Bright Eyes

Chapter One

Tonight, I am one with the weathered dark grey beach rock that I am awkwardly sitting on. He will become my first friend in this unnatural jungle I now call my home. I start to feather my fingertips across his smooth, saltwater-sanded surface and images of my dear Georgia summers grow in my mind. I can almost feel the bubble of anticipation rising up in my sweat soaked Sunday dress, as the preacher strains against the unforgiving Georgia heat to finish his last announcement. I almost can hear my aunt humming along to her half-broken radio while pouring the ice cold opaque drink out of the transparent pitcher, into the tall sunflower painted cups that ornate my grandmother's window sill. I can almost taste the heavenly smooth, too sweet liquid slide down my throat and turn my body into a condensed ice sickle. Now, the Georgia sun shines over the preacher, church, and my grandmother's house without me. Its relentless fluorescent light will always span out for mile upon mile, leaving even the littlest nook and cranny of shade tainted by it's searing heat. All I have left to remind me of the hot Georgia summers is my smooth solid, beach rock companion.

I shift my cramped body over the beach rock and cross my right foot over my left, positioning myself onto the center of my new friend. In front of me the nervous sea greets its suitor, the shore with loud sloppy kisses. Upon each passionate kiss, the sea steals some of the sand into its stunning brilliant orange reflection of the setting sun. I can feel the ocean inside of my lungs as a breath in its salty tongue.

To my left, a barefooted boy emerges out of the overgrown dying weeds and walks quickly onto the sand. His brown blonde shoulder length hair tousles wildly in the salty breeze while his bare feet vanishes into the tan dust. As he steps further into the sandy abyss, distinct imprints are left lying in the dusty clay. These trailing footprints evaporate with their owner down the length of the shore, when another boy with dark hair sprints out the browning greenery onto the same place the light headed boy previously trekked. The artificial zig-zags pattern under the dark haired boy shoe's, replaces the footprints of the other.

"Nick!"the boy yells, running on the sand.
'Nick, wait!'
Unanswered, the yelling boy continues to run on the sand swiftly fading off into the sandy horizon.

Suddenly, a deep vibration ripples through the left pocket of my jeans pulling me away from the retreating figure of the dark haired boy.

"Peyton? Peyton, where are you?"
"Uh, Hey Vera, I'm um, walking around"
"Why so late baby? It's almost five."
"It's not that late mom," I mutter, shifting my eyes from the vanishing boy down to the stringy hole in my jeans.
"I know, I know."
I hear her exhale.
"I'll be home soon."
"Im sorry, I'm so bad at this whole parenting thing, baby. But its for the best, I can feel it."
"Alright," I start to pick at the loose thread from the hole.
"Don't sound so sad Pey, cheer up! I love you."
"Bye, mom."
I hang up the phone.

My mother has always been a silhouette weaving in and out of my life, present but not apparent. My aunts, uncles, and grandmother never said much about her and the topic quickly grew into a taboo, carrying a foreboding edge with each unanswered question. All I could gather was that at seventeen she became pregnant with me, and a few months after giving birth, ran away to live on the chemical shores of California.

The first time I heard from her was on my sixth birthday, when I received a pink birthday card from her. On the cover, a sketched brunette ballerina immoderately saturated with gold glitter balances on one elegantly covered foot. Inside, on the back of the balancing ballerina, my mother's scratchy handwriting spells out the words
'Happy Birthday, Love Mom.' That was the first and last birthday present I have ever received from her. I left the card on top of my dresser in my room in Georgia; burying it with all treasures that chance gave to me.

After that card, Vera began to write more frequently. On the summer of my 10th birthday, she sent me a letter carrying the promise of seizing a better future, a guaranteed ticket out of the backwoods of Georgia. I was never sure about how I felt leaving my family behind, so whenever Vera told me she would come get me, I gave her indefinite answers. Georgia was my home, my life, but at the same time I felt like I never belonged in the provincial town. I wanted something bigger for my self, something outside of the country, away from the primitive rules, the obligations to god. I didn't want to be trapped in that banal, hallelujah heaving town forever. So in the heat of August, Vera offered me another chance to fly out to California, and I finally accepted. Packing up my bags with every thing the Los Angeles International Airport would let me travel with, on September 6th I finally landed in the synthetic hills of plastic surgery and advanced technology, and I hated every bit of it.

Uncrossing my legs, I feel the urge to sink my hands into the pattern the dark haired boy left on the sand. I hop off the rock; performing my silent adieu to the only friend Mendocino, California could ever give to me and make my way up to the shore. The shore of Bowling Ball Beach is hovered by a wide plateau of cliffs and the shoreline stretches out for miles and miles. Towards the western end of the long beach, giant round rocks line the shore like ornaments. When you walk along the shoreline to the eastern end, the sand begins to recede as the cliff meets the ocean in a gentle twist.

I amble to the pair of patterned footprints and the wet, muddy sand sticks to my sneakers like grainy glue. It makes me feel clumsy and I can feel tiny wet pebbles of sand inside my sneakers. Sitting on my rock made the shoreline look considerably shorter, and as I reach the first patterned imprint, I see that the boys walked an incredible amount of distance. An abrupt feeling of curiosity overwhelms my previous urge, and I resolve to follow the sandy braid of bare feet and zigzags.

The sun slowly commences its waltz to the eastern ballroom and stars appear to twinkle their applause as I track the endless parade of footprints to a wide dark damp opening. Anxiety begins to prick at my skin and I can feel the ocean inside my lungs as the air gets heavy and far too salty. Suddenly, the stagnant air turns into a violent flurry of salt and sand, burning my eyes and scratching my skin. The sound of angry water crashing against the side of the stony precipice becomes overwhelmingly loud and I begin the panic. Before thinking to run away, I can feel my body pivoting towards other direction, away from this sudden typhoon, but my eyes begin to be glued to the piercing light bellowing from the catacombs of the cave.

The light echoes from the cave in a curious manner. It was as it there was an invisible mirror or wall blocking the rays from bouncing off the troubled sand and large rocks that surround the cave. The color was at first a brilliant blinding glittery white but after the first couple of seconds quickly diminished into a faint mint green glow with what looks like the twinkling orange gold embers that float out of a wind-kissed fire. All of a sudden, the air settles uneasily and I start to hear voices echoing from deep inside the cave. Quickly, I move behind one of the protruding rocks standing on the shallows of the ocean shore.

"Why do you go running around like a headless chicken every time you get pissed?"
"Why do you have to follow me around when I get pissed?"
"You're careless and irrational that's why"
"You sound like my mother"

The lightheaded boy emerges out of the cave and steps onto the sand. I watch him as he takes a deep breath, his chest raises and as he tilts his head back a sliver of white skin slips from hem of his t-shirt.
Inhaling, he exhales, "The air always smells so much worst here."

He begins walking further along the beach when the dark haired boy walks into the sand and turns around, facing the glowing cave. He extends his hands in front of the glowing cave, yelling, " Once again, you forgot to turn the lights off!"

As the light haired boy sarcastically yells "Thanks mom!" the dark haired boy extended hands seem to evaporated the minty green glow from the cave, dimming it gently and quickly like the lights in a movie theater. Then the boy abruptly turns on his heel and jogs towards the other boy.

As they walk away, I realize my hands are digging into the jagged edge of the large bolder I am standing behind. I flex my hands, opening and closing my fingers into my palms to get the blood flowing and start to trudge towards the sand. The water from the wet shore has found it's way inside of my shoes and soaked the hem of my jeans making it incredibly difficult to walk. With my body trembling and my mind racing, I decide to make my way back to my new home with my mother.