Angels of the Ocean

The eerie darkness of that night would never escape my memory. I clearly remember the pitch-black curtain draped over the sky, and the twisted, warped shapes that the stars made against the blackness. The milky speckles twirled and danced along the sky in various patterns, tugging at the corners of my lips in a way that almost made me smile. It was hard to shove aside the worries corrupting my mind, but eventually, I stopped walking over the soft sand below my feet and just... stopped thinking. Nothing from my life could touch me. Not a single thing could harm me. I stared up at the sky and studied the silver glow of the moon. She smiled down at me with love so intense it warmed my soul like a fireplace on a cold winter's night. And there I was, standing on the shore at midnight to escape my life at home, not wanting to do anything but cry. But the look that the moon gave me didn't cause the storm to go on inside of me. Instead, a hot blue fire flickered in my heart and soon started to grow, eating at all of the dark emotions in its path. My worries burned away, and the tears that were starting to form at the corners of my eyes melted down my cold face with a rush of relief.

Crying felt good, especially when they were tears that I didn't want to push away. They weren't drops of sadness, no. They were more like the feelings of joy, relief, happiness and freedom streaming away from my hurt eyes. They were temporary cleaners to wash away the pain. I never cried; it just wasn't me. But that night, under the protection of millions of stars and the beautiful moon, I felt like I could let the floodgates open with a single snap of my fingers. I stared up at the sky and continued to let my pain run away for the moment. The cold midnight waves rolled in and tickled my feet as I stood on the beach, not ever wanting to leave.

The waves were wild horses, rearing up before crashing down onto the beach, pounding the sand with their white foam hooves. They were comforting, in a way. They seemed to wash away my worries, something that no human could do. But there was still him.

He had tousled dark brown hair, which was thick and lustrous. His eyes were a mesmerizing deep ocean blue, flecks of silvery light performed ballets throughout. His face was strong and defined, as if his features were molded from granite. He had dark eyebrows, which sloped downwards in a serious expression. His usually playful smile had drawn into a hard line across his face. His strong hands, slightly rough from working, held mine as he stared deep into my eyes. I couldn't help but blush. His smile etched its way back into his face. His body was warm and toned as he hugged me, comforting to the touch. His voice was deep, with an serious tone.

If anyone could wipe my tears away, it would be Jack.

"Are you ready to go inside yet?" he asked.

"I don't know..." I wiped away another tear, gazing at the stars as they shone brightly against the darkness of night. I leaned against him, his steady, firm heartbeat comforting me.

"You'll have to tell them, even if they disapprove." I looked up to meet his blue eyes, and leaned in to give him a soft kiss. I turned towards the deep, vast sea. I still couldn't believe that after 6 years, he just...showed up at my door.

The ocean had always conjured comforting ideas into my mind. Whenever I was frazzled in the head I would close my eyes and visit it, dive right in, feeling the cool caress of the brine.

"I still don't understand. Where have you been all these years? You weren't there to comfort me when my mom died, you weren't there when my sister was born. You were my best friend."

"I know, and I'm sorry. But it's a long story." He looked sincere in his apology, so I hugged him tightly before standing up and dusting the sand off of me.

"I guess it doesn't matter. All that does is that you're here now." I smiled, my long, wavy, blonde hair falling like a curtain in front of my face. Jack reached and tucked it behind my ear, and I sighed, my mind flashing back to 6 years ago.

First: my mother. My mother had a kind of understated beauty, perhaps it was because she was so disarmingly unaware of her prettiness. Her skin was completely flawless. I doubt she used face masks or expensive products, that really wasn't her m.o. She was all about simplicity, making things easy, helping those around her to relax and be happy with what they have. Perhaps that is why her skin glowed so, it was her inner beauty that lit her eyes and softened her features. When she smiled and laughed you couldn't help but smile along too, even if it was just on the inside. To be in her company was to feel that you too were someone, that you had been warmed in summer rays regardless of the season. I lived with her in the floor above the bakery, a little space but cozy nonetheless. Every weekday morning at 5:30 a.m, we would head downstairs, preheat the ovens, and get to work for the day.

And so I had stood in the bakery, eagerly jumping up and down, desperate for a piece of my favorite red velvet cake. Jack had darted past the bakery, eyes lit up with mischief; he was poor, and probably looking for something to steal. I snatched a croissant from the shelf and ran out of the store, hoping to catch up to him.

"Wait! You must be hungry!" I yelled. He stopped and spun around quicker than I had been able to blink my eyes.

"What?"

"Here." I thrust the croissant at his chest and turned to walk away.

"Wait! What's your name?" he yelled after me, clutching the croissant like it was a priceless piece of treasure.

"Emma. Yours?"

"Jack."

I only saw him again through the bakery window, and I would often sneak him a cupcake or a loaf of bread. We would meet at the park once every week, feeding the ducks in Miller's pond and chasing squirrels up trees.

In fact, we both learned sign language so that we could talk to each other through the window, sneaking in comments and giggling as my mother called me back to keep an eye on whatever pastry was in the oven at that time. His eyes would dance back and forth, darting from cake to muffin to croissant. I even invented a game where I would grab two sugary snacks, and then guessed which one he would have chosen. If I was right, he got the pastry. If not, we proceeded to try again and again until he got a snack.

My mother scolded me for sneaking the food.

"Those are for people who can buy them! If you give them all away, how will we make money?" she would question, wagging a flour-covered finger at me.

"But mom, he can't afford it! He needs it."

"Food is money. Money is survival."

"Please, mom?" I would plead, small tears forming in my eyes.

"Fine. But only three pastries per week, not three per day," she had replied, shaking her beautiful head.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" I bombarded her with hugs and showered her with kisses.

A few weeks later, my wonderful mother died. I was 13.

And all her life she had feared death, suppressed dealing with the notion, never ready to depart. Always for her there would be tomorrow and the day after. As she'd aged she'd kept company with older folks, after all, if they were still living then she was young. But there came a day when every one of her older friends had passed on and a fair few of the younger ones too. Time was no longer her casual acquaintance, but leading her steadily onward whether her feet wanted to follow or not. But death seized her long before it was her time.

The day of the funeral, Jack came up to me. He took my hand, held it open, and dropped a few silver coins in it.

"Jack, you know I can't take this. I have plenty of money from the bakery. It's okay." I tried to give them back to him, but he shook his head.

"It's a gift. Please take it. I won't be here much longer...my dad decided that we had to move because of...well, money." he said, and I tried to talk, but his fingers stopped my lips from moving. He pulled me into a tight hug, and I never wanted to leave. But he had to.

I have never spent those coins.

After all of that, I fled to my little beach, a place I would never be alone. As long as I had the ocean, I was safe. I was secure. Then Jack showed up at my door 6 years later, and everything changed. He had been here for only hours, and I felt enough emotions to last a lifetime in one day.

So here I am, in this moment. My tears have dried, my worries have gone. Jack will never leave me again. Together we will always be, with the ocean at my side. I glanced once more at the shimmering lights in the sky, and closed my eyes as Jack and I left the beach, leaving the unspoken promise of coming back again tomorrow.