"Dragonfly" by John Grim
Musical Inspiration: Dragonfly, lyrics by John Grim, music by Suno
It was our fourth day at the resort. Mom and Dad had left that morning to go sight-seeing. I got bored and restless lounging around alone in the room, so I slipped on y sandals and headed out to the pool to lounge around there instead, among a bunch of strangers.
I was never one for wearing hats or sunglasses, even when it was prudent to do so. I knew that part of my reluctance stemmed from the trauma of having lost the lucky rabbit's foot my grandpa had given to me when I was six years old. I have never stopped regretting my decision to take it with me to school that day.
So, consciously or unconsciously, I've always travelled light. You can't lose what you don't have on you.
When I got to the resort pool, I walked around until I found a lounge chair that wasn't baking in direct sunlight. There are a few things less relaxing than feeling like a sausage sizzling on a barbecue grill.
I dragged the chair from the shade out into the sun, then stretched out, draping my arm across my eyes so that the brillian sunlight didn't torch my retinas right through my eyelids.
Who needs a hat or sunglasses? Not me, apparently.
When I started to get too hot, I briefly considered jumping in the pool, but it was already teeming with vacationers. Instead, I got up and started back toward our room.
Image Description: A young woman pictured from behind walks along the water's edge on a sandy beach. Light from the sun glitters on the blue water, and fluffy, white clouds dot the pale blue sky. The young woman is tanned from the sun. She wears a t-length white dress. Her long, dark hair reaches her waist.
Credit: Dmitriy Piskarev / Pexels
On my way, I turned my head and squinted out toward the beach.
I couldn't resist the siren's song of the sparkling sea, so I changed course and took the three-minute stroll down to the ocean.
A white blanket of sand stretched for a mile or more along the shoreline. The beach was shared by two resorts: ours and a neighboring one. There were no fences or other barriers separating one resort from the other along the waterfront, but there was a less pristine section of beach i nthe middle that acted as a border of sorts.
Most of the beachgoers stayed close to their respective resort, so I welcomed the relative solitude as I ventured into the untamed borderlands armed with nothing more than a tee shirt, swim trunks, and sandals.
I splashed my way through the shallows as the gentle waves came ashore and fanned out on the beach before flowing back out.
I found a spot not so far from the neighbouring resort and sat down in the dry sand just above the swash, watching the waves roll in.
The ocean, I think, has a heartbeat. You need only take the time to feel it. I hugged my knees to my chest with one arm while I dug a shallow trench in the sand beside me with a broken shell.
I heard a noise that sounded a bit like a seagull, so I turned my head and scanned the shoreline along the beach face.
At first, I saw nothing, but then a flash of teal caught my eye. It was the fabril of a swimsuit worn by a girl standing in waist-deep water.
As I watched, the girl bent forward and peered below the surface. She was holding her long, dirty-blonde hair back from behind her head in a makeshift ponytail while she cupped her free hand on the surface of the water to help her see below.
It didn't take long to see just how agitated she was.
I remembered how I'd felt the day I lost my grandpa's lucky rabbit's foot, the overwhelming feeling of utter helplessness the longer I searched without finding it, and the pang of regret I felt waking up the following morning without it.
Decades later, I still experience a dull ache in my chest when I'm reminded of it.
I was up and walking toward the girl in the teal bathing suit without having made a conscious decision to do so.
My breath came in short gasps as I channeled her anxiety. All the while, that dull ache in my chest threatened to blossom into full-blown panic.
I quickened my pace.
Initially, I had assumed the girl was quite young, perhaps as young as thirteen or fourteen, but as I approached, I realized that she was much closer to my own age. Her bikini did a poor job of hiding her curves, and my eyes did a worse job of not noticing them.
Ashamed of myself, I shut my eyes briefly and shook my head.
She needs help, I scolded myself.
When I opened my eyes, the girl had sacrificed her hair to the water so she could cup both her hands on the sides of her face as she scanned below the reflective surface.
"Can I help?" I asked as I stood in knee-deep water between the distraught girl and shore.
She apparently hadn't heard me, so I cleared my throat and tried a second time, lowder.
"Excuse me."
She ignored me.
How rude.
I watched her for what felt like an inappropriately long period of time. In reality it was probably no more than twenty seconds.
She made an exasperated noise that I immediately recognized as the call of the seagull I'd heard a couple minutes earlier.
She swept her wet hair back and stood up.
Our eyes met.
Her face was ugly. Not in a permanent way, just in that moment. Her lips were twisted and there was redness around her eyes.
She was crying.
I caught a glimpse of a tattoo on the inside of her right forear, but I couldn't tell what it was.
At first, I was probably just a blur to her, but then she wiped her etes with her fingertips and blinked at me.
"You look like you could use some help," I said.
She shook her head emphatically.
For a moment, I thought she disagreed with me,but then she swept her hair behind her ears and tapped them repeatedly.
She's deaf.
As confirmation, she signed something to me.
I gave her that classic 1930s horror movie look that actors gave the camera when they came face-to-face with the monster for the first time. It's my go-to look whenever someone speaks to me in a foreign language.
The girl rolled her eyes and dismissed me with a backhanded gesture.
I really should be more sensitive.
While the girl returned to her solitart search, I watched her, ready to be a better communicator once she looked up at me again.
She made me wait quite a while.
The longer I watched her, the more I thought about my lost rabbit's foot and the aftermath: that hopeless gut-wrenching reeling of shap I experienced the next time we visited my grandpa, andd also my inability to look him in the ete when I tearfullt confessed that I had lost the treasure he had entrusted to me.
Evert movement of the girl's body and every breatb she took transmitted distress. I couldn't bear to leave, nor could I just stand by doing nothing, so I ventured a couple steps toward her until the incoming waves reached halfway up my thighs.
With an exasperated sigh she raised her face from between her cupped hands.
She had stopped crying, but her eyes still looked puffy and red. She tilted her head and eyed me strangely, then pressed the index and middle fingers of her right hand below her eyes and dragged them down her cheeks.
I was well aware. I was sad for her....and feeling sorry for myself.
I nodded and retjrned the gesture.
She studied me carefully.
I could feel the sun beating down on my shouldersa nd on the top of ny head. The ocean water flowed around my legs. The sand swept over and around my sandaled feet. But all of those sensations became muted and even the ocean and sky seemed to melt away, leaving only the two of us looking at each other in the moment.
I cannot recall ever feeling so noticed -- so seen -- as I did on that hot summer day my the ocean.
I studied her as meticulously as she studied.
I thought she looked Scandinavian. The irises of her eyes were dark green, and tbere was a light dusting of freckles on the bridge of her nose and across her cheeks and forehead. the tattoo on her forearm depicted a dragonfly. The insects body was almost the shade of teal as her swimsuit.
I pointed to my chest then to my eyes before turning my forked fingers toward the water and sweeping them over the surface.
"I can help you look," I said at the same time.
She sucked her top lip into her mouth for just a second before nodding tentatively.
"What did you lose?" I asked, spreading my hands, palm up before turning them over as if I were tossing something in the water.
She raised her arm and motioned across her wrist with a finger.
I tapped the back of of my wrist twice with my index and middle fingers.
"A watch?" I guessed.
She shook her head. She pinched her thumb and index finger together and repeated the motion across and around her wrist.
I nodded in understanding. She had lost a bracelet.
It doesn't take long for the ocean to swallow up a small object, so I didn't waste anymore time. I waded out until the water tickled my ribcage then looked down. The water was clear enough and the sun was bright enough, but every reflective rock or shell fragment sparkled on the bottom. The constant distortion of the undulating water didn't help either.
A scuba mask would be handy right about now, I thought.
But thime was of the essence, so I pinched my nose, bent my knees and lowered my face below the surface. By squinting, I was able to see a little better below than from above, although it was still quite blurry.
I moved around the search area, feeling a twinge of excitement every time I spotted a shiny object, only to be disappointed time and again.
The girl kept searching from the surface.
I'm not sure how long we looked that way. Ten minutes maybe. My eyes were getting irritated, and I was certain the back of my neck was sunburnt. I began to wonder how much longer I could continue the search.
I was maybe ten feet away from where we had concentrated our initial search efforts. I saw a flash of silver as a thin veil of sand shifted under the push and pull of the constant waves. I quickly reached down and grabbed the object along with a handful of sand.
I lifted the silver charm bracelet like a victorious treasure hunter. Three tiny dragonfly charms hung from the fine chain. The clasp had broken.
I splashed my way over and knelt beside the girl, holding out the prize.
Her face lit up, and I felt the wave of relief that swept over her.
Instead of reaching for her bracelet, she cupped her hands beneath it as it dangled from my pinched thumb and forefinger. Her fingernails were painted robin's egg blue.
I lowered the bracelet into her hands and revelled in her joy. A warm sensation filled my chest.
She closed her hand around the silver chain and lifted her eyes to consider me again. She had a beautiful smile. Perfect teeth. Shallow dimples. Long lashes. Dark green eyes. Eyes you could get lost in.
She reached for my hand. Took it. Squeezed it affectionately.
I think I squeezed back.
She took her hand back.
Reluctantly, I let her.
She stood up and splashed her way to the beach, turned and smiled at me one final time.
I stood up.
She waved goodbye then ran up the beach.
I followed, but only with my eyes...and my heart.
From the Author
In my writing, regardless of genre, I explore the emotive. Engaging readers with an interesting, well-written story is important, but my purpose goes beyond that. When I write, I seek to captivate readers so they become immersed in the story and invest themselves emotionally in the characters and their circumstances. Evoking human emotion through storytelling is what separates great writers from good writers, in my opinion. That is where the magic resides.
-- John Grim
Discover more of John Grim's expansive work on Booksie.
Read John Grim's work on Underground Bookshelf:
Add comment
Comments