#she's looking forward to painting it a soothing green maybe later this spring or summer. it's gonna be the final step of redecorating.

[ayyponine]

you can't take a picture of this - it's already gone.

one year since i moved out of my mom's house to live on my own. all this clutter and stuff came to the apartment w me but still, i am unable to really call it home. before i even lived there we lived in a different house which i was then longing to return to post-divorce so i know change is inevitable and it's all just part of how life goes but still it's like. will home ever stop feeling like a place and time you only keep growing more distant from every day. idk

[artificialqueens]

Just Below the Surface (Taywhora) - Phryne

A/N: Hello all and welcome to the shark fic, an absolute labor of stupidity, a half-processed thought come to live in the middle of the night. This fic is inspired by @incorrectdruk’s post. Please comment and like if you’ve enjoyed; it means the world! Also a shout out to my wonderful girlfriend, @scarletenvy, who reviewed and supported me throughout this fic. All my love to you. 

Tayce tries to get Aurora out of a design funk by taking her to the aquarium for some inspiration. Aurora has never actually seen a tiger shark in real life—she gets a rude awakening about sharks, and imminent failure.

When her drab little apartment is getting her down, with its peeling pre-war paint and hard water stains; when the rain no longer feels soothing and mesmerizing and sleek; when Aurora finds herself tapping her pencil against her face instead of against her sketch pad, Tayce insists on a change of scenery, even when sheets of rain are splattering against their windows. 

She comes up behind Aurora, spreading her fingers over her shoulder. It’s a risk, knowing that Aurora might startle and throw her head back into Tayce’s nose, but she kisses the crown of her head anyway. “Not going good, is it?” 

Aurora groans, but nonetheless leans into the touch. “Looks that way, doesn’t it?” She holds up her sketch pad with nothing more than the model on the page. 

“Reckon you can’t send nudity down the runway, love?” Tayce laughs, digging her thumbs into the base of Aurora’s neck. “Though I’d call off work to model that one for you.” 

Ignoring the quip, but for quirking a brow, Aurora shrugs out of the touch and continues. “I’ve got nothing. No inspiration. No real idea. No thoughts about structures or colors or fabric I’d like to work with.” She slams the pencil down. “I’ve started from every square one I can think of and I’ve still got nothing. I’m supposed to put more of myself into these designs but myself is giving me nothing useful.”

As much as Tayce understood the classic Aurora ‘I’m not amounting to anything, everything I do is dull and boring and meaningless, but, insert forced laugh here, if I give up now I can still be your sugar baby, right?’ speech was coming, and would typically be chased by a reminder that she was only a couple years younger, exceedingly talented, and a retail worker’s salary could never sustain both of their tastes, Tayce decides to cut off the monologue before it even starts. 

“Let’s go.” Tayce says, releasing Aurora’s shoulders and giving a hearty clap. “Grab your slicker, we’re going to the aquarium.” 

Aurora hums before letting the request fully sink in. “Why are we going to see a bunch of scum covered fish?” She pauses, pushes her hair out of her face and tries again. “It’s a lovely idea, but I don’t have much time for a date right now. I need sketches and fabric samples by Monday.” 

But Tayce ignores her, taking the pencil and pad from Aurora’s hands and stuffing them into her purse. She continues absently, “There’s a new tiger shark exhibit that I think—” 

“A fucking tiger shark?” Aurora turns around, resting her arms on the back of her chair, glancing up at Tayce and speaking through that Cheshire Cat smile of hers. “You’re telling me we’ve got a tiger shark now?” 

Tayce feels herself brighten along with her. “It looks rather interesting, world’s greatest predator and all—” 

“Of course it is, it’s a tiger shark. Like, just try to think of something more fierce than that.” Aurora punctuates every word as she hauls her purse into her lap and sweeps the contents of her desk inside, zipping the top even as her fuchsia and forest green pencils stick out from the corners, muttering on about the world’s greatest predator, how it’s an absolute destroyer. 

Tayce takes Aurora’s sudden disinterest in organizing her pencils into their case—by most to least used—as her cue to leave and slip on her boots, already wearing a pleased little smile. 

*

They settle into the tube, Aurora securing her umbrella before sitting down next to Tayce. It’s easy to find a seat, the car less crowded than usual, likely thanks to the weather. Aurora thinks she’d like to stay inside with the rest of London, put the kettle on, and work in the living room where she can see the damp landscape before her and Tayce on the couch beside her, but that wasn’t working before. So here she is, wet blonde hair plastered to her forehead, the thought of seeing the tiger shark still coursing through her, lighting her like neon. 

“Concept: a tiger shark suit,” Aurora poses, just as Tayce holds her hand out for Aurora’s purse. She obliges and continues. “A little shift on the color forecast. Instead of yellow and grey—so bloody industrial, I’m thinking orange and grey. Would need a poly to get that wet-look of vinyl though…” 

Aurora tends to work like this, rambling off her ideas in a whirlwind, usually tearing apart the flat for the nearest pad of paper to get it all down before the idea’s lost forever and she’s left pouting while Tayce is trying to work as well. She’s become used to the smattering of Post-It pads around the house, reminding Aurora to dig the pens out of her pockets before running the wash, cheeky grins as she pulls pencils out from Aurora’s frantically done bun before properly lying down for bed. It’s endearing though, the chaos Aurora works in, the way Tayce’s chaos stabilizes Aurora’s.

So Tayce digs around in the tote until she pulls out a little baggie with her croissant, and Aurora’s notebook, pleased at how she’s taken to the leather bound folio Tayce gifted her for their last anniversary. She hands it over before picking at the almonds atop her croissant, adding, “bitch to make though, isn’t it?” 

Aurora knows what Tayce is referencing and almost shudders at the thought of more vinyl after her Spring/Summer 19’ collection. She spent hours on end cursing the fabric, trying not to tear the tissue between, which she used to help the panels float smoothly under the presser foot as she sewed them. On an industrial machine, no less, which was a bitch to haul up into their flat. It was a disaster to get an invisible zipper into the gown, the damn thing ripping itself out with every try-on. And at the end of it all, she had to sew Tayce into the finale catsuit not fifteen minutes before the show, which meant she had to cut her right out of the garment at the end of the show, with her girlfriend’s reassurance that it was “bloody sexy” and “what’s a little bit of scissoring between two lesbians?” doing little to sage her qualms about ruining hours of work in a snip. 

“Maybe some treated leather.” Aurora nods solemnly and writes notes wildly, not sure she’ll even be able to read anything besides the “SS19” with an angry cross over it when she reviews them later. “Either way, I’m thinking it’s going to be fierce, especially if I can figure out the movement; move like the tiger shark, no? To get that floating through water feeling.” 

Aurora doesn’t expect an answer, seeing that Tayce is occupied with picking almonds off of the pastry. She holds her hand out for them, throwing them back in one shot before taking half the pastry as well. “Why get the one with almonds if you just got to pick them off?” 

“The taste, the flavor,” Tayce says through a bite. “And I know you prefer them, so…” 

Aurora gives her a light shove before pulling her back in by the crook of her arm. “You’re soft,” she taunts, capping her pen and sticking it in her hair. 

“We can’t all be tiger shark ladies, babe.” She gives her pastry a deep bite, raising her brows at Aurora as she does so, if for nothing but to catch a chuckle from her, from what was a miserable day. 

Aurora shakes her head, but nonetheless shifts closer, taking a bite and swallowing quickly. “Stupid, absolutely dense—” 

“—The idiocy, the dullness, dimwittedness, superficiality of it all,” Tayce continues, brushing the crumbs off of her black trench jacket, picking a couple tricky ones out of the red stitching with her nail. Head resting against Aurora’s still damp shoulder, she adds between a cheeky grin, “We gotta finish up; Waterloo’s in just a bit.”  

*

By the time Aurora gets her things gathered and finds the umbrella, Tayce is taking her hand and leading them to the exit. They schlep along to County Hall, Tayce holding the umbrella high above them, Aurora wrapped around Tayce’s arm, bundled up against her, pressing her bag flush against her side. She’s practically buzzing by the time they reach the aquarium, her childish enthusiasm endearing, and Tayce feels it bubble up in her as well. It’s contagious really, Aurora’s joy. It practically travels through the air, filling the room.   

“Here, let me,” Aurora says, fishing for her wallet as they approach the ticket counter. “Since I’m spending our date looking at a shark.”

“Tell me what you really think of me, why don’t you,” Tayce quips back, laying on as much annoyance as she can while still holding a grin, studying the exhibit poster in front of them. 

Aurora takes her card back, muttering as she stuffs it back into its slot. “It’s the world’s fiercest predator, babe. I don’t know what to tell you.” She hands Tayce her ticket before taking her hand, dragging her to the queue. “It’s me in animal form, though I wouldn’t typically pair black and orange, especially for spring.” 

Tayce breathes out a laugh. “Then what am I?”

“Dunno. Maybe a squid.” 

This time, Tayce fully cackles. “A squid?” she asks, and she feels the rest of the queue turn to look at them. She shakes her head playfully as Aurora eyes her long legs and arms before she shrugs, already moving on, focused on a poster next to the queue. 

“Or maybe an absolute hound.” Aurora pokes Tayce’s side before wrapping herself around Tayce’s arm, tugging them forward. 

“Shark fact,” Aurora continues, reading off the line-marker. “Tiger sharks have a near completely undiscerning palate. Some tiger sharks have eaten sting rays, birds, squids, old tires—even other sharks.”

“Sounds like you, A’Whora,” Tayce teases, pulling her in closer, draping an arm around her shoulder. 

Aurora rolls her eyes and pats Tayce’s forearm. “I obviously only go for the finest of squids,” she says, before glancing up and giving a pronounced chomp. 

“Babe, please don’t bite my pussy.” 

Aurora doesn’t get to respond, finding herself right in front of the ticket scanner, who’s shifting around a bit in his uniform, unable to look at the two women in front of him. Not that Tayce or Aurora particularly care about offending some greasy twenty year-old boy at an aquarium with the concept of pussy. He scans their tickets and gives them a nod, so they walk off toward the exhibit, breaking into laughter once they clear the lobby. 

The hallways are lined with fish, of all different colors and sizes, flitting in and out of coral and anemones and grasses. There’s a reception class gathered around a circular tank, trying to find the Nemo, but to no avail. Tayce knows that usually, Aurora would stop by the tank and help the kids out, wholeheartedly join this hunt for the orange and white fish. She’d remind the kids that the little clownfish might be taking a break in his anemone, just like he did in the movie, but that he’ll surely come out, especially if they’re kind and patient. And usually, Tayce would stand back a few feet and watch the scene play out, heart swelling in the process. 

Today, however, Tayce’s heart is going double-time as Aurora takes her hand and pulls her through the crowd. Aurora’s on a mission, weaving in between strollers and other couples, skirting behind tour guides as they explained how algae grows, following the signs pointing toward the tiger shark exhibit with a cutting precision Tayce hadn’t seen since last year’s Arlington sample sale. 

Aurora breaks free when she sees the tank, running up to it and practically smashing herself up against the glass, with no care for the second years or the family of four next to her. 

Tayce catches up. “Love, you don’t gotta press your tits up against the glass, he knows you got them,” she breathes out, wrapping an arm around Aurora’s waist, pulling her back in the process. 

“What the fuck,” Aurora whispers. The look of wonder she once carried is replaced with shock, her face fallen, a dangerous pout forming. “That’s not a tiger shark.” She trains her eyes to the tank and speaks quietly, pointedly, like she’s jabbing the shark with each syllable. “That’s just a shark.”

Tayce gives her a moment, her own lips pursed as she studies Aurora, then the shark, then Aurora again, searching for the disconnect but unable to find it. She was so excited to see it, but in a moment, something had gone exceptionally wrong. 

She gives up, drumming her fingers against Aurora’s waist, before pointing to the sign. “We went to the right place, babe. The sign says it’s Oliver the tiger shark and he’s 17 years old…today.” Tayce turns Aurora toward the sign, but her feet stay firmly planted, her eyes trained on the shark. Nonetheless, she continues. “It’s his birthday, love.”

“Fuck his birthday,” Aurora grumbles, head following the shark as it passes by them. “He doesn’t look like a bloody tiger shark to me. Why’s he gray? Where’s the stripes?”  

“Aww, he’s old. That’s why he doesn’t have any stripes.”

Aurora shakes her head like Tayce doesn’t get it, and frankly, she doesn’t. As far as Tayce sees, it’s a perfectly good shark, swimming about, living his life, being as inspirational as any shark can be. But Aurora’s miffed, her mood as clouded and dreary as the weather outside. 

She hikes her purse up her shoulder and leans forward again, her nose and two fists pressed right against the glass. “You’re a filthy liar, Oliver.” 

“Babe, it’s a shark—”

“I’ll still fight an old bastard like you. You’ll pay for your lies.” 

Tayce takes her by the shoulders and spins her around, marching them out of the exhibit. “Ok, you can’t fight a shark so it’s time to leave him alone. Time to find some other inspiration in the…” Tayce looks up at the next exhibit’s sign as they walk. “…sea spiders.” She shakes her head. “Christ.” 

As they walk away, Aurora softens, though she’s still dreary and listless. The spiders, of course, aren’t helping—they’re disgusting little heathens, what with their spindling legs and radioactive green backlight. Even Tayce has to admit that. But as she pulls Aurora in for pictures, she finds her limply pressed against her side, disinterested in the pursuit, even though in one of the pictures, it looks like the spider’s balanced on Aurora just so, like it’s woven itself into her waves, made a nest atop her head. Tayce quickly sets this as a new background; Aurora only gives a hum in response. 

They continue with the deep sea creatures, with their dark tanks and neon blue tint, stopping at the octopus and its inky purple light, all spread out against the wall of its tank, its orange tentacles sticking and peeling periodically. Tayce again insists on a picture, “for memory’s sake, even though he looks like a bollock, all pruned from the bath.” Reluctantly, Aurora lets out a breathy laugh and gives in. Tayce counts this as a win, even though her pouting resumes once they move on.

At the next tank, Tayce is amused by the little round fish that dips in and out of its hole, its mouth forming an “O” as they approach it. Aurora cracks a smile, but for a moment, when Tayce pulls her in by the shoulder and makes the same face, jaw slack and nude-painted lips rounded like the fish’s. Aurora claims she’s not going to kiss “fish lips over here,” and yet she does, giving Tayce a peck. Tayce snaps a picture of her now smiling girlfriend, the red light from deep within the fish’s hole haloing her. 

Aurora needs a bit less prodding in the stingray exhibit, sticking her hand in the open tank as soon as she’s given the go-ahead. “He’s a velvet pancake,” Aurora comments, petting the flat beast, its mouth flap opening and closing as it moves through the tank. Tayce reaches for Aurora’s folio prematurely. 

“Velvet is super 2018. I’m bored of it,” Aurora explains, drying her hands before taking Tayce’s. “Thank you though.” She says it quietly, but Tayce knows she’s appreciative from the way she tightens her grip, by the way her thumb lays on top of Tayce’s as they walk into the next exhibit.  

“Look at all these fucking sharks.” Tayce glances upward, dragging Aurora’s hand with her as she points, full of awe, glued to the shark gliding above her, cutting through the water seamlessly. “Look at them go. Absolute beasts they are.” 

Aurora sees it’s clearly Tayce’s turn to be struck with wonder, and at the sharks no less. So, she tries to wipe the pout off of her face, smooth out her furrow, and take in the moment. Take in Tayce, arms spread before her. How the blue light reflects off of her cheekbones. Her still rain-slick hair and jacket. And the sharks passing above her are beautiful, with their milky white bellies and steel body, their rounded faces and sharp fins. There has to be something inspiring about them, she’s sure. Maybe in the shapes, or the colors? She could play with the sharp and round structure, surely. Or work in grayscale. Imitate the leather-y touch of their skin. She rests against the wall, pulling out her folio, clicking her pen aimlessly. 

Tayce continues with the sharks, pointing at them one by one, asking each, “let’s be having you? And you? And you?” with a silly point. She takes pictures with a few.

But when Tayce returns, suggesting they head out and have lunch while the weather’s clear, Aurora finds her paper blank yet again, more and more sure that she has nothing left to give. 

*

The cafe Tayce picks out is splendid and quaint, though Aurora wouldn’t expect anything less. The server wipes down their seats and the metal table before they take a seat, hands over the menus, and gives them a moment to look them over. Aurora doesn’t even bother looking, knowing she’s too  upset to eat much at all, instead laying her head against the cool metal, trying to focus. Or, rather, pull her focus away from her imminent failure and toward Tayce’s new story in the saga about the lady who orders all these clothes online, and every single week, comes into the store, three shipping bags in hand, demanding that everything be returned. 

“They’re not even nice clothes.” Tayce adds, dipping a chip.  “We sell some nice shit, but she keeps buying garbage and complaining that it’s garbage.” 

Aurora hums, ripping at the bits of lettuce hanging out of her sandwich. 

“So she comes on in, throws her shipping bag onto the counter, whips out this polyester blouse, and sticks her hand through it and starts ranting on about how see-through the top is.” Tayce sticks her hand up, wiggling her fingers around. 

“She shouldn’t have bothered with a polyester Zara shirt to begin with.” 

“Shouldn’t have bothered buying a top labeled “sheer” to begin with,” Tayce threw back. “I thought she’d stop her nonsense after I took her around the store, pointing out everything that was good, would look good on her, would fit her enviable work-life-balance, but she still comes back, every Thursday with more shit.” Tayce takes the now ketchup-soggy chip out of the ramekin and sticks it in her mouth. “Even if we didn’t go to the aquarium, I would have called out today. Like I just couldn’t look at those shirts anymore without frying my mind.” 

“Couldn’t have that, could we?” Aurora tries at a laugh, finding it coming up faint. 

Tayce tilts her head, analyzing the situation in front of her. She opens her mouth, like she’s got something to say, before stealing one of Aurora’s chips. 

Pointing the chip at Aurora, she doesn’t ask if Aurora’s okay, or if she’s still disappointed by the aquarium, or if she’s still racking her brain for a sliver of a design idea. Instead, she asks “Well, Whora, what did you think a tiger shark was?” 

Tayce always cuts down to the bone, even when she’s not meaning to. 

Aurora throws her head into her hands, speaking through her fingers. “Fuck if I know, something fantastic and inspiring and shiny and fierce and—”

“Orange?” Tayce laughs before popping the chip into her mouth. 

“Fuck off,” Aurora mutters, raking her fingers through her hair. “I thought it’d all just hit me, babe, and now I’ve got no idea what to do.” 

Aurora looks up, blinking rapidly. Her nose starts feeling peppery, and she knows soon her face will become red, blotchy, and streaked with tears. 

But Tayce reaches over and takes her hand between both of hers. Aurora dares a glance at Tayce, before resting her gaze on their hands. 

“Look, I know you’re not going to tell yourself this, but you’re brilliant and talented, and your brain is, like,  dancing so fast, even when your feet aren’t moving.” She gives Aurora’s hand a squeeze. “You’ve got so many ideas up there, and I’m sure you’ll have the work to show for it soon. And those ideas are surely better than a tiger shark pantsuit, promise.” 

Wiping a stray tear, Aurora breaks into a chuckle. “It was like, my dumbest idea.” 

“Not your dumbest, no.” Tayce says. “But a dumb one.”

*

When they get home, Tayce all about shoves Aurora into her office, throws a can of Fanta in behind her, and tells her to look through the pictures from today, get inspired by nature, sort it out, and come back when she’s got a design. 

“Can I at least get a kiss for good luck?”  Aurora shouts through the door.

“How about one for good work?” Tayce quips. And before Aurora can fire back, she hears the faint sounds of the Mortal Kombat theme through the crack in the door, and thinks better of disturbing Tayce when she’s in the zone, getting out the stress of Polyester Blouse Lady on Johnny Cage. 

So, Aurora picks the Fanta off of the floor, sets it on her desk to rest, and settles into her chair. She moves around in her seat, trying at least a dozen positions before taking a deep breath, flipping to a fresh page. 

She pulls out her phone, scrolling through the pictures Tayce sent her today. There’s a few of the two of them on the tube, Tayce resting on Aurora’s shoulder. Anyone who didn’t know Tayce better would think she looked ready for a nap, with her closed eyes and relaxed lips, but Tayce wasn’t one to rest in the middle of an adventure. 

There’s another of Aurora, taken from behind, stood in line, bouncing on her heels, a neon wave floating above her head, as though she were under the water herself.  

There’s Aurora, plastered against the tiger shark tank, her face blue tinted by the water and the lights in the tank, her gaze steely as she watches that shark—who is an arsehole, she might add. 

And then the next series of pictures—the two of them again. Painted in neon green, a sea spider nesting in Aurora’s hair. Then in purple, shocking purple, the octopus behind them looking ready to strangle them both, it’s tentacles plinking off of the glass like pennies into a well. Then they’re kissing in front of the little fish that kept opening and shutting its mouth, forming a perfect “o,” bathing them in a bloody red tint. She’s not sure how, but Tayce managed to miss all of the miserable faces Aurora knew she had on throughout the aquarium. But when she thinks a bit deeper, she’s not sure when she’s ever looked truly miserable around Tayce. 

She nearly puts her phone down when she comes across the next picture. She couldn’t even remember the moment; Tayce must have asked someone else to take it. 

It’s Tayce, resting against the far wall of the shark exhibit—the tunnel-style tank, with the sharks swimming all around them—glancing off to the side with a lazy grin, eyes vigilant, wild. And the neon blue all around her, bouncing off the shine of her slicker, hitting her cheekbones and her collarbones just-so, filtering through her hair. 

Tayce cackles from the other room, the metallic clash of swords following. 

Absolutely radiant. Aurora chews at her pencil, studying the picture further, the way the light bounces off of the wet jacket…

And Aurora’s scribbling, the model she sketches nothing more than a handful of lines, led by memory, as she’s working desperately to draft the design. The pencil sweeps, once, twice, three times, as she sees the fabric floating. But it’s floating over something tight, sleek, but still soft and shiny. And there has to be a shimmering quality to it, or course. It’s not opaque either, no, much more sheer. She’s going to have to work with chiffon, damn it to bits, but it’ll give her the look she’s after, the wet shine she needs. And in a moment’s time, she’s flipped over to another page for another design, one that drapes lightly. She glances once more at the picture, before following the tempo of her pencil, this time switching it out for a light blue. 

In a blink, she’s filled four pages. 

So she grabs her folio and runs out into the living room, knowing from the sound of the TV that Tayce is still there, and still ripping Polyester Shirt Lady a new one, mentally. 

“I’m here for my kiss,” Aurora announces smuggly, throwing her folio into Tayce’s lap. 

She’s smart enough to pause the game right as Aurora makes her presence known, surely anticipating her dramatics after all this time. 

Tayce flips it open, staring Aurora down like she’s about to rip her designs apart, though she knows Tayce would never, or really, wouldn’t have the reason to do so. It’s that serious look Tayce has, though Aurora knows it only shows up because she’s serious about Aurora’s designs. “And I’m here for some good fashion, love.” 

Aurora falls beside her on the couch, pulling her legs up on the seat and curling in against Tayce. She’s warm. It’s comforting. 

“So I’ve got this one, like the octopus tank. And it’s got this iridescent purple that just flows off of the pantsuit, like it flows right off of it,” Aurora explains, leaning in further, pointing out the details. “I’m thinking Bim for this one.” 

“I can definitely see that. Definitely. With all that movement, ugh.” Tayce runs a finger over the design, outlining where the fabric would trail off steaming behind the model, like the wind’s carrying it, like it’s suspended in mid-air.

“Okay flip,” Aurora instructs, pressing her cheek against Tayce’s arm. Aurora continues, answering questions about fabric, structures underneath the garnments, styling. Tayce slips the pencil out of Aurora’s hand at some point, jotting down answers as she rambles on and on, far too excited to manage writing it on her own. So Tayce scribbles down her directive to add wirey jewelry around the wrists, heels with lacings up the calf, everything looking like it’s floating just below the surface. At some point, the Xbox powers off, until all that’s lighting the room is the standby logo. 

Tayce reaches over the couch, turning the lamp on. 

“So, which one are you thinking of for me?” Tayce pokes at Aurora’s side, her voice trailing into a whine. 

Aurora takes back her book, flipping through the pages aimlessly. “Oh, you know, the first one. From this morning…” 

“You didn’t even have—”

“…Absolute nudity.” Aurora curls in closer, a devious smile forming. “Or maybe full vinyl?”

“I thought no more after last time?” Tayce begins flipping through the book. “I guess I’ll just have to find it on my own, now won’t I?”

“Gimmie that,” Aurora takes it from her hands and flips to the page easily, holding the design close against her chest. “And you look good in the vinyl, is all I’m saying.” 

She plops it down in Tayce’s lap. “You’re obviously getting the finale gown, moron.”

Tayce scans over the page, over and over, tracing along the outline with her finger, as though she can feel the slip of the iridescent blue chifon layered over black organza, how it gathers at one hip, falling down in crashing waves, with the other side draped cleanly, softly. 

“It’s supposed to be murky, like you’re coming out of the depths of the ocean where all the weird spindly things live, that have, like five eyes and spikes and stuff.” Aurora bristles for a moment. “At least that’s what I was thinking. But really, you could wear any of them if you wanted, it’s all inspired by you,” she says, soft, feather-light, like she’s letting the words float on down from the surface. 

They continue on in silence, Aurora watching as Tayce scans over the design, mouth agape. Tayce swallows and mutters, “lil ol’ me, the finale?” She turns to Aurora. “It’s just gorgeous. So, absolutely gorgeous.” 

And Aurora smiles, closing her eyes, breathing in the moment, the relief, the momentum of the collection. She places the folio on the coffee table and sets her sights on Tayce. 

“So, did I earn my kiss?” 

Tayce rolls her eyes playfully. “If you insist,” she says, not leaving Aurora much time to think before pulling her in closer, thumb stroking along her cheek. Their lips meet comfortably, knowingly, in a way that would seem commonplace if not for love. 

They break apart, Aurora resting in the crook of Tayce’s neck. 

“You did an amazing job, love,” Tayce says, quietly this time, as though the moment deserves quiet. And the two hold the silence, open palmed, soaking in the golden, still light of the lamp.   

*

“Oi, you!” Aurora taps on the glass, sure she’s the subject of a few wandering eyes, and the reason why the aquarium security tests the receiver of their walkie a few times. But she doesn’t care. She has some unfinished business, business that’s been keeping her up at night, making her toss and turn right into Tayce’s spread-out, sleeping form, ever since she began production on her collection. 

So she’s returned to Oliver the tiger shark. This time, she’s bearing gifts. 

Aurora points at the shark as it passes, hoping in vain it’ll stop for her, just as she’s stopped for him. She tries again, snapping at him as he passes by once more, before giving up, feeling lucky Tayce wasn’t around to mock her attempts. Aurora continues on regardless. 

“We’ve had our differences, but I must thank you for the inspiration…” Aurora trails off, spotting the shark stopped on the other side of the tank. She scurries over, hoping she can get a good view of him, maybe take a reprieve from looking like a lunatic, talking to nothing. 

“But thank you, Oliver the shark,” she says to him, before he swims off again, practically to the spot Aurora was just standing. 

She huffs and hauls herself back to the other side of the tank. 

“You’re a right dick, you are.” Aurora breathes in deeply before digging into her bag, pulling out her phone, pressing it against the tank, as though he’ll look at the picture and have any idea who she is. “It was really her, my girlfriend here who did the heavy lifting, and she got more than a thank you for it all.” 

Aurora bites at her lip a bit, locking her phone, muttering, “sex, obviously, but you don’t get it, you’re a dumb, heterosexual shark, so…” into her purse as she plops her phone in. 

“But I figured giving you some thanks would earn me back some ocean karma points—” The shark swims to the back of the tank, facing entirely away from Aurora, and she has to remind herself not to stomp like a petulant child. 

She settles for muttering a “fucks sake” under her breath. 

“Anyway,” she hikes up her purse. “Have a good one, Oliver the tiger shark.” 

She gives a half-hearted wave before walking away, dividing to give that funny, little, perpetually surprised fish a visit, hoping he’ll appreciate her company more. 

[chicagocryptid]

'I WATCHED YOU WIN AN EATING CONTEST THEN THROW UP' THAT'S SO HORRIBLE I'M LAUGHING

County Fair // Maple x Chug

Warnings: None!

Summer in Nockfell was hot, but Maple and Ash would have braved hot coals every year to make it to the county fair. The week it was in town was always the most exciting for the entire gang, who all spent their allowance on tickets and fried oreos, but especially for the girls, who could get a free ride or two by winking at the operators, and who loved the excuse to beat the boys at every game they encountered along the dusty path.

It was just them that afternoon. Sal and Larry had been especially sore losers about a game of Balloon Darts, and had declined their invitation for a rematch, so Ash and Maple were walking arm in arm through the crowd, sharing a lemonade shake up and a handspun cotton candy the size of Maple's head. They were both windblown from the tilt-a-whirl, sweaty and a little smelly, but both of their faces hurt from smiling, and if you had asked either one of them, there would have been nowhere else they'd've preferred to be.

Maple groaned and pulled Ash to the side of the path so she could rub a blister forming under the strap of her flip flop. "I feel like we've already done everything," she said when she straightened up again. "We've done all the rides once and I promised myself I would wait to have a funnel cake until after we get dinner."

Ash hummed and tore a piece of cotton candy from the stick, popping it into her mouth. "We could try to break Larry's record on Zero Gravity?"

Maple's stomach lurched at the idea, and she leaned back against one of the makeshift buildings to hide her disgust. "Nah, if we did break it he'd say it was invalid 'cause he wasn't here. We'd just have to do it all over again."

"You're right," Ash sighed, joining Maple against the building. They were quiet for a stretch, watching people from all the over County pass them by. It was another reason they liked fair time so much; It was the only time Nockfell felt like a real town.

"Isn't there a show or something?" Maple asked, soothing closer to lean her head on Ash's bare shoulder. She could feel the heat that meant Ash would be calling her later to complain about not putting sunscreen on, though Maple had reminded her twice before they left. Ash craned her neck to try to get a view of one of the various events signs staked in front of booths and on corners.

"Looks like the only thing going on is an eating contest. It started at 2."

"What time is it now?"

Ash pulled her pager from her pocket and squinted to see it in the light. "2:04. I bet we can catch the end of it at least."

Maple shrugged off the wall and twisted her pinky finger around Ash's, pulling them back into the path. "Great, that means we'll get to see if anyone throws up."

To both of the girls' surprise, the eating contest seemed to be a hot commodity. Still, they were small enough to slip through the throng of people, and somehow, Maple figured out a way to get the two of them pressed against the platform. The sickly sweet smell of pie wafted over them, crusty and warm, and even though she was stuffed to the seams on fried foods, Maple's mouth watered. Most of the contestants were older, some in their twenties, some her dad's age, but there was one young boy second from the left she thought looked familiar.

Maple tapped Ash on the shoulder and gestured towards the boy, a round faced, green haired cherub, with his hat on backwards to keep the strays out of his eyes. "Do we know him?"

Ash used her free hand to shield her eyes against the sun. "Oh! We go to school with him. I think his name is... Chip? No. Ch... Chuck..." She rolled a few names around on her tongue, and then her face lit up. "Chug! That's it . I'm pretty sure he lives in the Apartments with the guys."

"Huh." Maple watched as he dove hands first into another pie, his fingers stained purple with blueberry ink. The pile next to him was smaller than the others, and she felt a little spark at the thought that he might win. Even Ash appeared to be interested, if her wide eyed gaze was any indication. He finished that pie, and then another, and then the crowd around them started to cheer louder. Maple realized Chug only had two pies left, and so she started to cheer too.

She hadn't been looking at anyone else's pile, but it must have been a close race, because as Chug took his last bite, a loud groan rippled through the audience. Chug had won, and although she hadn't meant to, Maple was screaming, jumping up and down on the hard dirt. Ash was right alongside her, caught up in the excitement. The judge came to Chug's side, lifted his hand above his head, and declared him the winner.

And then Chug's hair wasn't the only thing that was green. Maple must have been the only one who saw it, and it made her stop dead in her tracks. It flashed across his face for just a moment, and then Chug pushed back his chair, leaned over the side of the stage, and puked.

And puked.

And puked.

A rainbow of pie, every color imaginable. The crowd, in disgust, had begun to disappear, while the judge was standing behind Chug, looking horrified. A woman rushed on stage to rub the small of his back. When he regained his composure, only Ash and Maple remained.

"Should we go?" Ash asked, leaning close to Maple's ear and looking a little nauseous herself. But Maple's feet wouldn't let her move, although Chug was heading off the back of the stage into the other side of the fair.

"Uh..." His green head was threatening to disappear into the masses. "Why don't you grab us another lemonade and meet me at the Yo-yo?" She was already headed in Chug's direction, Ash calling after her.

"Okay, but you get the next one!"

She caught up with him a little ways away from the stage, in line for a shwarma stand. The woman, who Maple had assumed to be his mom, was no where in sight.

"Hey, Chug!" He turned, and looked rightfully surprised to see her moving in his direction. He had a chunk of thrown up pie on his t-shirt. She pretended not to notice.

"Maple, hi." He smiled when he saw her, kind of crooked and goofy. She liked it.

"I just uh... I just wanted to make sure you were..." The person in front of him stepped aside, and he moved into the window with two fingers up. "Are you really about to eat again?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah." He laughed a little."I wait all year for this truck. I'm not missing out."

"You literally just threw up 15 pies."

Chug blanched a little as he took his order. "You saw that huh?"

Maple flushed. "Unfortunately. I was actually trying to make sure you were feeling alright but... Well." She gestured at the paper boat in his hand. "Curried meat speaks for itself."

Chug laughed again, longer this time, and picked up one of the skewers. He held the other one out to Maple, and after a moment, she took it. Chug touched the end of their sticks together and made a clunking sound, and then took a bite.

"I see you around at school a lot, you know. I noticed your paintings at the art show last spring." Maple blushed again, busied herself with finding a good angle to bite her shwarma.

"They're okay."

"What?! They're amazing. I know Mrs. Doyle hung that one in the art room. I go in there to look at it sometimes." The sun shifted overhead, and Chug turned his hat forward. "You know sometimes they show off local work at The Bean. You should submit something."

Maple was so surprised that she nearly choked, and spent a good thirty seconds trying to dislodge the food in her throat. When she felt she could breathe again, she tried to wave him off. "Oh no. I'd be so intimated and I wouldn't even know what to paint..." Chug frowned, and then took another bite and lit up again.

"Why don't you come with me the next time they have one? Then you can see what you'd be up against." Maple heard her name cut through the air like a knife, but from further away. Ash just have gotten tired of waiting and was on the move. Maybe it was a blessing though, because her face was so warm she thought she might be getting a sunburn too.

"Okay, sure." Chug smiled wide, even more crooked, and knocked their skewers together again.

"Cool. It's a date."

Maple heard her name again, closer.

"I gotta go." She turned slightly in the direction of Ash's voice, then paused. "Oh, and Chug?"

He lifted his gaze toward her, taking another bite.

"When you ask me on our second date, make sure you don't still have vomit on your shirt?"

[travelingnowhereandbeyond]

“We inter-breathe with the rain forests, we drink from the oceans. They are part of our own body.” – Buddha

The eastern most edge of Captain Daniel Wright Woods Forest Preserve in Mettawa, Illinois, is home to winding trails forged by deer through dense trees and bushes whose bark and leaves vary as wildly as the shapes of gravel in a pond. Decaying logs, a single creek, squirrels chewing walnuts, bright green moss covering gray stones, vines strangling already dead trees, drapes of ivy, and white star flowers filling green and gold meadows also claim it as home. As it is not part of the main park, it rarely draws human visitors, but it was three minutes on foot from my house when I was in middle school. It was my forest. Every day after school, regardless of weather or season, I visited until dinner time. I hiked those familiar trails, and sat on logs, but always observed, belonged, listened, and sensed my surroundings.

In summer, when the humidity hits, cicadas emerge from their homes in the ground to shed their brown shells. One day, during the summer of the seventeen year cicada, I watched a daddy long leg crawl over a prairie trillium, with its burgundy diamond bloom and three dark green mosaic leaves. Something else moved on a tree branch nearby. Stunned at first, I almost left in disgust, but closer then I looked and realized what it was. A seventeen year cicada was pushing out of the top of its shell attached to the bark. I sat on the ground and watched.

So odd, ugly, and beautiful. First, its white head with bright red eyes and black dots- fake eyes, then the white body and translucent wings that uncurled. It struggled for a long time. Finally, it rested, hatched and still clinging to its shell. The delicate and vulnerable state of that cicada amazed me. I had witnessed something I’d never see again. Like so many things I noticed and learned in the forest preserve, I could not explain its significance, but I knew its beauty and power.

“If we could see the miracle of a single flower clearly, our whole life would change.” – Buddha

Many years later I had a pet dog, as many people do. He was a black miniature schnauzer with two large ears- one curled back and one curled forward- a stubby tail, a white chest, and a tendency to talk too much. He was my best friend and companion for 12 years. Together we hiked through slot canyons in Escalante, camped in Zion National Park, visited The Wave in northern Arizona, leapt into the Pacific Ocean in San Diego, ran through fields and forests in Daniel Boone National Forest, and forged through the high desert of Saint George, Utah with thick sage and tall juniper trees, red rock cliffs, orange sand, darting lizards, and gray jackrabbits as large as schnauzers. We observed nature as we went, often sitting side by side, taking it in and simply existing.

“In life we cannot avoid change, we cannot avoid loss. Freedom and happiness are found in the flexibility and ease with which we move through change.” – Buddha

The day he died I was moving to South Korea. Since he was older and ill, I decided to leave him with my parents. He disappeared into the darkness in my parents’ backyard at 3 am. When we couldn’t find him, I still left, spending the 15 hour plane ride crying. By the time I arrived in South Korea in the evening, it had been a full day since my parents had discovered him passed away under his favorite tree. When my mother told me this as I lay in my foreign apartment, it was if I had already heard it. I just knew it, but this knowledge did not make it less painful. And tears were painful. Still, life moved on. In South Korea, it was the beginning of the semester in late August, so I was thrown into the chaos of starting a new job at a university, in a new city, in a new country. My grief would have to wait. Or maybe I could get over it gradually, so I thought.

Uam Historic Park sits on a ridge of hills that skirt the east side of Daejeon, South Korea. It is the gateway to a system of trails that lead out of the city’s valley into a vast forest and around the Daechong Lake for several kilometers. One can walk this entire ridge around the valley of Daejeon, should one be so ambitious, and some are. The park itself holds enough significance to draw thousands of visitors at all times of the year. It houses a school from the 1600s of a renowned scholar, Song Si-Yeol, with numerous buildings, a meditation pavilion, a temple, a lily pond, and a library museum within the secure walls. Before arriving in South Korea, I had researched the park and its network of trails extensively. Hiking would continue to be my favorite past time, no matter where I was. Like any good traveler and expat, I set the first stones for the steps to comfort and home.

Every Sunday morning, and any other day possible, I visited Uam Park and continued out on the forest paths that weaved up the mountain. I also found numerous other trails intersected each other. The entrance to one was a quick, steep walk up the hill behind my apartment. There was no excuse for not visiting the forest. Also, the chaos of the new job, and the pungent, raw city mirrored the chaos brewing inside me from avoiding my grief. Only the forest brought peace. It was familiar. Tree branches snapped in the wind. Leaves brushed each other. Dirt, plants, scurrying insects, pink flowers. Green grass, and green leaves all smelled the same. My lungs filled with fresh air and my legs burned from exertion.

And new sights gave new pleasures. Light green bamboo with feather leaves grew in clumps along the ancient wall of the park. Wooden signs in Korean indicated trail lengths. The burgundy Buddhist temple with its green painted roof sat at the top of the hill, just above the pond. Behind it, the trees rolled up the mountains. Along one of the trails above the park, there is a resting station covered by a yellow tarp under which travelers can sleep in cots, drink from the natural spring, or eat at picnic tables. Such familiar and novel pleasures patched my wounds, if only as distractions. I stayed there for hours. I wanted to live under a mound of ivy.

“Every life has a measure of sorrow. Sometimes it is this that awakens us.” – Buddha

But, one cannot live in nature when one has other responsibilities. So Daejeon city continued to stir emotions, but slowly, like a melting icicle. At the sound of a schnauzer barking from a passing car at the local market, my heart pounded, then I cried. At mentioning to my friends that I once had a dog, my stomach churned. At realizing I could stay at coffee shops as long as I wanted, feelings of remorse and guilt surged up my face, as if my blood and tears were lava. In dreams he was in danger from a snake or a flood, and I was unable to save him.

Then, finally, after two months, I was comfortable in my new home. The grief over the loss of my best friend of twelve years, who died too suddenly, struck me then, but it brought guilt with it. One night I woke crying from another nightmare where his death was my fault. I was sweating, panicky, and alone in my one room apartment with the marvelous heated floors. Frequent hikes were not strong enough bandages for the raw wound that was now hemorrhaging. I could not go on this way.

“You need to do something to commemorate him and let him go, like a ritual,” my close friend wrote me from The United States. She was right. Also, I had been avoiding confronting the pain, hoping it would go away, but no longer. I devised a plan and carried it out.

“There is the path of fear and the path of love. Which will you follow?” – Buddha

On a sunny, autumn Sunday morning, I headed into the forest above Uam Park, to a spot overlooking the lake. He walked with me as I stepped silently over roots and dry brown leaves, past outdoor exercising equipment, and the relaxing station to the top of the hill. This hike and this forest was the only thing I knew would heal me. But, I knew we never truly get over the trauma, the grief, the guilt, the pain; that is not realistic. Laurence Gonzalez reminds us in his book, Surviving Survival, “…it’s important to realize that we don’t get over it. We get on with it.” In another sense, we let go so we can make space for other things. These ideas are profoundly Buddhist. I was desperate to get on with it and make room.

The elderly population of Korea loves to hike and they were out as usual. Respectfully, I nodded as I passed them, and they smiled and returned the respect. So many people still relish the forest for the same reasons I do and did. It brings comfort to know this. Exercise produces chemical changes that can offset depression. Even the color green soothes. South Korea, along with many Asian countries, respects nature as a place to literally bathe, replenish, cleanse, and destress. Forest Bathing programs are popular, Forest Therapy centers as well. Daejeon has one tucked at the base of Mt. Bomunsan in the south.

So atop that hill I sat, unable to speak, on a rock and looked down the slope of the trail. In fall one can see what was once hidden. So many thin, new trees surround their elders. Some leaves still cling, then swirl down at the mention of a breeze. Finally, I spoke to him. I recounted what I thought were my sins- neglect, greed, and selfishness. I forgave myself, and remembered him fondly. Many words I hadn’t scratched on that paper came out. Then I ripped up the letter and buried it in a hole on that hill. Ever after, when I would walk up that hill, part of him was there and a portion of me too, so the forest had become more sacred than I intended. The ritual recognized the physical realization of grief, and the guilt. The wound was healed, but the scar remained. When I cried, it was lighter. The impurities had been drained and the emotion flowed through my body like the clean mountain spring below our special spot.

“In the end only these things matter: How well did you love? How fully did you live? How deeply did you let go?” – Buddha

For years I had found desert trails in Saint George, Utah, comforting, all of those with him. Before that there were forest trails in Indiana, and parks with pavement and manicured grass with him. Many years before that, there were the life renewing forests by my house in Illinois. In Uam Historical Park, I learned why temples in South Korea are found on mountain tops, and hillsides, tucked away from the chaos of civilization. They rest in the safe, quiet wisdom, and sanctity of ancient forests. The simplicity of nature can be emulated. Forests are full of miracles as every day as the emergence of a cicada from its shell, or the healing of a grief stricken human.

(Uam Historical Park and the forest trails. 2017)

  Getting on with It: How a Southern Korea Forest Heals “We inter-breathe with the rain forests, we drink from the oceans. They are part of our own body.”

[ofstormythoughts]

Earth

••Earth was meant to ground, but sometimes it took you under.

The earth was a relic. Seeped into the pores of its mantle were the memories left by all the souls that had come before. These imprints of life circulated through the rocks, sands, trees and clays that had stood the test of time. While people went absently about their day, touches they made left behind a history that most wouldn’t see.

But one might say I could go through the looking glass.

I’d first encountered my connection to earth when I was six. It had happened during a daily ritual that was nothing out of the ordinary:  the walk home from school. There was a cemetery that Birdie and I passed every day along the way. In the vibrancy of a spring at its peak, I had been drawn by the green.

The grass was so vividly colored and the blades begged for the trample of bare feet. I’d kicked my shoes off and couldn’t wait to dispose of my socks to run past the fence with abandon. The birds were chirping, the air was alive with the hum of bees and the sun was making the flowers dewy. I remember the feeling of my smile that pivotal moment before my foot landed on the sod, squishing under my toes and ….

The images came at me as if I was thrust into a dark tunnel at warp speed… skeletal remains filling in with faces before their memories came into view with an acceleration that was dizzying. There was no exit, no safe direction to turn;  I was lost in a plume of inescapable, terrifying imagery.

Each step triggered a landmine, images exploding and erasing the setting of present with rapid fire reels of the past. I heard my own blood-curdling screams but not even their force could pull me out of the nightmarish reverie. Birdie had quickly lifted me to rescue, retrieving me from maelstrom I had unknowingly entered, drawn by the colors of spring and completely carefree. The terror had lasted for less than a minute, but to me it felt like eons and in the aftershocks I had stumbled into a fear that wouldn’t settle, turning me tentative when it came to parks and playgrounds.

It was a fortunate circumstance that not all ground was hallowed and I had eventually conquered my fear of being barefoot. Time, experimentation and the careful guidance of my grandmother had provided the invisible map needed to navigate another anomaly that was intrinsically part of me.  

My grandma had taken me to the ocean when I was a little older, but not yet a young woman.  I’d slipped out of my sandals and took a tentative step into the sand and had been overwhelmed with excitement and glee. I had been met with so much joy and playfulness that I had fallen to giggles as we’d made our way to the shoreline.

As a day-dreamy teenager I had found a tree; the canopy had offered me shade from hot sun in the precursor to summer and was a quiet spot out of the fray where I could study. In leaning against it, shoulder bare in the heat of summer, I was whisked into an image of a boy that had propped a hand against it as he had dipped down to give a girl her first kiss. The memory lived in the ring of the year it had happened and my contact with the bark had drawn it out from the roots.

Birdie had always had a knack for gardening and making home medicinals. She self-educated by pouring through books in hours spent at the library and then more at home. There were nights her mortar and pestle were subjected to hours of abuse so that she might find the cure for a headache or a balm to sooth a bruise. I was her willing guinea pig and participant in her daydreams. It was not lost on me that she may have been in search of a secret remedy to ease the parts of me that were harder to cope with.  

A deeper connection to earth was discovered in the garden. Birdie cultivated everything she used in her potions and lotions. She readily involved me in her every passion and whim. I was her constant companion and she was mine.  My green thumb grew every year along with my inches and it was in new growth I had discovered the wonder of my connection to life. A newborn bloom or tender sproutling held in its small but mighty roots... potential.  Unburdened by age, they posed no threat to my enhanced senses, instead bringing the refreshing perspective that came with new beginnings.  I lost hours to running my fingers along the herbs in the garden, and the flowers along the fences. It was a world of my own:  Raine in Wonderland.

And then… something even deeper.

My connection to the earth extended beyond reading its memories like pages in a picture book, and as with the more harrowing happenings, it had been stumbled upon quite by surprise. While out in our garden, the drying leaves of a plant at the corner of the bed had caught my attention. I ran my fingertips over the foliage, the ones past rescue fluttering to the soil just below. I had been confounded by the single struggling plant surrounded by all others lush and robust.

“Birdie, why isn’t this one well?”

Walking over to pat her gentle reassurance on my shoulder, my grandmother had been quick to answer. “Sometimes, my darling Raine, it is just a matter of the survival of the fittest.”

“Can we let it be until all the leaves have fallen?”

She had answered me with a decisive nod before flitting around to prune and feed and pick things in her garden. I’d whispered to the plant my sorries for its struggle to grow and then continued about my other business.

The next morning brought a miracle. I’d decided that the plant deserved company every day so that it wouldn’t be sad about losing its leaves. Skipping straight to it, that very next day, my eyes had immediately gone wide and I’d questioned what I was seeing. “Birdie! Look! Look!”

I remember very clearly she had wiped her hands on her gardening apron and hurried over then her jaw had gone slack. The plant that could have been a long lost relative to Charlie Brown’s Christmas tree had filled out and grown up while we slept. That was the day I found I had a literal green thumb. Or maybe it was more than just a thumb…  

This inexplicable gift and my undying love of Birdie’s garden had inspired my own passions and drove me to pursue a double-major of plant science and plant biology. My path had illuminated towards a future in botany with a healthy knack for horticulture on the side. There was not a question in my mind of what I wanted to do once I was old enough to understand it.

Birdie was an absolute sponge and my number one study partner throughout my schooling. We applied my education to her ingenuity and fervor for the field. Combined we were a powerhouse. We created remedies and therapies and indulgent home spa treatments with herbs and flowers and oils.

In my mind the earth still held untapped and untold potential.

I was motivated in my studies, excelled and graduated in exactly four years. A typical experience for someone who was less than typical. I don’t think Birdie had ever been so proud as the day I crossed the stage. We’d celebrated my accomplishment with an elaborate farm-to-table meal that we made together, complete with homemade vanilla bean ice cream and our very own tea.  There was a hint of nutmeg in the aromatic blend - an irresistible detail that had been my idea. I had always loved the scent of nutmeg, it had an amazing quality of home, earthy and grounding with that je ne sais quoi.

After schooling, it had been my determination to have a business plan drawn up and secure a loan to bring Birdie’s apothecary to life.  Most every thing had been in place as far as framework went when my grandmother had fallen at the the hands of a stroke… It was then I had shifted from entrepreneur to caregiver, despite the protests of Birdie herself.  Sadly there were some afflictions the derivatives of earth could not fix…

Eventually, in Venice Beach, the dream would be realized. Birdie wouldn’t be there for the moment I found my place, or when I had brushed it to new life with paint,  but she had been there before, when we had ordered the prototypes for our original line of inventory. I would carry other brands, but our featured line came from her as much as it did me. She knew I was moving forward before she said a silent farewell and drifted into a sleep from which she would not wake. My grief was deep and by some measure, would always remain a part of me. Perhaps this was the way the heart tried to fill the void left by absence of someone you loved unconditionally.  

Happiness had arrived in a box a few short weeks later. I didn’t have to guess at its contents but that didn’t dull my anticipation to get to what was inside at all, quite the opposite. I didn’t bother with scissors, instead catching an edge of the tape that had lifted and ripping it free of the cardboard. The jade colored bottles were so rich and perfect in their jeweled tone, I had actually squealed my delight, which was certainly not my style. In those moments, I felt so much joy and a connection to my Birdie that defied description.  It was then my mourning had altered, morphing into something less lonely and more hopeful.

That very first box was the front seat passenger in my otherwise solo drive to my next destination.  I’d not left it in the car when I arrived, opting to carry it up the three steps of the storefront instead of going ahead to unlock the door. To me this was symbolic, the next best thing to my grandmother’s fingers joined with mine as we crossed the threshold.

Now, weeks later, my apothecary, with its fresh coat of paint, was taking on its shape and personality. A newly constructed greenhouse was its neighbor to the back, already filled with plants which were mostly from clippings that came from Birdie’s garden back home. Her legacy lived in their roots and my gift would ensure their eternity.  

Inside, the walls had been painted a soothing shade of grey, and razor thin glass shelves jutted out proudly from the walls.  The flooring had yet to be completed, for that would be the final touch for a specific element that had been non negotiable to me. As it were, many may have found it premature to set up any display.  I, however, could not resist the pull I had to see those jewel-toned bottles out of their box and adorning the shelves.  One by one I had taken them out, stopping to open each cap and indulge in their scents before I set them in the center shelves of the left wall, Birdie had been left handed.  Not a moment after I’d placed the last bottle I was beaming and welling with pride.  The emotion of that moment washed over me with a power that defied description; I suppose that might actually be normal when on the precipice of realizing a lifelong dream.

Survival of the fittest, my grandma had said so long ago in the garden, and Birdie had certainly survived.  Birdie was right there in the contents of those bottles, displayed with a graceful strength and purposeful dignity, the very essence of who she had been.

The earth could take you under…

… but it could also set you to bloom. ••