Sense-of-Place

My damp hair lies strangled on my sweaty shoulders. The air around me covers every bit of me with heat, and continues to close in on me. My hair clings and knots on my swirly tie-dyed top. It swirls along with the oranges, reds and yellows. As we bounce up and down along the dusty gray, brown South African road, pictures of my father and sister far away bounce along with my stomach. Suddenly the car stops, my mind begins to swirl with thoughts: Did we break down? This can’t be good. My aunt’s smooth voice bounces out of the car with her tall dark body. The dust shines in her eyes. As she gleams in pleasure the wind pulls and pushes her, pulling her into its clutches, as if to smother her with a kiss. The dust is rising into the sky, swirling, taking away all hopes of being able to see. “Calm down, settle back into the ground, dust,” my mom whispers to me jokingly. And then, like it knows what she said, the dust gently floats to the ground. From the dust is rising a forest of cactus, rose hips and tiny shrubs. A chorus of sighs rises in the silence. I begin to talk but my mother hushes me. “This place is nothing like the hot busy streets of New York; enjoy it while you have it,” she says. The rose hips have tiny green stems protruding from big luscious fruits, each the size of a golf ball, the color of blood. I stick my nose out of the car and take a sniff. I smell something salty. Something not at all like the cruddy, cigarette-butt-covered sidewalks that I always used to wake up to. This something smells like something salty, but with the same sweetness as a newly unwrapped candy. My aunt says that it is the ocean and I think that it is the love that is in this place. We stand there against the wind, looking out onto the ocean before us. The wind dries up all the sandy sweat off our bodies, sweeping it off gently. A big gust of wind brings the gritty sand and harsh salt mist into our eyes, making them tear as we walk blinded into the sand. When the sand finally comes out of our eyes, gray seagulls hit and dive across the sky, chasing tiny bugs. Their young sit in their nests, cawing for their mother or taking their first flight. The shell seems magical, as it rests in my hand, sending waves through my body “Each tiny bird spreads its sticky wings and is gone, just like that,” my mother snaps, then stares into her hand as she slowly drops it into the sand. The sun is dipping into its blue blanket, and is making the sky into a fuchsia blob. “An ocean is a mural, of a part of a big idea, the beginning of a memory” My father used to say things like that. “Life is a canvas that goes on forever right above the water and anything can be painted on it,” and I would roll my eyes and walk away. But now I know what he meant, and I can see the paintbrush painting. I stand in the sand, my feet slowly sinking, my mind racing with memories, then like a bullet I run splashing into the white foam, my toes numbed. Then I run crashing out of the waves and rush into my mother’s arms, burying my face in her shoulder, my knees wobbling and my feet blue. I lift my head to her ear and whisper that the water has frozen icicles in my brain. She laughs and blows in my ear. “I am all better now,” I say. “Good,” she says and we talk and giggle until I know she’s still a kid inside. We stand there for a second under our fuchsia sky, as pale blue clouds lazily roll through the sky, and my mother’s baked cookies smell fills the air. I take a deep breath in and smell the sweet, salty ocean, cookies and car sweat—and the corners of the sky seem to lift and say, “I feel the same way.” There is only one thing missing: a souvenir, something that I could paint a mural of in the sky when I got home. And then something sparkles, shining like a diamond. I run from my mother’s grasp, and into the icy water. But now I do not feel the coldness or see my feet turn blue. My mind is focused on something. The water pulls from the sand and the something goes with it, slowly toppling over itself, and then it is gone. The water pushes towards the sand and it shines like a star. I dash for it and quickly pick it up. I rub it, shining it on my shirt as I walk back up the beach. I move it from hand to hand, massaging it, making it burn my hands. One side has a metallic glaze and the other is just a shiny black shell. The shell seems magical, as it rests in my hand, sending waves through my body. All of a sudden a little hand reaches from behind me and snags the shell. I turn quickly to see my tiny cousin’s gold locks swiftly moving down the beach and into my aunt’s arms, her pink cheeks flushed and her little body heaving. I want so badly to scream, to run towards her and snatch the shell from her tiny fragile hands. But all I can do is cry. The hot tears stream down my face, making tiny bubbles in my eyes. I rub the tears away and run towards her. Tiny bits of sand fly in the air behind me, making little whirlwinds. I slide across the sand arid kneel before her, pretending to be some humble servant begging for mercy. She smiles but keeps the shell locked in

“Alexandra! Alexandra!” came the excited voice of my younger cousin Clara from the hallway. “You get to take Max and me shopping for Halloween costumes!” I smiled at her seven-year-old excitement as I stepped out into the crisp autumn air, filled with leaves in a hurry to get to the ground. Halloween was coming, and that meant lots of shopping to be done, and that meant I would get to go to my second favorite place in the world: Ellie’s Market. A delicious aroma of pumpkin spice wafted out as I pulled open the door and the cheery jingling of bells met my ears. I had arrived at my second home, and at the counter was my best friend, Cecil, who owned Ellie’s Market with his brother Harry You couldn’t exactly romp and play with Cecil the way two kids would, and that is what many people remember doing with their best friends, but in a way Cecil was even better. He was almost like a grandfather. Oh yes, I had other kid friends, but hanging out with Cecil was fun. Today I greeted him and hurried off to help Clara and Max with their costumes. As I went through eccentric old hats and frilly dresses, looking for just the things to perfect princess and scarecrow costumes, I thought of all that Ellie’s Market meant to me. True, it was only a little larger than my school classroom, and the building was slightly rickety and old, but for such a small place, the number of wonderful memories it held for me and so many others was amazing. Even not so wonderful memories seemed special, like six years ago, when I was six and had come in bawling because of a cut on my knee. Cecil had found a bandage, and the rest of the afternoon had consisted of cocoa, books, and hugs. I had never taken the time to watch the whole sunset before, but now I was entranced Ellie’s Market is a hodgepodge of everything… For one thing, Ellie’s Market is like a community club. Nearly everyone in the neighborhood above the age of six months has been there, and most people visited at least three times a week. The clothes section wasn’t big, but it wouldn’t have been there at all if Cecil and Harry weren’t so friendly. People had wanted to help Ellie’s Market, so they would donate their old-but-gently-used clothes for Cecil to sell, and pretty soon these donations got so large they turned into a whole clothes section! It’s especially helpful for Halloween; you never know when you’ll find the perfect thing, and knowing Cecil, if he finds it first, he’ll save it for you. Our neighborhood was great already, but Ellie’s Market really brought us together. In Christmas season, my family bought our Christmas trees there, when the trees were kept in the empty gravel lot behind the store. In January we could usually do with a new umbrella, and at least five kids drop in every day to buy a little candy. In Ellie’s Market, there’s not only candy, but food, clothes, games, and sometimes a little silverware. Once in a while, Cecil brings in joke-shop items, like a can of “nuts” that a fake snake popped out of when you opened it. The walls are covered with kids’ artworks and in a place of honor by the door is a picture of Ellie, Cecil and Harry’s grandmother. I stare at her a lot in her silver frame on the wood-paneled wall. She died a long time ago so I never knew her, but she looks kind and wise and full of stories to tell—like Cecil. I think Ellie would be proud of him if she could see him now. The floors make a pleasant creaking sound, like trees shaking in the wind. The wooden shelves, tables, and metal racks aren’t in perfect order, but there’s a sense of neatness to them. I can’t quite put a finger on it, but something about all this makes the atmosphere friendly and welcoming. *          *          * When I got home from school the next day, I scurried over to Ellie’s Market to quickly buy some hard candy to suck on while I did my homework. As I reached the corner, I looked up and saw a big neon-yellow sign posted across the door. I only got a glimpse of the word SALE! before a big truck screeched to a stop in front of me and blocked my view. Good! I thought. A sale! But when I reached the door and read the sign, my heart stopped. Ellie’s Market was having a closing sale? Was it a Halloween joke? Ellie’s Market couldn’t be closing! No way. It had to be a prank. Cecil was inside sweeping the floor— the bare floor. It seemed that Cecil and Harry’s friends had come in and cleaned them out of items. Only a few of the familiar racks remained that I was so used to seeing heaped with clothes, and most of the artwork was gone. I gulped and barely managed to choke out, “Cecil?” He looked up. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” he said sadly. “I didn’t want you to be sad for too long.” “You’re—closing?” “Yes. Harry and I will still be here—you know where we live. But the store won’t. “Hey! Cecil! A little hand back here?” called Harry from the back of the store. “Watch the sunset,” Cecil said quietly. “It’s beautiful.” Then he turned and left. It couldn’t be happening. Ellie’s Market had made up a big part of my life—it couldn’t just close! I sat on my bed and sobbed. Gone? My favorite hangout and my second favorite place in the whole wide world was gone? I didn’t answer when my mom called for dinner, and my homework lay neglected. Even Max and Clara couldn’t cheer me up. I wanted to be alone. It was a week before I remembered what Cecil