The Ocean’s City

I stared at the cracks on the kitchen floor, memorizing every flaw and speck of dust. The cream-colored tiles were evenly spaced and set with red cement-like clay. It gave the home an older feel, but the place was well in shape.

I sat there, not moving, allowing myself to feel the sense of calm and distress that I welcomed, thankfully, after all the crying I had uncontrollably released.

The house had a mother’s scent, like someone often cooked here. The aromas of cinnamon and other spices roamed the air. Memories of baking cookies with my grandma occupied my mind occasionally.

Her short, stout stature would hobble and bustle around me as I stood on a wooden chair at the counter.

I enjoyed baking with her most because she let me measure all the ingredients, mix it all by myself, and do any other task, no matter how slow or messy I was.

Plus, she always let me lick the spoon.

A laugh echoed throughout the room, causing me to jump as I searched for who was there, shocked that it came from my voice.

That’s when I noticed that the wind no longer sang outside.

I wiped the snot from my face, placed my hands on the cold tiles, and pushed myself up.

Millions of stars shone in the sky; each one seemed impossibly bright.

I rarely left the city; when I did, there were never this many stars. Even by the ocean, the stars look few in comparison.

I walked to the front door, feet crunching on the dirt that had flown in, and went outside.

I stood on the porch, staring up at the stars, wondering if there were actually that many stars in the world.

A long metallic creak cried behind me, causing me to jump. It took a moment for my eyesight to focus on the man sitting in the lawn chair.

“Hutson! You scared me!”

His stare bore into me as his hand went from dangling over the armrest to his mouth. He sucked in a breath, and a red glow grew at the end of his fingers.

“I’m pretty sure Dalton asked you to stay indoors.” He spoke before letting the smoke out of his lungs.

“I was just… um..” I guiltily pointed at the stars.

He took enough puff of his cigarette before flinging it away. Then he reached behind himself, pulled out a folded lawn chair, wrestled with it, and patted the seat. “Sit.”

I gave him one questioning look before letting my weight lower on the chair. The gravel crackled from the force of the metal legs. I felt so awkwardly placed that the sound sang a painfully awkward song.

I sat stiffly with my hands tucked in between my knees. Hutson’s hand ruffled with the roughness of his prickled beard.

We didn’t speak. Instead, we let the awkwardness flow between us. The trillions of stars were better company than him.

Hutson’s chair screeched against the hard floor as he shifted his weight to his left side, waited a few moments, and then to his right. It was like he was battling with himself.

When he finally spoke, it was gruff and sudden that I had to stop myself from jumping. “If I tell you something…” he let his sentence die in the air.

I turned my head to him, heart pounding, that I would finally get some answers. Our eyes locked in an unspoken conversation. “You can’t te—”

“I won’t,” I interrupted, eager to hear what he had to say. “My lips are sealed.”

He took a long, hard look at me, reading my emotions, before nodding. “There are more dangerous things than death, Silvestia. You put Daniela in that danger.”

“What do you mean?”

“What happens when you die?”

“I don’t know, no one does… do they?”

He leaned forward in his chair, his eyes heavy with concentration as he thought about how to explain it to me. “Do you believe in heaven?”

I thought about it. Did I believe in heaven? I mean, before all of this. I believed in heaven, but now… what I had known to be true was all crumpling at my feet like sand as the waves washed it away from under my feet.

“I did.”

He grumbled in frustration but continued speaking, anyway. “When you die, you go to heaven.”

He stated it so plainly that it was clear on his face that it should make complete sense to me without further explanation, but the meaning was lost on me. I frowned at him.

“Dannie died,” He further explained.

“What? No… I talked to Dalton. He told me she—”

He grunted, “No. You’re not listening. Dannie. Died.”

I went to speak again to tell him to stop saying such terrible things. To stop making my mind whirl in confusion about my friend’s life status.

I looked into his eyes, and he looked back into mine, trying to read whether I understood.

I couldn’t grasp what he was saying, and he refused to elaborate. Frustrated, small sprints of breath left my mouth, and I tried to think of what to ask or say because I was utterly lost.

“So, what’s more dangerous than dying?” I finally asked.