The Sea Inside

It's funny. I didn't really plan on getting in the water that day. The sky went gray in patches soon after we got there. When I did decide to walk up and let it wash over my feet, it was freezing. The kind of cold that chills your bones, hurts your nipples and makes you wonder how folks have it in them to frolic in such frigid temperatures. I retreated back to the sand and there I stayed for quite some time. We talked about things the way we usually do; with an easy air of conversation. Then I felt a shift within. My mood began to match the sky. Bright still, but with bits of cloudiness moving in with purpose. The onset of an emotional storm was brewing. By then, I was lying on the beach alone. I watched as he walked out to the shoreline where the icy water seemed to only slightly take him by surprise as it wet the hem of his shorts. He bent down, selected what looked like a heavy stone the size of a lemon and hurled it over the ebb tide. I watched him take in the horizon and wondered what it all looked like through his eyes. Suddenly I felt the need to move. To wash the thoughts and chase the gray out. In an instant I was up and sprinting towards the water. I leapt in as though I had nothing. I leapt in as though I had everything. The cold wasn't so bad after all. It never is once you're in it. I let the water surround my goose-bumped skin. Wash over me in ways I didn't know I needed. Bring me back to life. And then it happened.

We saw the wave at the same time. A high wall of water; huge and daunting. It crashed into us in the most powerful way. A split second before it swirled us then swatted us like lowly creatures. Panic. My feet and arms were useless. It tumbled us both. Drew us in and spat us out harshly. It's the strangest sensation when water fills orifices where air belongs. You go deaf- save for the thick silence that only water in your ears can generate. You go blind- but can still make out fragments of life as you knew it before you were capsized by an angry riptide. You know not to open your mouth because your lungs...and its contents just became the most precious thing you have. The only thing you have. But you taste the salt all the same. All that matters is that moment.

When I stumbled out towards land, I felt small. As you should when you realize the ocean can swallow anything that dares comes near her mouth. I felt insignificant. But grateful when I realized that when it counted- he didn't let go of my arm. Not for a moment. Not until it was over and I was on terra firma. Not until I was safe. It occurred to me that- had I been out there with anyone else, they might have lost their grip. They might have let go even if they didn't want to. The tide was that strong and for a moment, I was that hopeless. But he never let go.

I think I'm in love

His name is Jaden. And to be honest, I'm not even sure if that's how his name is spelled. All I know is that every now and then, I am fortunate enough to go along for the ride when he is picked up from Day Care. He is the color of tea with milk and has the most beautiful almond shaped eyes. His smile is like a million birthday cake candles. He is simply gorgeous. No exaggeration there. If it weren't for his rough and tumble ways, boyish clothes and unpierced ears- he would easily be mistaken for a girl. Suddenly, looking over my seat back at him becomes the best part of that particular day. Don't get me started on when he's asked to show anyone what "Karate" is. A tiny foot raises as high as his autonomy can take it and there is the proudest light in his eye as he executes this move. And then he's off. Whisked up by one strong arm, he looks over that shoulder, blinking at me- taking a piece of my heart with him each time. Yeah, I guess they do that sometimes.


Author's Note: The baby pictured above is not the cherub of which I speak. Not everyone is privileged enough to steal a glance at the real object of my affection.

Sight Unseen

Don’t call it ‘psychic’. I hate that. I hear psychic and think of ridiculous, gypsy-clad charlatans asking interrogative questions more than giving one’s perception of what is before them. Don’t call me a soothsayer, medium, prophetess or any of the like. It rattles me. What I possess I prefer to call ‘the sight’. I believe that I can see what others cannot. It was not always this way. It all began very gradually.

When I was six years old, I went on a vacation to Disneyworld with my immediate family. This was my very first time leaving my native country and I was introduced to the States, resplendent with youthful fantasy. The usual; Mickey Mouse, the Magic Kingdom and every fairytale princess I wanted to be at such a tender age. But my recollections of that joyful time are dwarfed by something much more foreboding. I was sitting next to my mother on the plane heading back to Trinidad. Still giddy from my experiences of meeting Snow White and riding in the Teacups, I dozed off with a smile on my face. When I awoke, I was very alert. I turned to my mother and calmly said, “Rex is dead”. Her brow furrowed a moment before smoothing out. She flippantly decided that I had dreamt about our dog back at home and awoke speaking nonsense. We arrived home safely that evening and got settled in. My father went over to our neighbor who agreed to keep an eye on things while we were away. When he returned, his face bore the grave look of an unwilling undertaker. His words measured out with care, came slowly. “Rex…is…dead.” My sisters and mothers gasped with disbelief. What followed was my mother, holding my face in both her hands, demanding to know what had made me speak those very words just a few hours earlier. I had no response. I just knew. In retrospect, I favorably did not know the details of his death. I hadn’t seen that, thank God. Incidentally, two burglars came to rob our home the night before, and our Rex attacked the duo, only to have his throat slit inhumanely. They abandoned their heist when the noise brought unwanted attention from nearby houses. Our neighbor buried him in our yard. It didn’t even make sense to me. At the time, I had no idea that this was just a glimpse into the sight I later learned to accept.

The peculiar thing about this so-called gift was that it honed itself approximately every seven years of my life. In my early adolescence the signs grew more striking. There were times I lay awake at night and distinctly heard fragments of conversations spoken in the very room I was in. Alone and confused, the voices would reach my ears and swim around in my head. They were not inventions of an idle brain; these voices were all too real. Days later, in passing I would hear the exact conversations, word for word. This was not vague déjà vu. I literally heard these people speaking just nights before. It was unnerving and I didn’t know what to make of it. Fearing some sort of mental instability, I shared this with no one. Clairvoyance was the last thing on my mind.

It took some time for me to fully comprehend and respect this gift. There were other incidents. A strange feeling or a random thought would manifest itself into my immediate reality. Once, walking up my street to catch the bus I thought, ‘It would be so unfortunate if there was an accident on this block.’ Within minutes, I rounded the corner to the sound of screeching breaks and the unmistakable impact of metal hitting flesh and bone. A man lay in the street. It was jarring but I was enveloped by a cool sense of calm- which I now recognize as innate perception.

People often josh me about lottery numbers or who will win some celebrated sporting event. I wish it worked that way but it doesn’t. The truth is I have no say-so on what I see or feel beyond my five senses. It visits me for a time and then it’s gone. For a bit I investigated palm reading. That was interesting but not my forte. I did learn however that what most forecasters can see on the lines of a hand, I could see in a person’s eyes. But that happens to leave both parties feeling exposed and uncomfortable so I shy away from it. I may never know why I have this ability. Like any other gift from above, I understand that it can be taken away. Born into another time, I might have burned at the stake for heresy. "Fools rush in where angels fear to tread." -Alexander Pope.

I try never to lose sight of that.