As Gravity Pulled Me Under

The steps grew heavier with each push against the cool concrete. Gravity dragging me like a magnet to the Earth. But my eyes stayed focused on the point on the horizon where my goal was.
And then I rose my foot again. I looked up at the startling blue above me, and as I grew nearer to the lamppost, my steps lightened.  My hands locked onto the freezing metal post, and I felt my legs slowly raising upward, into the sea above.
My light hair danced around my face, licking the air down into blue.
Or was it up?
Pain staggered through my arms as I held onto the post. The sky below seemed endlessly clear.
And I saw a dot.
Just a small dot.
Laughter evaded my mouth.
A dot?
My fingers loosened, my heart lept into my throat.
Air sung across my face, kissing me with teeth.
But I began falling upward.
Gravity tugged me up, and I was flipped.
Suddenly the dot was growing the larger, and I saw a glimpse of the pale hair.
Wind surged around, and I was shocked by the sudden shattering of the mirror I was in.
The waves were smooth around me, and I looked up at the thick metal grates above.
And I looked down as gravity pulled me under.
As gravity pulled me under.

James

The morning where the rain wasn't falling.
The air that didn't hold a tinge of guilt.
All came whirling when I looked at my reflection.
The splotchy skin.
The red eyes.
The way that hiccups still escaped my sobbing mouth.
But I looked into the mirror and saw my large forehead. How the thin, oily strands of hair clung around my ears. But in the cold green eyes, I saw something someone told me about.
I think the word was, adventitious.
I hadn't heard that word before he had said it. That's why it stuck.
He was holding me. We were arguing before he grabbed my wrist. The wrist that was attached to the hand I was going to slap him with. Because he told me I was 'Too damn adventitious.'
And I thought that was a bad thing. In his context, it was.
But to be a person to go with the flow of things...
That's a good character.
And as I was huffing, and he was fuming, his grip released and I started laughing.
It wasn't the tiny giggles that bubble out from a child's' throat when they find something cute. Oh no. It was the laughter that was so obnoxiously loud that startled both of us.
It sounds like an odd memory. And you may ask why I like it so much.
Because after I stopped laughing, his face froze.
And my breathing stopped.
I wasn't scared.
I was...
Adventitious.
Because I let him kiss me.
And then I let him kiss me again.
And again.
He held me then. His hands gripping my waist, pulling me closer as I laced my shaken hands through his silky brown hair.
I never felt so light until it happened.
We practically fell down the beach steps, crashing into the sand in a fit of the childish giggles.
James.

Seven months ago.
And here I stand in front of my mirror. Greasy brown hair and puffy eyes.

I dreamt of him.
Again.
It was the memory of us fighting again.
But this time I truly did slap him.
And he never spoke to me again.
But as he was rushing off in a fit of rage, he turned onto the road. Screaming at me.
"It's okay for control, Abbi. But don't always follow the way of life. Do something to manipulate it."
Because then he stands there with tears in his eyes.
He's trying to help.
And I see the way the light of the setting sun falls onto his side. How it reflects into his eyes and bloody Hell, he catches me out of breath.
And he steps forward.
Five steps from the sidewalk.
Four.
Three.

But the light on his side isn't from the deep reds of the sun.
It's his blood. Seeping through his shirt.
And he knew.

I woke up then. Before he could fall to the road.
That's how I woke up sobbing.
I think I was crying during the dream too.
I think I knew.

Seven months ago, my James died.
The James who taught me control, freedom and love.
My James. Who woke up at four in the morning, would jog all the way to my front yard (which was well over 10 miles) and bring me coffee so we could drink it and go for another run.
My James. Who showed me how to surf.
Who I punched in the eye because he was such a jack ass.
Who I kissed one thousand times because he was so sincere.

My James. Who was hit by a car while we were walking home after the best surf of the year.
Who never ran with me again.
Who never cried with me when my father passed away.
Or screamed with utter joy when my sister walked across her Ballet performance for the Black Swan.

My James. Who I loved so heartachingly. So wholefully.

So I stand in front of my mirror without his lips caressing my shoulder.
With my dirty hair and sullen eyes.

And I bring the cold water onto my face.

My body burning from the sadness revolting within me.

And I breathe.

Because James isn't breathing right now.

And I want to breathe for him.

Dreamer

Dreams that I have, always seem to confuse me.
Either they terrify so much that I feel paralyzed, or that I want to lock my door,
or they feel right in the dream, but I have little to no clue what it could have meant when I wake up.
Now, I know the second one most people feel.
That in the dream it makes complete sense, but in the awoken world, it doesn't.
Or the dream is simply forgotten.
But I'm a dreamer.
A dreamer who remembers most of my dreams. And some of them... well to be blunt, they bloody terrified me.
But then I'll have a dream, so heartbreakingly lovely, that I wake up so incredibly sad.
I've only had two dreams I remember like that.
One was about love, the other of death.
But the dreams that catch me off guard, ha, well, suddenly I'll dream of a person I haven't thought of in a long time. Just to give a whirlwind of emotions come tumbling through me as I awake.

But how can a person know what they're feeling when they wake up is honest and true, in comparison to the effects of what emotion was manifested in the dream. The dream that felt so real that you could touch items. Feel the grit, or the breath coming from your throat.
Because I can't.
And that, is why I am so, completely, utterly confused with my emotions.

Last night I dreamt of a person I haven't spoken to in about a year. And they were playing hockey. (Not their favourite sport may I add) But they were playing hockey on a large team in a soccer arena. The area looked like grass, but they were obviously skating on it.  And I stood at the entrance in the dim lighting, between six large square cement posts.  And after, he came out and I hid. But he found me.
And he almost kissed me. But that was when I woke up.

This boy, whom I haven't spoken with in a year, I have never had romantic feelings towards. And it's dreams like this where I can't tell if I made a mistake. Because I can't force a part a reality to a thought.

But one thing that brings me back to the realization that it was a dream and not real is the fact that I was in love with the idea of it.
Whether it be about a boy, or a family member, or even an island of some sort, it is the idea that enticed me as I woke up. Not the actual thought of ,"If I had stayed with him, that is how I would have felt."
No. The way I have found to separate the confusing feelings of reality to dreams is the idea of it. To pull a part what I loved or hated about it, so I could explain I. Do. Not. Feel. That.


But believe me, I know the feelings.
And it's hard to tell your mind that when it feels enticed or fearful.
But it helps. Even the slightest bit, it helps.

-Em.

Untitled

The damp curls were blown across her forehead, and her pale green eyes traced the waves outlines against the moon's illumination. You wouldn't be able to tell she was whispering, because the harsh wind knocked her words into the sea.  But she was.  She was calling to the large, sinking ship before her.  Her bloodied nails grasped the stone she lay on, her body beaten and torn from the crashing ocean.   The curls of her black locks twisted down her arms and down the nape of her neck as though clockwork.  The thick hair tangled around the long silver chain around her neck.  She gripped the cool silver charm, but her silent cries never ceased.  The howling wind never breathed for a pause.  But here she lay, in the moonlight on a spring storm.   The rain slashed her face, and became anchors to the boat.  With each drop the boat filled.  With each drop, the men on the ship were drowning.  Her blood soaked hands came to her face, not knowing if she was wiping more than just rain away.  But there she clung, with thick grey clouds rolling above her.  With the pitch sea churning beneath.  Her strangled cries halted.  Her throat swelling and choking against the salt water.  Her mind flashed to the man in the ship- the captain's left hand man.  His thick blond hair tousled against his forehead, with the bright sun's rays behind him.  His laughter filled her heart, and the way his eyes grew crinkles when he smiled tugged at her stomach.  
A large wave crashed against her head, a sudden pulse against the jagged silver stone sent her into the sea. 
But she was still breathing.  Better now that she was submerged.  She inhaled the ocean and kissed the broken skin of her hands.  
She could see the ship's stern from here.  Her throat became tangled in screams.  She swam forward with exceptional strength, to find none of the glass paneling would open.  Her dark tangles enveloped her waist as she peered in through the  pot hole.  She could see the deep red velvet swiped couch, and water-logged bookshelf.  The lantern was out, reflecting no light throughout the hollow room.  Her eyes narrowed as she gripped the edge of the window, looking down in to the endless sea below.  Darkness consumed her below.  It would consume the brave men who ventured to this part of the sea.  She rose her eyes to meet clouded, glassy eyes floating before her.  His lips were pale and slightly parted, with high cheekbones and soaked brown hair.  A scream filled her head, she flung back away from the window, holding her ever leaving sanity with each thump of her heart.  The body drifted up into the ceiling, and she forced herself against the window with her entire strength.  It broke inward, sending her tumbling into the room.  As she looked up to where the body had drifted, his fitted body seemed to grab the wooden paneling above.  But his other hand seemed to be outstretched to her.  Her stomach twisted uneasily, and she moved her gaze away from the man.  She swam to the large wooden dual doors across from the bookshelf, and looked both ways down the hallway.  To her left was a stairway that most likely led to the top of the ship, whereas to her right there were numerous wooden doors.  Her left.  She swam quickly to the the top, only to find the ship wasn't completely submerged yet.  She was struggling immensely to get onto the deck, until a flash of movement caught her eyes. There, lying on the bow, with blond damp hair plastered to his neck was the man.  Water coated his body, and his loose white shirt was clinging to his chest.  A rage filled inside her body.  This ship was not meant to go down.  This crew was not meant to suffer. 
His eyelids fluttered for a moment, and his deep brown eyes met her own.  And in that moment, she stopped struggling to get up.  Her hands lay flat against the wood as she watched him helplessly.  His pale pink lips moved ever so slightly, his eyes never leaving hers.  She tried pulling herself up again, but his mouth formed a heartwarming smile. He lifted his hand from the thick level of water beginning to fill the top deck, and he coughed up the rain water that was filling his mouth.  He turned onto his stomach abruptly, half of his face was in the water as he stared at her.   His eyes fell to her neck, and he reached into his pocket.  The girl's green eyes swept over the small silver charm that he now held.  She could barely see the shape of it, but she knew what it was.  It was a fishing hook.  The same fishing hook.  This time, as she wiped at her eyes she knew most of the water tapered to her face were from the tears she held from her chest.  As the water level grew deeper, she tried pulling herself onto the deck.  Her arms were weak, but with help from a crashing wave, she finally lay on the deck with him.  His eyes widened curiously as she moved towards him.  .  Finally, once she was in reach of him, he pulled her tightly against her chest.

The rain pounded around them, and another large wave crashed on top of them, but he gripped onto her.  He was giving her hope.  They lay there, as the storm was raging, and as the ship was sinking.  The waves kept crashing angrily against the ship, until with a final battle it crumbled a part.  His cry filled her ears as she was knocked away from him.  Her hand was cut from the hook he was holding, but she felt nothing from it.  She only felt the fear that was gnawing at her mind.  That was gnawing at her thoughts. 

The light’s rays were bouncing off his hair as though he were an angel.  And she stayed hidden there, watching this odd man throwing a thin string into the water and pulling it back out.  Curiosity eventually got the better of her, and she swam towards him.  But the thing he was throwing out caught her and she was so surprised, that she yelped.  His head swivelled towards her, but before he could see her, she was pulling the thing down with her.  In a safe location she pulled the metal spike out of her, and swearing as the water around her became tinged with scarlet. She rose back up to give the sharp-pointed hook back to him, but when she breathed in the air, he was gone.

She saw his head floating on the surface of the black water, and she pushed through the broken pieces of wood to get to him.  As she grew closer, she saw a steady stream of blood falling from his skull.

She waited there. For a while.  She wanted to return it. She didn’t want to steal it.  So she waited until the sun went down.  And then the next day. And the next.  She would sit on the rock he was casting from, and pretend to be doing what he was doing.  Bu she was using stones.  Throwing them against the flat water, breaking it into a thousand cracks, and swimming in after it only to do that again, and again. 

She turned him over, his lovely russet eyes blinking at her.  A choke rose in her throat as she collapsed into his chest.  His hand fell to her back, steadying her.

Then she heard a voice. It was a timid voice at first.  Greeting her carefully.  And when she turned, she was met with his face.  A slim face with a firm jaw.  But it wasn’t fear or anger in his face. No, it was amusement.  He moved towards her steadily, and he reached out to shake her hand.  Of course, she thought he was trying to grab her so she leaped into the water, only to come up to the surface to see a plastered grin on his face as he wiped off water from his neck.  Then she heard his chuckling.

She heard his chuckling now, too.  She could hear it through the rain.  And the waves.  And her heartbeat.

She came up to him slowly, reaching out to give him the hook.  But he shook his head and showed another one. He said they were a pair, and that it was okay to lose one. She turned her head, confused.  Thinking if it was a pair, they should always be together.  But at those words he smiled again, and crouched closer to the water. Closer to her face. No, he said. If something is truly a pair, it doesn’t matter where one of the two goes. If they’re paired, then they have a connection that cannot be seen.  It’s like their secret.

He showed her the silver hook again, trying to force it into her palm.  He was choking against the salt.

She met him every evening.  He would fish and she would watch. They spoke about many things.  They spoke about nothing. And every time, before he left, he would turn his head to her ever so slightly and the sun would catch his eyes, turning them into flame.  And he would grin.  A stupid half-grin that never ceased to make her smile too.  It never stopped making her feel warmth in her chest.

The moon’s light casted into his eyes, making them a soft, clear brown.  And the corner of his mouth lifted. Ever so slightly.

He spoke about how ships were his life- just as the sea were hers. He never probed about her. He just knew. And every evening, he would walk away from the rocks into the forest behind and disappear into the blackness. Just as she would disappear into the ocean in front of them, becoming cloaked by the blue.

He opened his mouth, having it fill with water.  She pulled him up onto a flat broken board, holding him up onto it. The sail broken off, and the post screamed under its weight, crashing on to their bodies. 

She found a thin chain in the sand one day.  And she laced the hook through it.  She didn’t care when it nicked her skin, because it was his.  She didn’t have to ask him about his, because she always saw the outline of it in his pocket. She once reached for it.  She wanted to compare them. But he grabbed her wrist gently. And instead he brought his mouth to hers.

She was dizzy, tumbling under the waves, and she saw his body sinking under.

She asked him what it was.

Her head howled in pain as she swam lethargically towards him.

“Love.”

Bubbled cries filled the sea around her as she tried grabbing his arms.

She asked what love was.

Tiny air bubbles left his mouth as he was being consumed by the ocean.

“Love, is when a pair can be on opposite sides of the Earth, but still have a tiny, brilliant string that ties their souls together in a way that is almost impossible.”

Her arms flailed, panicking to catch him.

Her face lit up.  She asked if that was why the hooks could be separated.

His weight dragged her deeper, an aura of scarlet coating around them.

“Yes,” He kissed her, “And that’s why we can leave every day and come back again. Because of love. We will always have that in us. It’ll be hidden sometimes. Sometimes it’ll seem broken or lost, but know that it is always there.”

Darkness was surrounding them.

He jumped into the water and kicked around with her until the sun set. But he stayed that night. They kept talking about love. She kept asking about love. She felt as though something inside was swelling with such an intense joy, as though such a strong flame could not be drowned by water.

She gripped his hand, and looked at the top of the ocean. From below it seemed peaceful. Iron filled her mouth, and she began choking.  She clung onto him tighter. Not wanting to let go.

She looked at him. Truly looked at him. He pointed to the ship he would be on soon. It was stunning. Shiny deep wooden oak that was finely cut. Large white sails that were wrapped up tightly. And a stunning wooden sculpture of a woman with long tousled hair and slender arms holding onto the bow. Her head turned up to him, her face gleaming. He gripped her hand thoughtfully and brought each of her fingers to his lips.  She looked solemnly to the giant rippling mirror before them.

She thrashed in the water, trying to pull him up.

He brought her close to his chest and brought his mouth her ear.

Her jaw clenched angrily with her weakness.

“It’s okay to let go.”

She stopped.

His voice was hushed.

She stared at the man before her.  His once brown eyes were now glossy and pale.  She closed his eyes gently. His body was lax in her grip. And his pale mouth was parted.

“I know it’s scary.”

She brought her mouth to his. Taking in the last bit of him she would ever have again.

“But that’s because sometimes, something needs to be scary for you to do it.”

She looked at his clenched hand, and brought her own to her chain.

“Because then it gets easier.”

Her fingers began relaxing.

“And you get stronger.”

His body was falling.
“But I promise you, it gets better.”

She stayed floating there. In the darkest part of the water, watching him disappear.  She stayed there. For a while. And eventually rose back up to the surface. Most of the ship was gone now, and the rain had become a drizzle. She swam slowly. Away from the ship. Away from the wreckage. And she waited as the sun came up. It took a long time for her to stop shaking, but she never let go of the hook on her chain.

She didn’t take the hook in his hand. She knew she didn’t have to.

She climbed up onto a rock by the shore where he fished.

She stared in to a small pool. And she saw her green eyes and dark hair. But she didn’t look at her eyes. She looked at her mouth.

She inhaled deeply, feeling the rhythm of her heart increasing.

“Love.”