Transplanted Grass

I could remember stepping out of the airport for the first time and sheilding my eyes from the sun, like a lazy salute to the blue Virginia sky. This land had long been tamed and industrialized. That's the thing about this city, it's rich history, dusty buildings, and bumper to bumper traffic seem to be all it has to offer and I could see right away that what I had feared wasn't too far off from reality. Unfortuntly, there weren't any small drive-thru coffee shops, There wasn't anyone on the side of the road selling hand-knitted blankets and art, and there were no quirky characters unabashedly dancing in public. It was just like any other big city, in any other part of the Untied States, all business and no soul.

Virginia life was nothing like Oregon, a land the wild pine trees had claimed for themselves. My life there had been filled with the color green, sunshine through leaves and also somtimes quiet rain and coffee. The ocean had been a short walk away from my home and somtimes I would sit on the half-sunken dock and breathe in the cold coastal air. On the weekends especially, I could smell the fresh clam chowder being cooked at the small mom-and-pop restaurant by the dock. In the winter when it would storm, the ocean would rage and smash against the rocks violently creating white fireworks easily fifteen feet into the sky. My first time seeing this feirce display, I felt powerless and afraid, but also so full of wonder and respect for mother nature.

It had been almost a year and I still dreamt of the ocean often, the frigid and inhospitable water roaring and thrashing against the cliff in a warning to stay back. At one point in my life I had longed to dive in, to be forever claimed by the sea. I imagined myself floating gently among the seaweed, indistinguishable from the sediment, the way nature had intended me to decompose.

At that time, I was sure that the deceased were not meant to be put away hastily like groceries, or folded laundry, or books on a shelf, nor should they be buried in a box like treasure as if they are any different than the grass they step on. I certainly had never felt any different than the trees, or rocks, or the summer breeze. Maybe that's why I felt suffocated here in the city, living in the towering shadows of the cold dead slabs of concrete. The people here were sad walking ghosts, lumbering about day to day life with solemn downcast eyes. Even the city lights at night, somthing people say they find beautiful, left me feeling empty. I missed the stars and the mountains and the way rain smelled when it hit soft dirt instead of dusty buildings.

I lived on the second floor of the apartments at "The Point" so I had a good view of the park from where I sat by the window. The worn leather of my recliner awash with the pale sunlight that peeked through the winter clouds. It had snowed this morning and the park was dreary and empty except for the small white mounds of fresh snow covering the playground equipment. The apartment itself was quiet except for the light rattling of a light fixture that shook every time the neighbors upstairs did a load of laundry.

I sat there in the silence, taking it in like a punishment and sulking, I scooped a spoonful of ice cream out of a carton and pulled an M&M off the spoon. I held it in between my fingers and let the the melting vanilla run slugishly down the side of my thumb. I found myself absentmindedly staring at the jar of sand I had on top of my bookshelf. It was a jar of sand from Bastendorf Beach in Oregon that was gifted to me before my move here.

I imagined what summer at the pool would be like here and how the sun would reflect off the water creating white diamonds in the sea of greenish blue. I could almost smell the chlorine and sunscreen. I wanted to feel the hot concrete under my feet before diving in the cool water. The pool at my apartments was now as close to the beach as I would get in this city. I looked at my winter body, soft and lumpy, cursed the snow outside, and popped the M&M in my mouth.

I knew that eventually I could get used to this city. I might even grow to love it. Of course, time would tell. I would be okay eventually, afterall I was no different than the trees, or rocks, or summer breeze, or even the grass I step on. After all, if grass can be transplanted, than I can too. I'm just transplanted grass. Maybe when spring comes and the snow melts. Perhaps when the soft breeze brushes past me carrying the hint of blooming flowers, like like airy love letter to my lungs I will feel less suffocated, less like an intruder in this city. Maybe when the birds start chirping and the squirrels run in long lazy spirals up the trees in the park, maybe then I will fall in love with Virginia and it will feel anything but tame. Or perhaps when summer comes full of sunshine and laughter. I might find that missing soul poolside as the children splash and play. My winter body, which to be honest is just my regular body, and I will sit there on the edge of the pool in a bright floral one-peice and a giant sun hat, a big lump of white among the sea of blue. And maybe, just maybe, I will be happy. Maybe after a while I won't even think of the Oregon ocean anymore and the seagulls mournful warning cry will fade in my ears until I can no longer remember what it sounds like.