FictionPress.com - let the words flow| FictionPress.com - let the words flow |
| Home Just In Communities Forums Beta Readers Dictionary Search | Login Register Extras |
“My will shall shape the future. Whether I fail or succeed shall be no man’s doing but my own. I am the force; I can clear any obstacle before me or I can be lost in the maze. My choice; my responsibility; win or lose, only I hold the key to my destiny.”
- Elaine Maxwell
(Dunkirk Evening Observer; March 13, 1941)
“You’re on!”
A childish giggle escaped from Elizabeth Davis as she stretched out her wiry small legs into her stride, breaking out across the beach’s edge at a sprint. Christopher Brown, her best friend, kept pace with her. Elizabeth inhaled the salty air and exhaled it in a laugh as she watched her lanky friend sprint hard to keep up with her. The smooth tan skin of the children’s arms and legs flailed everywhere, lacking any athletic coordination. Their feet splashed in the water’s retreating edge, only to be left sinking into the soft wet sand that stuck to the soles of their feet. The children’s laughter mixed in with the sounds of the ocean’s waves and the seagull’s call overhead.
---
A seagull’s cry brought Elizabeth back to the present time, out of her sweet reminiscence as tendrils of that same rich dark brown hair whipped across her face as she jogged alongside the same water’s edge. This time, coordinated and athletic arms and legs glided in a smooth, almost effortless rhythm. Elizabeth’s face had a whisper of freckles dusted across her nose and cheeks, a reminder of childhood days spent in the sun. The sun began to raise her massive head over the horizon, illuminating the sky and burning off the early morning fog that had crept in during the night. The sun caressed Elizabeth’s cheeks, slowly warming her bones. The fresh scent of dew on the grass intermingled with the salty air spraying off from the ocean. She was lost in thought as the muscles and sinews worked in flawless coordination to give rise to her steady, rhythmic pace across the beach. The crisp, clean, cool air passed through her lips, and into her lungs, through her blood to her muscles that likewise contracted with youthful energy. As she neared the end of her path and approached her starting point, Elizabeth began to slow down and eventually came to a stop. She walked over to the water’s edge while shaking her legs out to keep the blood flowing. Her muscles relaxed, sending the ever-familiar burning to rush out of her legs and provide a sense of comfort and source of euphoria. She smiled at the wonderful feeling and spread her arms wide, allowing the cool morning breeze to dance around her torso and glide past her outstretched arms. The breeze caressed her skin, taking away the excess heat and leaving her feeling wonderfully comfortable. She took in a great breath and began to laugh with delight. Today was going to be a good day, she could tell.
She stood for a moment, hands on hip, listening to the waves lap up against the shore. Her deep blue eyes looked out across the vast dark ocean. It looked placid, and possibly quite dull. But she knew that beneath its surface lay another world teeming with life. The ocean could be quite deceptive at first glance. It seems relaxing, peaceful, and gentle, but it can be deadly. She squinted against the newly risen sun, and in order to avoid it, she turned to her right to look back to her two-storey house. All seemed quiet. No one would be up for a while now. She loved the pre-dawn silence, when no one was awake. It gave her a sense of peace and humbled her to be in the presence of such beauty of nature.
Mother had been quite insistent to have a house on the beach. She said it was relaxing and provided excellent scenery. It also reminded her of her own childhood on the beach. So far, Elizabeth could not disagree; she loved the beach for the same reasons her mother did; it was relaxing and provided more opportunities to escape boredom. The gentle laps of the waves on the shore rocked her to sleep each night and accompanied her dreams. The salty smell became one with her being; no matter where she went, she always smelled like the ocean.
Their house was the perfect size. It was not decorated with any form of grandeur to display wealth, but instead had a quiet sense of wealth. Classic beauty described the style of the house; Roman columns on the porch, second-storey wrap-around balcony with a designed iron-wrought fence, large, old oak trees in the front yard, classic winding staircase inside, and of course, dark hardwood floors. For whatever miraculous reasons, they did not lose their house in the Depression. Times were hard, that was for certain; but her father never lost his job, though they had to cut back considerably on their lifestyles. Food was hard to come by, as it was for everyone, so the Davis family expanded their garden and attributed much of their meals to it. Elizabeth and Abigail, her younger sister, were responsible for the chores outdoors, including the garden. They had no brothers to help with the mundane chores. But with the truly difficult tasks that required brute strength or were too gross to be accomplished, her friend and neighbor, Christopher was always willing to lend a helping hand.
However, for the past year Christopher had been away living with his Grandmother. She was a widow and had no one to take care of her when the Depression hit. Christopher was excellently skilled at gardening and was sent to help his Grandmother survive this epidemic. He had come home a few times, but unfortunately for Elizabeth, each time he did, she was absent. She had not seen him in about two years, and she was agonized from missing him so much. The only consolation she could have was that he was returning for the summer. The Depression was coming to an end, and his Grandmother was getting along better. He was needed at home to take care of his own mother and younger sisters. As the spring breeze caressed Elizabeth’s face and tossed her hair, she recognized the hints of summer nicking at its heels. Butterflies erupted in her stomach at the thought of summer and Christopher’s return home. It could not come fast enough.
The last time she had seen him, he had grown considerably tall, but was still somewhat awkward with his new height and long limbs. He still had a boyish face back then, with untidy sandy blond hair, a goofy smile, and dazzling green eyes. However, these two years had supposedly been good to him. She heard rumors that he had grown into quite the man, his bulk finally catching up with his height. His voice had dropped even lower than it first did at puberty, and he started taking care of his looks. According to Mrs. Goodman who heard from Mrs. Stillsky who has a sister that has a friend that bakes bread in a store Christopher visits every day, he “is an extremely good-looking man who now dresses like a man, styles his hair like a man, and takes care of his body like a young man discovering the benefits of testosterone.” Elizabeth smiled at this thought. She didn’t know whether to believe this gossip or not. It all seemed typical of a boy—but not Christopher. He was always the silent, intellectual type. He was very witty and fun to be around; he just was very private. She still half expected him to be the lanky, awkward kid she had grown up with.
Christopher had taught her many things. He loved to read and learn new things. He had planned to go to the local University before the stock market crashed and food became more important than education. Yet despite this small setback, Christopher always managed to learn something new and advance his own personal knowledge. He often shared it with Elizabeth, and she tried to keep up as best she could. Elizabeth had gone to a local school for the basic education. The only courses offered at the University for women were literature-based. She liked to read, but studying literature was, in her view, a great waste of time. She would rather learn useful things. Christopher was her solution to that wish. He was always glad to share his passion with someone else, even if some of it was over her head. He taught her the names of the stars, the strings on a violin, how to ride a bike, how to garden, how to play the piano, how to argue effectively—they had discussions about the great philosophical questions—but most of all, he taught her how to swim. That is how their friendship began, with that first lesson of many swim lessons.
---
It was a summer’s day like any other. The sun was at high noon, and the tide was in. Elizabeth was about eight, and did not know how to swim. She ran out into the water to play, keeping in the shallow ends as she always did. Normally there were never any problems. But that day would be an exception. To this day everything is still a blur; she never knew exactly how it happened. One minute she was playing in the waves, the second she was submerged in the cold, churning deep water, unable to breathe. Silence and darkness invaded her senses. She tried to find a foothold on the ocean floor, but her legs would not reach. Suddenly, panic and fear gripped her as she realized what was happening. She was drowning. Her head came above water, but not for long. She barely had enough time to suck in a breath of air, let alone cry for help. She managed a few yells, but no one heard her. Soon the waves forced her back under, and the deathly silence enveloped her once again. She no longer made it back up to the surface. The waves tossed and turned her, and her orientation became skewed. She began to run out of air. Her lungs screamed for more, and her brain was screaming with fear. She was paralyzed with panic. Everything became white, and gradually turned to black. Just as she was on the brink of passing out, she felt a pair of hands gripping her upper arms and pulling her down—or at least what she thought was down. But then all her senses ceased functioning and everything went black.
----
When Elizabeth came to, an angel’s face filled her vision. A halo made of pure sunlight was surrounding a head full of golden blond hair. It was so bright she had to squint to shield her eyes against the magnificence of God’s creature. This is what she remembered about the first time she met Christopher Brown. Christopher was their new neighbor, a boy of her age who played the piano and violin, loved to read, and was, in short, her savior. He had seen her being swept up by the waves into the deeper water. When he had not seen her emerge, he had become worried and, being a strong swimmer, rushed out there to save her.
Unfortunately, that would not be the only time he would have to save her. Elizabeth was prone to walk into unfortunate situations. She did not intentionally invite them; she just had bad luck. It was as if she was born with a certain attraction to the bad luck, like flies are drawn to honey. And Christopher was always her white knight, there to save the day. Their friendship blossomed from that moment, her always needing his rescuing and him being entertained by her endless humorous situations and charming personality. They spent every day together, playing, talking, and learning from each other. Elizabeth did learn how to swim—it was a slow and agonizing process. She learned only for her own safety. She still hated to be alone and completely submerged in water, especially in deep water. She never swam for leisure, but instead kept the skills in case she ever needed them again for emergency situations.
---
The present-day Elizabeth smiled to herself as she recalled this first encounter. She was much wiser now. She still had a knack of walking into bad luck, but most of her bad luck left her as she grew older, either because she was learning how to avoid messy situations, or because some unknown force was having pity on her. Either way, she was content with her life. Small bad luck followed her—mostly due to her klutziness, she suspects. But for the most part, the large and very complicated bad luck left her in peace. Or so she thought.
Elizabeth wiped the sweat from her brow and began to undress out of her sweat-soaked clothes. Oftentimes on days like this at dawn when no one was awake, she washed down in the ocean. It was efficient and easier than having to fight with Abigail for the bathroom. There was a long rocky peninsula that jutted out from the top of the levy out to the ocean, about 50 yards from the shore. This natural landmark began a few feet up from the ground at the edges and grew gradually in a curve at the top where it formed a plateau. Oftentimes she climbed up and walked out to the very end of the peninsula to survey the ocean and be surrounded with the sound of the waves lapping up against the sides. She placed her clothes on the side of the rocks, and, completely naked, walked into the ocean, allowing the waves to crash over her body, removing the excess heat. Elizabeth became lost in thought, and after some time decided she better go back home to get ready for the day. As the dry sand clung to her damp feet and the cool breeze chilled her body, Elizabeth heard some scraping on the other side of the rocks. She stopped dead in her tracks; it sounded like something was trying to climb up the other side. She tried to place her feet in the sand so as to get a good foothold, should she need one. As she got into a defensive stance, she felt completely vulnerable—she was nude and had nothing to use as a weapon. The scraping got louder signaling that it was getting closer; the creature was almost to the top of the ridge. She gasped in surprise as a German Shepherd dog cleared the top of the ridge and bounded toward her. Its tongue lolled out of its mouth as it panted and pranced around her, barking. She relaxed her stance and began to laugh, wondering where the dog had come from. As she was petting it, she heard a deep, male voice calling out, “Titan! Titan! Come here boy! Titan! Don’t run off like that!”
Instantly her blood froze. She heard the source of the voice start to climb the rock ledge. Her mind was numb with panic, and she could not react fast enough to hide herself.
At first, she saw untidy jet black hair scale the ledge, closely followed by an extraordinarily handsome face with ice light-blue eyes, strong bone structure, and an easy smile. A tall, fit young male came into view, wearing a loose-fitting navy blue t-shirt and ragged khaki shorts. As he cleared the ledge, his ice blue eyes widened at the scene before him. He was momentarily stunned as he processed the situation. His lips pursed to avoid bursting into laughter as he realized what was happening.
After he had gained a little control over himself, he said, “Well Titan, looks like you’ve found a very nice friend. I must say,” the laughter crept back into his voice, “you’re taste is exquisite.”
Elizabeth blushed deeply and turned away from his unwavering gaze, trying to cover herself. His eyes had an unnerving quality as if they could pierce right through her, and he shamelessly refused to avert them.
“I am so sorry,” he apologized on a chuckle, indicating that he was not so. “Titan has this unusual talent, you see…. He is able to escape from my command and find the most attractive women within a two-mile radius.”
He moved closer to her, picking up her clothes from the rock and handing them to her. He continued to stare unabashedly.
“Oh, I see. And I guess this little talent of his extends to his owner’s abilities as well? Or does his owner just reap the rewards,” Elizabeth quipped back, still deeply embarrassed to try to joke and upset that he was not. Snatching her clothes from his offered hand, she dressed quickly, concentrating on covering herself up.
The man laughed heartily at her retort, and this irritated her even further. As she finished buttoning up her blouse, she turned back to face him. That effortless smile was back on his face, and he extended his hand, “Now to properly introduce myself: I am Johnathan Moore. My family just moved in next door.” He pointed behind him to a house that was the right neighbor of hers.
She grabbed his hand with as much strength as she could muster. “My name is Elizabeth Davis, and I live right there,” she pointed to her own house a couple hundred yards away. Trying to keep up the pleasantries, she said with a sarcastic tone, “Well, it was a pleasure to meet you Mr. Moore, as now I believe you know more about me than I care for.” She turned on her heel and began to stalk off.
A grin spread across his face, “Oh, the pleasure was all mine, Miss Davis. I do hope I will get to see more of you around these days!” He waved to her back, still trying to control his laughter, beside himself with the humor of the situation.
“Oh wouldn’t you ever,” she mumbled under her breath.
You
know that I care what happens to you
And I know that you care for
me
So I don't feel alone
Of the weight of the stone
Now
that I've found somewhere safe
To bury my bone
And any fool
knows a dog needs a home
- Pink Floyd, Pigs on the Wing
(Part II)
