still watching from the curb.  "You hungry or not?  The Colonel's has cold soda and sandwiches.  Come on."

The shop was refreshingly dark and cool, the girl strode confidentially to the boy behind the counter and pointed at the pastries.
"Un croissant s'il vous plaît!"  The boy looked bored but seemed to understand because he put the buttery treat into a brown sack and handed it to her over the register.  The sandwhiches were in a big case at the back, the man found a salami on rye and followed her to the counter.  It was plain but fresh, and they had an excellent view of the main street.
"This is such a quaint little town."  She shot him a venomous look, before delicately unwrapping her buttery paistrie. 
"I despise the word quaint, it's entirely condescending.  I suppose my town is just as important and yours or any others, if not more.  We just have the misfortune of aesthetically pleasing buildings." 
"Well, of course, no disrespect meant..." They fell back into silence.  Finally he crumpled the sandwich wrapper and stood.
"I don't mean to bother you further, but you don't happen to know of a boarding establishment in town? It seems my plans have unexpectedly changed and I have no reservation."  She laughed for the first time, and looked him directly in the eye.
"You're lucky for this heat, normally you can't get a room from here until Augusta in July...but this heat has been keeping all the visitors away.  No one likes a whale watch if they're sweating too hard to see the puffins.  I'll show you to Mrs. Peabody's."  She waited for him to gather his hat and then swung the door open with the tinkle of a bell.  The boy watched them leave the shop, his eyes following the yellow dress until it was down the street. 

The old Victorian house was set by the water, the girl stopped at the end of the drive and pointed.  "I've got to be getting on home now, but you're close enough.  Priscella will put you up for a fair price.  Goodbye."  And with that, she was off down the lane, whistling a melody and swinging her bag until she was out of sight.  
Priscella Peabody was a kind woman, a widower who told him the story of her late husband's untimely death at sea while she checked him in. 
"It was a horrible Nor'easter, the worst we've seen in nigh on fifty years, completely unexpected!  Two fishing boats didn't come back that night, and two others who had gone out to look at the swells never came back.  Poor Mr. Peabody, he left me with this old family house and it was all I could do to fix it up.  Now, you'll be in the room on the second floor-it's usually let but you're in luck, I just had a cancellation last minute this afternoon.  Oh, Mr. Peabody would be proud if he saw the place today!  We do very well for ourselves, of course some summers are better then others, but hey you can only reap what you plant my mother used to say.  Now breakfast is at eleven, and the bath is at the end of the hall.  Do enjoy your evening and let me know if there is anything at all I can do for you."  

The room was pleasant enough, decorated in the old style with chintz chairs and a four posted bed.  It was a tad bit feminine for the man, but then he supposed he had never had much of a taste for interior decorations.  He set out his shaving things and then changed into his pajamas, pondering the events of the day.  The girl in the yellow dress, his friend's unexpected cancellation; yes overall he supposed it had all been quite exhausting.  He pulled the covers close, despite the heat, and let himself drift off into oblivion. 

Morning seemed to come almost as quickly as he had closed his eyes.  The sun stretched it's long fingers across the bed as he had neglected to close the blinds the night before, though he didn't suppose that it would matter because once again the debilitating heat had descended.  
By the time he made it downstairs for breakfast all the other guests had departed, when he told Mrs. Peabody that he supposed he would just take another stroll around town and take in the scenery she insisted on giving him her guidebook and a good bit of her own advice as to the local attractions.  Armed with these, he set off on foot.

"Thunder Hole, the majestic beauty of the rocky coast meets the power of the ocean as waves sweep into an underground chasm and boom over the boulders.  The unwary visitor is likely to be soaked by ten to fifteen foot rushes."  The hole seemed not to be in the mood to thunder, instead it let out a soft "plunk" as each wave crested and then swept back out to see.  Craning over the guardrail, the man watched with disappointment as a bit of flotsam drifted in, and out, and then back in the underwater cave again.  A far cry from the grand and frightening spectacle promised.  Turning away, he noticed a familiar bunch of auburn curls on the other side of the observing platform.  She was in a red dress today, and her book was nowhere in sight. For a moment he stood watching her; she seemed deep in contemplation with little furrows in her brow.  As he approached he could hear her murmuring to herself, 
Eighty-seven, eighty-eight, eighty-nine..."
"Counting time?"  She didn't seem at all startled to see him standing so close to her, she glanced back at the water.
"No, the waves.  I can never seem to make a hundred.  Ninety, or was that ninety-one?  Damn." 
"Awe, shucks I am sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you."
"No matter, I'll just come back tomorrow."
"Well, what are you doing now?  If you have a minute, perhaps you could show me..." he consulted Mrs. Peabody's dog-eared guide book, "Sand Beach?  Or Bubble Rock?"  She shrugged, still watching the water rush in and out.
"Sand beach is just a bunch of old ground up sea-shells, and bubble rock is just a silly stone that happens to be on the side of the mountain.  Probably always will be, if the McAllister boys couldn't push it over with a levy.  But sure, I have nothing much to do anyway."  

The morning was spent in a very pleasant fashion, she was indeed a much better guide then the thirty-some-odd year old advice his book offered.  At her insistence they skipped bubble rock and went into town for cold Italian ice instead.  They walked up and down the streets eating it and looking into the little shops and restaurants.  
"Used to be big hotels all through here, until the great fire.  My mother said it was an act of God that started it, burning all the wealth away and leaving something here for us locals.  I don't know if I believe in God, but it sure was a great convenience for folks that had been trying to buy land for years and couldn't compete."  

He didn't quite know what to say to this, but she didn't seem to want a response anyway; she was leading the way to a park bench on the green.  Behind them the town clock chimed six pm, and the whistle at the fire-station across town let out a wheeze.  Looking at her, he realized for the first time that her eyes were the exact color of the ocean, blue and grey with little flecks of gold.  For the first time, he realized that he had never even asked her name.  She noticed him staring, and just as he was about to speak she stood.
"I had best be off home.  This really was quite the pleasant day.  You're not such a bore, after all I suppose."  He gave a half laugh, wondering and rather hoping that this was her attempt at humor.  "You had better be getting off home too now, there's a storm blowing in."  She gestured at the trees, and sure enough he realized that their rustling had increased by ten fold in the last quarter hour.
"Can I give you a lift somewhere?  I don't want you to get caught out in bad weather..."  She just shook her head and started off on a path across the green opposite from the direction they had come.  She was nearly fifty paces when she turned and raised her voice against the rising wind;
"You have anything...after...?"  He shook his head, gesturing that he couldn't understand and she cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted, "You have anything to do after dinner?"  He shook his head again and she smiled and called once more "Meet me at Thunder Hole around nine, it will be a spectacular show tonight."  

Priscella Peabody fussed over him all through dinner, continuously pushing servings on to him until he declared that he was too stuffed to eat another mouthful.  "Well now, you had best be parking your car in our garage tonight, that storm is fixing to set in and I don't think she'll be leaving before the morning.  And I'll put some extra blankets in your room, warm as it is-perhaps this will finally break the heat.  A good thunderstorm might be just what this town needs, yes indeed."
"I was thinking I might take the car out once more and get a look at Thunder Hole, you know before the storm really sets in."  Priscella nearly dropped the plate she had just removed from his place and turned on the spot.
"Of all the foolhardy ideas, of course you shouldn't go down, don't you know the swells get to be fifteen feet above the cliff?  You visitors and your hair-brained ideas.  No, you had best just go upstairs and go to bed and wait for it all to blow over."  
Fifteen minutes later however when it became clear that she wasn't going to convince him out of his plan she insisted on dressing him in an old yellow slicker and pair of boots that had been her late husbands. 
"Well, he certainly doesn't need them anymore and I just can't be a good christian and send you out in a storm with nothing but that light sweater.  Come on now, are you sure you don't want the hat as well?  No?  Well all right then, I'll leave a light in the hall on for you.  Of all the ridiculous ideas..." She continued her monologue about ignorant visitors even as he let the front door close behind him.

The wind had picked up even more now, there were leaves dancing around him as he leaned into the brewing gale.  The road looked different at night, and he nearly missed the pull off that had seemed so obvious in daylight.  He sat hunched in his car for a moment, wondering if he shouldn't perhaps just listen to the innkeeper's advice and turn tail for home, when he spotted her on the rocks below.  Taking a deep breath he opened the door and plunged into the night. The rain had started falling now, big slow drops at first but soon coming down faster and harder, stinging the uncovered skin on his face and neck.  He was grateful to the late Mr. Peabody for his slicker that preserved the illusion that parts of him were dry.  
Reaching the guard rail, he let out a great halloo, but the wind seemed to whip his voice out of his throat before it could reach his lips let alone the solitary figure on the rocks below.  He slowly began inching his way down the steps and over the slick rock to the observing platform.  The docile plunking of earlier had been replaced by the loud WHOOSH and KAPASH of water being forced mercilessly into the tiny underground opening; when he was halfway down he could see the white tail of a monster as it rushed into the chasm.  A moment of silence seemed more shocking than any of the pandemonium, and then the explosion of water engulfed him.  Ten, twelve, fifteen feet in the air and rising still further, thrown up by some powerful underground demon.  He shivered and steadied himself on the rail, inching further and further to the lone girl who was standing stock still.  
She didn't seem to see him, even when he was right beside her.  Her eyes were unfocused and her lips were moving, once again.
"Ninety-three, ninety-four, ninety-five, ninety-six, ninety-seven, ninety-seven, ninety-seven..."  Gently he put a hand on her arm and she came out of her reverie, calmly. 
"I never can get past ninety-seven."  
"This is amazing, fantastic!"  She simply nodded and pointed at the rocks bellow.  
"This is where I come to feel alive."  She seemed vulnerable, for the first time just then.  Something like sadness was in her eyes and instinctively he put an arm around her.  She didn't shrug it away, and they stood there for a moment, in the heart of the storm watching the world crash around them.  Finally she turned and looked straight into his eyes.
"There's something even better than this, you know."  He smiled down at her, thinking how sweet it felt to have her small frame in his arms.
"You're the guide, show me."  She pointed, on the other side of the guard rail there was a rock that jutted out over the watery chasm.  It was barely six feet away, but in the madness that six feet was an incalculable distance. 
"You're not serious...."  Before he could finish the sentence she had darted out from beneath his arm and slipped under the rail.  In two steps and a short leap she was on top of the rock, laughing and smiling for him to join her.   Taking a deep breath and clenching sweaty palms, he edged his way under the metal rail.  Gripping it firmly behind him with both hands he searched carefully for his next footing on the wet rock.  Step by agonizing step he moved across the gap, until finally he stretched his arms forward and finally grasped the wet boulder and pulled himself up.  
She was lying at the pinnacle, waiting, and when he finally hunched himself down beside her she grabbed fistfuls of his curly brown hair and pulled him into a long embrace.  When they broke apart she was looking into his eyes again.
"You're much braver than you look."  He smiled despite himself and then laughed in surprise when another monstrous wave sent a cascade of foam up past their heads.  They lay there, together for some minutes until she seemed to come alive again.
"You know, I really am very sorry.  Very sorry indeed.  You're such a nice man, this was a horrible thing to do."  
"Don't be sorry-I'm perfectly fine and I'm enjoying the hell out of this.  You really do know how to show a fellow a good time."
"You see, when I first met you, you were just another stranger, but now I feel I know you which is why I'm so sorry..."  Impulsively he pulled her into another kiss.  He felt her body sink into his, and then harden again.  Breaking away he only had time for a glimpse at the tear on her cheek before her arm was under him, shoving hard- he was falling and then, a cold wet plunge into eternity.  

Back at the inn Mrs. Peabody was packing a man's things into an old ceder chest.  Glancing towards the door she clutched her chest in surprise before turning back to the bed.
"My goodness, Anna, must you always sneak up on me like that?  It's not good for an old woman's nerves!" The girl in the yellow dress watched the woman bustle about, languidly picking at the hem of her skirt.
"It's done, you know."
"Well I figured as much, since you're here.  I don't know why you needed my help with this, it seems you had everything just fine and under control on your own thank you very much."  The girl shrugged, sighing. 
"This is how it's meant to be.  Here.  I'll make the bed for you, I'm restless.  Get some sleep."  The woman cast a dark look toward her, but did as the girl bid and shut the trunk with a snap.
"Well, good night then.  But don't you go mixing with my regular guests now, I'm trying to run an establishment of good repute here."  When the woman had left, the girl wandered over to a chest of drawers in the corner of the room.  Lovingly she pulled out a red frock, and then a yellow twin to the one she was wearing.  Finally she swept her fingers along the back of the drawer, and gently brought out an old yellowed clipping from the back.  

The Bar Harbor Times, 30th July, 1934. 
Three are confirmed dead and four more are still missing after the storm that tore through the town last tuesday evening.  Mr. Peabody along with the crew of his boat and Mr. Jones and his vessel never returned to the dock after getting caught in the nor'easter.  Anna Summers and her fiance Samuel Grant were last seen on the rocks near Thunder Hole where they had gone sightseeing.  Summers, 24, and Grant, 26 were planning to be married this coming August at the Ledgelawn inn.  Details of funeral arrangements are forthcoming. 

The girl brushed her fingers across her smiling likeness in black and white.  "They're never as smart as you were, Sam.  Goodnight."  Shutting the drawer with a snap, she caught up a copy of The Count of Mote Cristo and with a flick of a yellow hem was gone.

Daydreaming

Six and a half hours later and I wake with my phone affixed to my cheek.
"Mmmmm, don't go-" Opening my eyes I immediately squeeze them shut again and desperately try to return to the beautiful dream.  But now, my pillow stubbornly remains a pillow and the curly brown locks have been replaced with the cold grey of my laptop.
"Damn."  No pretending now, so I slide out of bed and throw the blue robe over my shorts.  It's an optimistic gesture for this town in the dead of winter, my toes curl against the cold linoleum.  The tea is better made on the stove but instead I slide the mug into the microwave and stand hugging myself for two minutes, until the too-cheerful DING!  Sitting at the table, I can no longer stop my thoughts from wandering.
"Wake up.  Wake up wake up wake up, you must be dreaming. There is no way that someone would care this much for you, for you who has heard for years that you don't deserve true tenderness."  And yet... this newly found independence has been invigorating.  Three weeks since my last crying fit, longer since the last time I couldn't breath-making daring decisions and remembering not to ask permission. 
I am remembering myself, I suppose.  And no, I can't give myself away again just yet-but somehow I think I might have already begun without even realizing. 
Outside the sleet is making the drive into a sheet of ice, but the tea is warming my fingers and my phone happily buzzes. 
I can't help but to smile.  I have a world to discover; dinners and hockey games and long walks to the fairgrounds.  There are hikes and inside jokes and strong arms that want to hold me tight.  And I have myself to fall in love with again. 
The sleet falls and my bed is seducing me back into it's warm depths; it really is a lovely day in this tiny town.