The sunbeams softly settled on my stretched-out body. These days in Georgia were the best, and with it being the first week of vacation and all, everything was just about perfect. My life was a heaven. With a cool drink in hand, I felt like anything was possible. I had no idea how true that was. “Maria! Come! Uncle Jacob wants to take you for a ride on the boat!” My mother was also enjoying the vacation, as evidenced by the bounce in her voice. I rolled off the lounging chair and headed down to the strip of private beach where the water shimmered and the sand was as warm as a bed. Uncle Jacob stood there, his towering figure looming above me. “Come on, Maria!” My heart developed a dull sort of ache at that name. I missed the nickname Ria. It was my father’s nickname for me. Was. Ever since that terrible storm on these very waters, where the boat, like a bucking bronco, had thrown my father off, the word was had been my enemy. These shores should petrify me. I should be unable to wade in these waters. But, though these waves hold terrible memories, they also hold all that I have left of Dad. Pushing away the feeling that made me want to crumple and cry, I grinned. Shielding my eyes from the blinding rays of sun, I skipped down to the water, my golden hair swinging around my freckled face. The motorboat stood there, majestic and waiting. “Lady Amy.” My grandmother. Lovely woman, Gran Amy was. At least her death was natural. But the real power is that Dad is always with me The spray of the surf bounded across my face. I was a bird. I was soaring. “Maria! You liking it?” I nodded, showing on my face all the words that wouldn’t come out of my mouth. The sky above me was liquid sapphire. The waters were a shade of blue-green, like someone had mixed that liquid sapphire with a sparkling emerald. The houses on the shore jutted out and were the size of marbles. Dentil Island was right ahead. Plunging my head into the soothing ripples, I caught glimpses of colorful schools of fish. Suddenly, my heart gave a leap. There was that fish! My father and I always saw it. More like used to always see it. We didn’t know its name, so my father dubbed it the Ria fish. The Ria fish bounced on the water, in the way that used to make us laugh. I reached out, wanting to feel its glimmering scales. Experience had taught me that the Ria fish actually liked to be touched by humans, if you were gentle. Dad and I were. A gust of wind tugged at me. I thought that the breeze would ease me closer to the Ria fish. But it didn’t. “Uncle Jaco… augh!” I spluttered. The pitiless wind swooped me off the deck. The boat underneath my fumbling fingers was pulling away. Uncle Jacob had just noticed me fall, but it was too late. The waves were crashing upon me, denying me the right to speak. The surf consumed my body, shoving it down the waves. The spray darted around the boat and dove into my eyes. Salty water settled itself on my tongue, filling my mouth with the horrid taste of seawater. The ripples were now mini tsunamis. As soon as I came above the raging water, a new wave lapped over me, and I disappeared beneath the sea again. Fighting to come up, I realized it was no use. I was losing oxygen. The disoriented figure of Uncle Jacob was too far. I couldn’t reach. I gasped, water burning me down. I closed my eyes and let it overwhelm me. When I was sure I was dead, I opened my eyes but was completely astonished. I was in an underwater grotto, and everything was now calm and still. I took a breath. Nothing. The fire wasn’t there. Seaweed hung in beautiful draperies, and I thought to myself, Well, being dead doesn’t seem to be that bad. As I glanced around, out of the sea mist came a figure. Instead of running away, I squinted. I knew this man… I leapt into his arms. Dad. “Dad! How… what… Dad, aren’t you…” The word didn’t come. I hadn’t uttered it since the day of Dad on the boat. If someone said it in my presence, the tears would quickly emerge. “Dad, if you… if you’re here… am I…” Dad grinned cheekily, as only he could grin. “No, Ria. I only have a short time with you, anyway, sweetie.” I nodded, burying my face in his seaweed-smelling shirt. Hearing the name Ria lit a spark in me on a candle I thought had gone out forever. “Dad, I saw a Ria fish!” I needed to tell him the news. It was the only way to start the conversation. Dad nodded. “I know. I was the Ria fish.” My heart practically stopped. “What?” Dad chuckled. “Hon, it’s magic. Just a little, though.” My face lit up. “Can you do some now?” My dad’s face suddenly showed lines of unfamiliar weariness. “It takes a lot out of me, Ria. But…” I held up my hand. “Don’t hurt yourself any more than you need to.” I wasn’t about to let my already gone father hurt himself. Dad’s weary face morphed into a bright one. “You know, you haven’t changed a bit, Ria.” I beamed. Then I remembered. “Dad, why do you want me here anyway? I mean, besides actually seeing me.” Dad nodded, his face growing serious now. He held up a purple-and-green beaded necklace, a figurine of a Ria fish hanging from it. “I told myself I would give this to you when you grew up. It belonged to my mother’s mother. But I added the Ria fish. Anyway, after the whole boat thing, I realized you would always be a
May/June 2016
Nature’s Canvas (Bayard Cutting Arboretum)
Peaceful river waves whisper nature all around me. My pen reaches into calm breeze. Sunshine on water makes the blue look like someone broke pieces of gold and threw them in. Every wave pops up, meets soft green leaves. My feet drag against rocks. I am just trying to make my way through nature’s galaxy. A boat in the distance starts moving toward us. Then—a dead stop. When it moves again, it is a seagull flying. The boat passes rows of homes, its motor interrupting the blue water’s turn to speak. Very rude of you, speedboat. A man on the other bench meditates. He should be able to enjoy silence. Yeah, speedboat, he should. I move away from shade and my brother shows me a great egret catching a fish. Two egrets and a swan converse. We watch a slow tortoise rise from the water and kayak toward us and the poor gargantuan tree tortured with graffiti. But the tree offers shade and shade and walking are the prerequisites of parks, as is trying to remember your brain’s best poetic errands. Like I just did. It’s not hard if you jump in the waves and swim in the land of thoughts. Rainer Pasca, 9Bay Shore, New York
The Blue Jays’ Song
Ciela frowned. She tossed the last of her shirts into the faded lavender suitcase, then collapsed on the dusty floor, sighing. She gazed around the room for the last time. It had been stripped bare of every single object Ciela possessed and now seemed strange and unfamiliar, as though it belonged in a different house. She could still picture it exactly the way it used to be. Nestled comfortably under the alcove was a narrow bed, the plush covers askew. Curtains that Ciela had designed herself caressed the window, incandescent with the light of a summer morning. The peridot carpet was frequently peppered with random objects—a stray hair elastic or a purple fluorescent pen. A towering cupboard leaned against the corner, an army of haphazardly arranged items perched on top. She didn’t like using a bookcase— it was a jail cell for all those wonderful stories—so all of her books were categorized into ever-changing piles against the wall. But best of all was the ceiling, a complex yet beautiful replica of the inky nighttime sky, stars scattered across its expanse. Ciela had memorized every single constellation by heart. But that bedroom now seemed miles away, and Ciela forced it to the back of her mind. That was from her old life. A life she would never be able to get back. Faintly, she heard a tap at the door. After a few seconds of silence, there was a deep sigh and the unoiled door creaked open. She could still picture it exactly the way it used to be “Hi, sweetie.” Ciela’s dad’s voice was deep and resonant, and always calmed her. But now she could hear traces of sadness buried somewhere inside it. His face looked different from the one Ciela knew; his mouth was a thin, white line stretched across his face; his eyes were somber and humorless; the lines on his forehead seemed to have deepened. He said the words as though they caused him pain. “It’s time to go.” Ciela sat up. She reached out and touched the walls that held so many memories. Goodbye, her mind whispered to her bedroom. Then she came to her feet and, without a second glance, stalked out the open door. Ciela didn’t say anything, but her father saw it all in his daughter’s eyes, and it stung. How could you do this to me? * * * The weathered SUV veered into a narrow driveway, gravel crunching below its chunky wheels. The house was small and rectangular, its cream paint job chipped and curling in places. It sat squatly, its foundation succumbing to grass that sprouted as far as the eye could see. Gangly trees clustered in the front yard, their slender arms spread wide, marking their territory. Some branches stretched so far out that their leaves brushed the house, green against pale cream. Don’t come in, they seemed to say. Behind the house was a wood so densely packed with trees that it looked like a sea of dusky green. There was something unwelcoming about the house that Ciela couldn’t quite place. Maybe it was the fact that the windows weren’t glowing. Maybe it was the absence of the battered basketball hoop in the driveway, or the bicycles that weren’t propped against the garage door. It wasn’t home. Ciela’s intense gray eyes scanned the place where she was going to live. Suddenly, she felt a wave of nausea wash over her. The tight interior of the car brought out her claustrophobia, and staring at the house didn’t help. With a shaky hand, she opened the heavy door and stepped outside. Her dad rolled down the misted window. “Ciela, you OK?” He looked concerned, his face more lined than usual. “I’m fine,” she muttered. She heard her dad beginning to lift some suitcases and bags from the car. A cool breeze ruffled her black hair and tickled her scrawny arms. It rippled through the grass, each blade bending in turn. The knot in Ciela’s stomach loosened a little as she stood in the knee-deep grass, her fingers gently skimming the emerald expanse. But then Ciela’s gaze drifted back to the house, and her stomach clenched again. She took one step towards it, another, then halted in her tracks. She could feel a sudden silence, her dad’s eyes boring into the back of her head. Ciela’s nose was an inch away from the peeling paint of the door and her knees were quaking slightly. She stared through the grimy door window, but all she saw was a narrow hallway smothered in darkness. Could this really be the place where she was going to live? Her bones felt hollow. Before she even had time to think, she ran. She only just heard her father’s shout before the wind began to roar through her ears. Those memories would stay with her forever, no matter where she lived Ciela’s head was spinning as green shapes streaked by. She didn’t know exactly where she was going, just away. The air was damp, with the scent of plants lingering in it, and she felt its humid hands wrap around her skin. She had plunged into foliage; dappled shadows played on the earth around her. Ciela’s sandals slapped against the moss-blanketed ground, her hair whipping behind her in a tangled river. She gasped, black spots dancing in front of her eyes. Her heart raced and thundered with every step, her mind swirled in a hurricane of confusion, but Ciela did not stop. She ran until her throat was clenched into a fist, until a sharp stitch had formed at her side, until all the energy was drained from her body. Finally, exhausted and out of breath, Ciela’s legs buckled beneath her. She scooted up against a choppy brown mass that must have been a tree trunk, rested her head against it, and allowed herself a moment of peace. * * * Ciela’s eyes snapped open. She was in the heart of a glade, lustrous light pouring
