Deadly Serenity

by Ella Lukowiak

     Sweat drips down my back, staining my one clean shirt. My feet slap against cold pavement as I feel the air grow thick with moisture. Dark clouds dominate the horizon with an echo of orange smeared in the background as the only remains of tonight's twilight. My knees grow weak as my lungs sear my chest in agony. I see the porchlight come into view as the first drop lands on my sleeve. Several more fall as the sky opens its congestion upon us. I feel my hair beginning to frizz, and race to the comfort of the canopy above the door leading into the place I call home.
     I take my sneakers off outside, careful to squeeze out all of the water. Our home is small: two bedrooms, one bathroom, and a living room which consists of a sofa, a television, and a makeshift kitchen in the corner. My mother is a "chef on the rise", or so she calls herself.
     I enter the house to the smell of meatballs and tomato sauce mixed with sweat. My little sister Krissy is squished next to my dad on the sofa, soccer cleats in dismay across the floor, along with shin guards and socks slung over the couch. I crinkle my nose in disgust and try to focus on my mother in the kitchen. I make my way over, all the while cleaning up after my piggish family.
     "I guess I didn't get the memo that we were playing 'stink up the whole house and make Mia pass out' tonight," I jab as I drop the items, all filled with sweat, on top of my sister's lap. she just giggles and sticks her tongue out at me before turning back to the television that carries just 7 channels. My dad claims its's perfect, one for each night. Tonight, it's the sports channel streaming a baseball game.
      "Sorry I'm late, mom." I kiss her on the cheek. "Got stuck at work. Kenneth won't let up, he thinks I'm some sort of god. I keep on telling him enough is enough. I gotta go eat, my momma's waiting. But hey," I steal the spoon from her hand and let my taste buds absorb every flavor of my mother's tomato sauce, "I made it." I smile my traditional half smile I give each time I show up late, which is quite often. My mom gives her, "You know you have to be home before dark," speech, before she kisses my forehead and turns back towards the kitchen.
     Tonight is my favorite night - Wednesday. My moms says it's the day everyone needs something a little special. A "midweek pick-me-up" is what she calls it. I tell her some food can't possibly help anything in our lives, but every Wednesday at 7:30 I find myself mistaken. There is something about my mother's cooking that makes everything else seem insignificant. It's as if the whole world blinks out of existence for just a moment, and it's only our little family sitting at our wobbly wooden table, with shreds of happiness to hang onto as we devour our weekly meatballs. But then the moments gone, and all that's left of the meatballs are the little chunks stuck in our teeth.

***

     Tonight the rain is harder than usual. Throughout the winter and spring months, our little island endures more rainfall than most places do in an entire year. I hate the rain. It feels like the universe is conspiring against me by attempting to drown me in my own home. But when the sun comes out in the summer, I fall in love with this place all over again. 

     I've lived in Ketley Hill ever since I can remember. My father says from birth I was a mermaid. Being surrounded by water on all sides as a kid, my parents took it  upon themselves to teach me how to swim before I could walk. The beaches here stretch for miles and the ocean is the kind of crystal blue that you see in magazines and movies. My summers consist of sunrises out to sea, and sunsets on land with paper and  paint. The colors that streak across the sky then are one of the things I believe to be a miracle. A way for mother nature to exhibit her raw talent.

     Ours is the only village on the island that borders the ocean completely on one side. My mother is terrified, always thinking one day she will wake up and the tide will have rolled us all away.

     But, I love it.

     I believe that the sea is one of this worlds greatest wonders. The deadly serenity of it all always stuns me to a silence as I watch the waves smack against the sand, and then trace my eyes to where it falls off of the horizon line.

     When I was little, I would dig on the beach as my fingernails filled with tiny grains of sand, until I formed a hole that was just my size. Then, I would sit for hours, watching the ocean as a master builder, constantly creating waves of enormous size out of nothing. I would watch each new creation with wonder as it swelled to its full capacity, and then curled in on itself, spewing whitewater and bubbles. It was never ending, and therefore completely enthralling. 

     During the months following the accident, the ocean was almost cut out of my life completely. Whenever I tried to observe it as I used to, I would become a victim to wet eyes and ragged breath. I never stopped loving it all, but the terror will always sit at the back of my mind, seeping through at points to where I don't notice the leak until the tears have already fallen.

      Now, it isn't so bad. The pain doesn't throb like it used to, crushing my heart from the inside out. Slowly, I have begun to embrace it all again, which my mom says means I'm healing. We all are. The sea brings me peace once again, but still leaves me shaking after long hours, and I don't know if that will ever go away.

     Tonight I stare at my ceiling, cracked and peeling from years of water damage, wishing for those days before everything went wrong. I try to close my eyes and fall asleep, but my mind continues to spin in relentless circles. After thirty minutes pass, I swing my legs over the side of my bed and make my way over to Krissy. I manage to trip over nothing, which is a god given miracle, and arrive to my sister's bed with her still asleep.

     "Kris," I whisper in her ear. She groans, used to nights of no sleep due to my apparent opposition to it. As soon as I see her move, my hand is on the light switch, brightening the room to a dim. We have shared a room ever since Krissy was born, which totals to exactly twelve years and fifteen days, and right now, it looks like the universe combusted and littered debris all over the ground. Paint stains  line the wooden floor along with brushes and pencils, and there is still a mark in the wall from the first (and last) time Krissy attempted to use the wall of our room as a soccer goal.

     Already knowing what I'm going to ask, she throws on her only sweatshirt, and shoves her feet into sneakers still damp from yesterday's storm. I do the same, and ten minutes later we are propping our window ajar with a  textbook, and sliding down the edge of the roof onto the front lawn. This is a move we advise to only practiced professionals who understand the risks of screaming parents, and on the spot explanations.

     We make our way through the black night, breathing in the thick air, still heavy with the remnants of rainfall. Our feet march in rhythm to the bird calls echoing throughout the island. I look at my sister for a little while, her eyes still glossy with sleep. Her hair is swept into a messy bun, her glasses perched atop her nose, and the darkness giving her a soft glow makes her features defined. When did my little sister grow up? There should be people in this world who are in charge of preventing things like this from happening. I can't stand it, watching her become this new person right before me. She's my Krissy, my little munchkin. The girl I held while she cried, the girl who I threw food at, who I got cramps from laughing with, who I wrestled and screamed at.

     However, that is not how life works. One day when you fall asleep, just as you have so many nights before, your world shakes. Just beneath you. And you don't realize it's happened till it's too late, and everything is shifted just slightly. Except, no one cares that it happened, because they have their own problems to worry about. And the nights keep on coming, and the world keeps on moving, and overtime you close your eyes you pray for it all to stay put.

     We walk along the path that wraps around the beach, our shoes leaving behind marks in the dirt road. Rainwater spills from the leaves on the trees above us, leaving dark splotches on our sweatshirts. I love the island at night. Everything is so alive, and yet it still seems as if you are the only one there. The peace resonates with me and regenerates my body in a way that sleep never could.

     I turn to Krissy, her under eyes dark from exhaustion, and nod towards the path that leads down to the river that runs between our village and the bordering one. She falls into step behind me, muscle memory taking over. My hand swings out instinctively to push the branches from my face, and my legs dance over the roots that form mazes in the dirt. I find the ledge with my hand and use the tree beside me to push up. I turn to give my hand to Krissy, her tiny limbs not yet reaching the ledge. We perch ourselves on the edge of the rock, sweat dripping down our faces as the humidity begins to settle in.

     The moon casts a halo around us, reflecting itself in the lake. Rolling hills stretch alongside the river with the ocean visible on all sides. I have never seen this place in the daylight, but even in the darkness, everytime, it all takes my breath away. We sit there for a while, chests rising and falling with each breath, our shoulders pressed tightly.

     "Mia?" My sister whispers into my neck, so softly I barely make it out.

     "Yeah Kris?" I say, angling my body towards hers so I can see her face. The moon reflects off of her, illuminating her face.

     "Why do some things happen?" Her eyes stare down to the rock beneath us, so it is only when she looks up that I see the tears pooling, threatening to unleash. I stay silent for a little while, assessing my sister in front of me.

     "Kris, what's wrong? Come here," I whisper, wrapping my arms around her shoulders. My fingers brush against her wet cheeks as my heart cracks. I hug her tightly as she sobs, her chest shuddering as it bears the weight of a broken heart.

     I release my arms from around her as soon as I hear her breathing begin to grow regulated. Her face is distraught, with puffy eyes and blotchy red marks. 

     "Do you feel better?" I whisper, my heart still beating rapidly. She nods in my direction, her mouth positioned as if she were going to speak, but then she never does. 

     "I love you," i say to her, "so much."

     She nods her head again, "I know."

     "Do you want to tell me what's wrong?" I ask in a small voice, careful not to step on the eggshells we tread upon.

     She stares at me for a while, and then turns out to face the river. She looks peaceful, and for a long time, we are silent. I can hear the crickets chirping in the grass, and the crashing of the waves again on the shore. As I breathe, the mixed smell of salty air and tears fills my lungs. The scent is overwhelming, dominating all of my senses until it is cut through by the voice of my sister.

     "It's Ronnie." She breathes, leaving a spell of anguish and grief around her to float over to me. "Today is her birthday."

     I hear the waves crashing again, but this time the sound sends my heart racing. All over again, the pain comes rushing back as my heart cracks once more. This time in a different place. This place has already been broken, but it was fixed. Not completely, but there were stitches, and band-aids, and medicine. And I was healed, we all were. Everyone, but Krissy. For everyone deals with pain in different ways. Some have tears forever dripping down, some suffer internally but never show it, and some bury the pain, so deep that they themselves forget about it. Until the time comes and the wound is unveiled, and one would find that it is not healed, but instead infected. Today is November 15th, and my sister looks as though pieces of her heart have been infected for so long, that they have begun to rot. 

***

     I dream of a little girl standing on the beach. She is young, about seven or eight years old. Her hair is red and frizzy, and she has thousands of freckles thrown about her face like confetti. She stands in the ocean, a smile plastered on her face as she runs into the water. She turns to the sound of her friends voice calling her. She waves at the friend, her red curls bouncing against her shoulders. In her friends eyesight, she sees a wave forming behind the girl, taller than she is. The friend tries to tell her, but words don't come out. The friend screams but silence is all that washes over her ears. She watches as the girl is hit with the wave, and knocked to the ground. Another wave then comes as the currents begin to pull her away. The friend cannot tell anyone, no matter how loud she tries to be. when she tries to move, she finds her muscles have gone stiff. And so, she is forced to watch the girl tumble away, lost to the wrath of the sea. Her breaths come in gasps and her hands shake until someone calls her name. Her vision goes fuzzy, and then it's gone. Nothing. Like none of it ever existed.

     Except, that it most certainly did.

     

***

     I wake up in my bed for the first time in weeks. I suppose the countless nights of insomnia finally caught up to me. Krissy is asleep, her body slumped against the pillow, and still dressed in the same clothes as last night. I pull myself up and swing my feet down onto the cold floor. I make a mental note to thank Krissy for forcing me to get some sleep.

     The nightstand in between my sisters bed and mine is adorned with dozens of framed photos of the two of us when we were little. The one closest to my side is a frame reading "sister love" filled with a picture of 6 year old Krissy and 10 year old me on the beach. Our faces are stretched wide, smiling without trying to look pretty or perfect, and our matching chocolate brown eyes filled with excitement. Her hair is tied back behind her, while mine hangs down, wild and full of knots. We were carefree, our hearts soft and unscratched.

     I place the picture frame back down, and walk outside our room. First light has begun to radiate across the sky, filling the canvas above the earth with colors of pink and orange. It is always beautiful, everyday. The house is quiet, filled only by snores and the chime of the clock every hour. I walk through our living room, tracing my finger along the sofa, the walls, the television, and even the mini kitchen. 

     As I walk, I begin to remember. I remember the first time the girl with the red curls and freckles showed up on our doorstep, asking if she could come over to play. I remember the time we all sat for hours on the sofa with hopeful hearts, waiting for the lottery winners to be announced. I remember the dinners we ate at the dinging room table, and the kitchen karaoke in our pajamas on Sunday mornings. I remember the last time she was here, and when she walked out the door without knowing it would be the last time - without ever saying goodbye. I remember everything.

     I surprise myself as I feel my cheeks wetter and my breath grow unstable. I wonder if I never really healed either.

     After what feels like an hour, the tears don't come anymore, and I'm tired of crying. My heart feels vulnerable again, but the pain has lessened. I slowly make my way back into our bedroom, and find Krissy standing by the door. Without looking at her, I know she saw everything, and so I pull her into a tight embrace. Our hearts overlap as our shoulders rise and fall in rhythm with each other.

     With each breath, I feel her heartbeat and know that we both feel the pain, and both of us may forever have missing pieces of our hearts. And while the scars will always be there from when we were torn apart, just like every crashing wave brings another behind it just as beautiful, our hearts will heal with only the memory of su much love to be left behind.

     I smile as I hear the morning commotion of my mother fumbling with the pots in the kitchen. I look at my sister as I hold her tight, and we laugh together once again. This time, we laugh with Ronnie and not without her, not pushing down her memory to avoid the pain it causes. Instead, we embrace the pain, so that she remains forever in our hearts.