There is beauty in these moments, Isabelle, my father once told me as we stood in the sand. The grainy particles dug into our feet and the summer sun seared our foreheads as we watched it float down into the waves. This is a gift from God, I had thought. My mind whirled with what my second grade CCD teacher told me last Spring. But now, almost nine years later, I stand on the icy boardwalk and stare at the snow-encrusted beach with only heaviness lingering in my brain.
Is tomorrow really Christmas? A tiny flake lands on my gloved fingertips clutching the boardwalk’s railings. Shivering, I turn to the left and blink water droplets out of my eyes. The wind flattens my dark blue mask against my cheek and I take a shaky breath that fills the slim gap between my mouth and the cotton with warm air. I glare up at the pink-tinged sky. Everything had seemed so accessible back then. I used to think of the atmosphere as where God lay resting among the clouds and stars. As if all I needed to do to reach heaven was to stand on my tiptoes and grasp onto a shooting star with my bare six-year-old hands. At sixteen, that seems impossible. When was the last time I even went to a service? To a mass? We had left the Catholic church back when I was in fifth grade and hadn’t looked back since. Our new church had been much more welcoming and I had loved the people I had met there. It’s just that…it’s getting so much harder to believe. I love sunsets. The clouds are splotches of paint that splatter across the canvas of the sky. A memory trickles into my senses. My best friend Avani and I had been walking home from school last Fall. I had stayed late helping organize a food drive while Avani had play practice. By the time we had left the high school, the sky was almost completely dark. Only the barest sliver of purple lined the horizon. I’ve always thought of sunsets as more organized, I had said in reply to Avani. The colors are layered and the sun always sinks down. There’s an order to it all. Avani had shaken her head. That’s where you’re wrong, dear friend. I had spent the rest of the night thinking about Avani’s words. Even ignoring the aesthetics of sunsets, the scientific reasons for the phenomenon still expressed a sequence of events, not a random splashing of paint. But now, I realize, maybe there is truth to my friend’s claim. There is beauty in these moments, my father had said. A gift, I had thought. There is, meaning it exists. Beauty just exists. That gift exists. No structure required. I peer up at the colorful sky. With a smile, I let go of the railing.
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AuthorI'm Darcy Ridge, creating stories that all revolve around family and identity in a myriad of ways. In the past, I have shared multiple stories and published a novella online. You can find me on Wattpad and many other social media websites. They/them [Image Description: black background with the words "Social Justice and Mental Health Resources" in white in the center /end ID]
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