revelation of a smile

She plowed through the knee high grass determined to reach the rocky ledge, moving quickly and deliberately, ignoring any aching that may have been present in her bones. The grass scratched her exposed shins as she stepped higher; almost with a youthful stance looking over her shoulder to be sure she was not missed. They would not have yet noticed that she was missing from her usual spot in the parlor with her beloved books. She only looked at the picture books now. Sandy, her daughter, had pulled them down from storage last year, a box of children’s books from another time. Her tea was probably still steaming on the table where her book rested and no one was due to check on her for at least twenty minutes. They didn’t think she still kept track of things like time.

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“Mother, do you like the new tea Lilly picked up? She chose it just for you, mother. Would you like another sugar cookie, how about some fruit mother?”

She hated when they spoke to her as she devoured her picture books. She preferred to be alone as she felt herself fall into the universe of each page.

“Mother, I have some things to do, I’ll be back to check on you in a little while.”

She had to force herself to smile and nod. As soon as the parlor door clicked she bolted out of the French doors leading into the garden.

The ledge was in sight now, just a few more steps. In childhood they called it Stone Cliff. Her mother hated when they went out as far as Stone Cliff and forbid them from climbing down the boulders to the small patch of course beach below. The waves were violent and Mother warned them about the undertow. What mother did not know was that there was a narrow worn path along the boulders that children traversed to reach the bottom. The thrill of defying Mother was only surpassed by the danger of the waves that threatened as they played their pirates game. They were either digging up a treasure or burying one it seemed

She stood on Stone Cliff looking to the right for the head of the small path. It would be overgrown now. She heard what sounded like calling. Where they looking for her already she wondered or was it the gulls circling above the sea? They will check the grounds quietly at first , calmly, she thought, they will be convinced that I have gone to use the “facilities.”

Then she remembered from long ago, Mother hates me to come here. Mother worries so.

The path was overgrown, but she could make it out enough and understood that she would be sliding most the way down on her back side, with her hands extended to guide her. She could do it.

Mother would be so disappointed that she soiled her gown.

Scraping, sliding and rolling down between boulder and bush, she became bloody, bruised. She felt nothing, but the will to reach this grey shelled sand. The sea so noisy now, might they be calling? Might it be time for supper?

A silent glare through an entire meal would the punishment. No laughter, no light talk, none of mothers charm because she had failed her. Just her icey eyes and short quick movements from plate to mouth as she cut, chewed, swallowed, cut, chewed, swallowed.

Reaching the bottom the sea immediately overtook her senses as it always had. Her muscles relaxed releasing her of all her aches. Stepping from her gown, and slippers she stripped off everything. Her skin goosed immediately but she felt no cold, just exhilaration, just the power she wanted to hold.

This is where I made all my decisions.

This is where I cried my tears.

This is where I lost my mind.

Naked, she entered the sea, waves thrashing her thighs, shells cutting her feet, water chilling her bone, but she could breathe and she could remember all the hope. She could toss away dreams that never would be finished. Life was not going to give her any more time. There wouldn’t be a next year, or I might try that next time, or planning, or wondering what tomorrow held. There was just today. A wave struck her and losing her balance she began to tumble into the surf, not resisting but letting the water move her with its weapon of powerful tide.

As a child, getting lost in a wave frightens us,

as an adult, it reminds us,

as a weathered one, it has its way with us.

Her body limp and loose refusing to fight.

Daughter, son and grandchild; Sandy, Lilly and Peter raced to the ledge. What was mothering always calling it, Stony cliff? Sandy never had a desire to visit it as she had always taken Lilly to the public beaches only fifteen minutes away. She remembered going to the small cliff hidden beach only once as a child and being tossed by a wave against a rock cutting a three inch slice along her thigh. It was enough to never return. Mother had been rambling on a few days ago about Stony Cliff and she had ignored her, redirecting her attention to her picture books.

Looking down from the steep cliff they saw Mother’s white gown pressed against a large rock. What could have happened? Did mother want to die?

She saw them approaching.

Was that her mother, with her scowl, and her best friend Mary and Jimmy Hendrickson her high school sweetheart, but Jimmy never came home from the war did he? He was here? Why did they look so panicked?

“I am playing in the waves!” she sang through lips that would not move.

They reached the bottom of the treacherous trail and rushed towards mother on the sand as surf coursed over her naked body back and forth. Sandy thought about how frail she had assumed mother was now, how she spoke to her like a child, how her mother never knew who anyone was anymore, often mistaking Sandy as her own mother. She was her mother now, at least in duty, so it did not seem so strange. In fact, it almost seemed natural.

Peter rushed towards mother and scooped her in one smooth movement out of the water. Mother’s lips were blue, her teeth were chattering, but Sandy distinctly saw her smile. Yes, mother was smiling for the first time in eight long years and she began to quietly sing an old nursery rhyme as Peter dried and covered her with her cotton gown.

Little drops of water,

Little grains of sand,

Make the mighty ocean

And the pleasant land

*special thanks to Anthony D'Juan Shelton

* Little Drops of Water, Old English Nursery Rhyme