close my eyes and take a deep breath.
*
“The rhythm of the ocean calmed me,” Charlotte says, “I found an inner peace I was able
to take with me wherever I went.”
“Describe it?” I ask.
“The waves never stop moving. Sometimes you’ll go to the beach and won’t see much
sand when the tide is high. But when it’s low, the sand stretches for miles and you find
treasures left behind – sea glass and shells, even creatures washed ashore, poor things.”
She pauses. “The sea glass was always my favorite. Look how the ocean wears the glass
down little by little, wave by wave, until it’s smooth to the touch, then spits it out along
the shoreline. Spending so much time to create beauty only to discard it for the discovery
of another.”
Charlotte turns to me in the stillness of our cell, and I feel her breath against my face.
Heavy and hot, sweet not sour. She smells like honeysuckle baking in the heat of the sun.
“You make me a promise,” she says. “When you get out of this godawful place, go see the
ocean for yourself.”
I try to imagine the waves rushing over the beach, reaching for my toes. “I will,” I say.
Charlotte leans closer. “I can stay up here, if it will help you sleep.”
I grip her hand. “I would like that.”
She settles down beside me, the rhythm of her breathing and pounding heart a sooth-
ing lullaby. Her warmth wraps around me and before I know it, I’m drifting into a deep,
dreamless sleep.
*
I miss watching the sunset through the window of Cassandra’s nursery, the colors of the
sky painting the trunks and sloping backs of the elephant mountains.
The far window looked out on a breathtaking sunset over the Sandia Mountains, paint-
ing them a deep red. Orange and pink mixed together with wisps of deep purple clouds.
The mountain-scape still left me breathless.
Down the slope and in the valley, a cluster of cane cholla stood guard with stiff, spindly
arms outstretched, magenta flowers budding at their fingertips. A smaller mountain range
stood apart from the Sandias closer to home. This singular row of mountains resembled a
line of sleeping elephants, long ears flapped over one another, trunks intertwined – un-
moving, eternally loyal.
I miss the tiny complications of daily life. Not being able to find the car keys, worrying
about being late to work. How I once felt so naughty, snagging a fresh bottle of whisky and
marking if off on the evening liquor count at the tavern. How things used to feel so simple.
*
I’d woken up in a foreign bed, a tight band around my wrist and my hair stuck to my
forehead with dried sweat. Everything had smelled like alcohol and the sheets around me
were crisp and starch-white.
My clothes were gone, replaced with a dress, strings tied but hanging loose around me.
My breasts sagged. Everything felt wrong. My entire body ached like a knife had sliced
deep and removed my insides. I moved my head and there was Craig, draped in the chair
beside me.
“Where am I?” I asked him, “What happened?” But I already knew.
He leaned forward, took my hand in both of his and started crying.
Cauldron Anthology
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