Beauséjour 1: Meeting
Apr. 15th, 2009 03:31 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
evilbeej---
THIS is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks,
Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight,
Stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad and prophetic,
Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their bosoms.
Loud from its rocky caverns, the deep-voiced neighboring ocean
Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the wail of the forest.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Evangeline. A Tale of Acadie.
IT was right after his eighth birthday.
Peter liked the beach, and his Nana had told him he could bring the guitar she'd gotten him as a birthday present with him when she took him and his sister Emily on vacation up in Nova Scotia. Two weeks, they'd have two weeks to themselves, in a holiday cottage on a private estate that had two beaches.
A rock beach and a sand beach, he repeated to himself with a sense of solid satisfaction.
Right now, he was tired of practicing the song his friend Cat had taught him, and besides, his fingers hurt.
Stopping on the line where the grass ended and the downward slope to the sandy beach began, the boy stuck his hands in his shorts pockets and rocked back on his heels, letting the warm summer wind whip away the heat of the sun on his pale skin. Emily was sitting in a folding nylon beach chair with her feet dug into the sand, facing the ocean. He started picking his way down the slope, then gave up and took his sandals off and flung them back into the grass before continuing.
"Em!" called Peter, and the wind took his voice. But it was bright, and warm, and the water was blue and refreshingly chilly, and the sand was white-gold and hot, and there was a lot of driftwood they could gather to keep away the dark that night. Keep it away with rainbows. He tried again. "Emily!"
When he came level with her, he could see why she wasn't answering-- his sister was asleep, listening to music. He was only a little nervous checking the song listed on the face of her mp3 player, but it was all right. Some old song by Bing Crosby. Their Nana's comfort music. Nothing he couldn't account for. He leaned in a little bit to catch it, just to make sure it was really Bing, and the girl had it up loud enough that he could hear from a good foot away. Besides, the scent of sunblock was overpowering. Normality. His big sister was just fine.
That meant he couldn't play with her, but-- well. Thirteen. She wasn't much for playing half the time anymore anyway, even when she was feeling all right, even when she could forget.
Kicking sand on his way down the beach away from her, Peter started thinking about his brothers again, and their baby sister, and their parents, and his cat. Jake would've been proud of him with the guitar. He'd been in a band. John-- John would've been tolerant. Amused. He was tolerant and amused about Jake's band, and about Emily's ballet. But his teasing had never hurt, and he'd always just been encouraging Peter at every turn to go out and kick a ball around with him for a while. And Daddy called the baby Kitty, and Mama told him it was *Katie*, her name was *Katie*, 'kitty' was something she called the cat--
Viciously, Peter ground the heel of his hand into his eyes, one after the other. He was suddenly very tired, and went to the water's edge to put his feet in. It was deliciously cool after the hot sand, and he could distract himself with the eddies the receding waves made around his ankles, around the ruts his bare feet were wearing into the wet ground.
He sat down in the tide, heedless of his summer shorts getting wet, and put his hands against the sand to get run over by the next wave. Once it'd receded too, he ran the cool salty ocean water over his face and felt a little bit better.
When a shadow fell over him, Peter didn't look up. "Make sandcastles with me?" he asked wistfully.
"Tall ones?" asked a sweet voice that he didn't recognise.
Startled, Peter shaded his eyes and looked at the figure making the shadow. She was a grown-up, tall and thin and silouhetted against the bright sky.
Scrambling to his feet and backing away, the boy looked at the woman with wide blue eyes. He could see her better-- she was wearing black in the summer sun, but it wasn't a flat black, it shimmered blue and green and purple, and it flowed: a dress that looked like it was made of the night ocean, and dark eyes that looked like the sky at midnight on a clear night. Stars in them, flecks of bright in the black. Her face was perfect and kind and beautiful, and she looked sad.
"I'm sorry. You're probably not supposed to talk to strangers. But you remind me of my best friend," the woman-- woman? she wasn't much older than Emily, why had he thought she was so old? --said apologetically, half smiling. She had black hair like his, and was just as pale as he was. "And I really miss him."
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no subject
Date: 2009-04-15 08:15 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-04-15 03:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-04-15 07:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-04-15 08:49 pm (UTC)OhmysweetJesus
Date: 2009-04-15 02:40 pm (UTC)I could feel the sun and smell the wind and hear the water and taste the salt and see her eyes and I have to know.
Re: OhmysweetJesus
Date: 2009-04-15 03:45 pm (UTC)Re: OhmysweetJesus
Date: 2009-04-15 07:59 pm (UTC)Re: OhmysweetJesus
Date: 2009-04-15 08:56 pm (UTC)ALSO. working on it. ^_^