by Tillie Cole
Finding my voice, I whispered, “I promise.”
I fought back the emotions slicing me inside. I wouldn’t show her any sign that I was sad. She would see only happiness from me today.
Poppy’s breathing evened out as I stroked her hair. The warm breeze flowed over us, taking with it the heaviness that had surrounded us.
I let myself begin to drift off, thinking Poppy had too, when she murmured, “What do you think heaven’s like, Rune?”
I tensed, but Poppy’s hands began to circle over my chest, ridding my body of the heaviness her question brought back.
“I don’t know,” I said. Poppy didn’t offer anything, just stayed exactly where she was. Shifting slightly to bring her tighter into my arms, I said, “Somewhere beautiful. Somewhere peaceful. Somewhere where I’d see you again.”
I felt Poppy smile against my shirt. “Me too,” she agreed softly and turned to kiss my chest.
This time I was sure Poppy slept. I looked across the sand and watched as an old couple sat down near us. Their hands were clasped tightly. Before the woman could sit, the man spread a blanket on the sand. He kissed her cheek before helping her to sit down.
A pang of jealousy shot through me. Because we would never have that.
Poppy and I would never grow old together. Never have kids. Never have a wedding. Nothing. But as I glanced down at Poppy’s thick brown hair and her delicate hands splayed on my chest, I let myself be grateful that at least I had her now. I didn’t know what lay ahead. But I had her now.
I’d had her since I was five.
I now realized why I had loved her so hard from being so young—so I had this time with her. Poppy believed her spirit always knew she’d die young. I was starting to think that maybe mine did too.
Over an hour passed. Poppy was still sleeping. I gently lifted her from my chest and sat up. The sun had moved; waves lapped the shore.
Feeling thirsty, I opened the picnic basket and pulled out one of the bottles of water Poppy had packed. As I drank, my eyes rested on the backpack Poppy had carried from the trunk.
Wondering what was inside, I hauled it over and gently opened the zipper. At first all I saw was another black bag. This bag was padded. I pulled it out and my heart kicked into a sprint when I realized what I was holding.
I sighed and closed my eyes.
I lowered the bag to the blanket and rubbed my hands over my face. When I lifted my head, I opened my eyes and blankly stared out over the water. I watched the boats in the distance, Poppy’s words filtering into my mind…
I think they’re leaving it all behind. I think they woke up one day and decided there’s more to life. I think they decided—a couple in love, a boy and a girl—that they wanted to explore the world. They sold their possessions and bought a boat … She loves to play music, and he loves to capture moments on film…
My eyes left the camera bag that I knew so well. I understood where she got her theory about the boats.
He loves to capture moments on film…
I tried to be angry with her. I gave up taking pictures two years ago; it wasn’t who I was anymore. It was no longer my dream. NYU wasn’t in my plans. I didn’t want to pick the camera back up. But my fingers began to twitch, and, despite being pissed at myself, I lifted the lid off the case and peered inside.
The old black-and-chrome vintage Canon that I had treasured stared up at me. I felt my face blanch, the blood moving to rush through to my heart, which slammed against my ribs. I had thrown this camera away. I had discarded it and all that it meant.
I had no idea how the hell Poppy had gotten hold of it. I wondered if she’d tracked down another and bought it. I lifted it from the bag and turned it over. There, scratched into the back, was my name. I had scraped it there on my thirteenth birthday, when my mamma and pappa gave me this camera.
It was the exact one.
Poppy had found my camera.
Flipping the back, I saw a full roll of film inside. In the bag lay the lenses. The ones I knew so well. Despite the years, I still instinctively knew which one would work best for any given shot—landscape, portrait, nighttime, daylight, natural setting, studio…
Hearing a soft rustle from behind me, I glanced over my shoulder. Poppy was sitting, watching me. Her eyes fell to the camera. Nervously inching forward, she said, “I asked your pappa about it. Where it had gone. He told me that you threw it away.” Poppy’s head tilted to the side. “You never knew, and he never told you, but he found it. He saw you had thrown it away. You had broken parts of it. The lenses were cracked, and other things.” I was clenching my jaw so tightly it ached.
Poppy’s finger traced the back of my hand that was resting in the blanket. “He had it repaired without you knowing. He’s kept it safe for the past couple of years. He’s kept up hope that you would find your way back to photography. He knew how much you loved it. He also blames himself for the fact that you gave it up.”
My instinct was to open my mouth and hiss out that it was his fault. Everything was. But I didn’t. For some reason the twist in my stomach kept my mouth shut.
Poppy’s eyes glistened. “You should have seen him last night, when I asked him about it. He was so emotional, Rune. Even your mamma didn’t know he’d kept it. He even had reels of film ready. Just in case you ever wanted it back.”
I averted my gaze from Poppy’s, instead re-focusing on the camera. I didn’t know how to feel about all that. I tried for angry. But, to my surprise, anger refused to come. For some reason I couldn’t get the image from my head, of my pappa cleaning the camera and getting it fixed, on his own.
“He even has the darkroom ready and waiting for you, at your house.” I closed my eyes when Poppy added the last part. I was silent. Completely silent in response. My head was racing with too many thoughts, too many images. And I was conflicted. I had vowed never to take another picture.
But vowing it had been one thing. Holding the object of my addiction in my hands compromised everything I had sworn to fight against. To rebel against. To throw away, just like my pappa had cast aside my feelings when he chose to return to Oslo. The pit of heat in my stomach began to spread. This was the anger I anticipated. This was the blast of fire I was expecting.
I inhaled deeply, bracing for the darkness to overwhelm me, when, suddenly, Poppy jumped to her feet. “I’m going to the water,” she announced and walked past me without another word. I watched her walk off. I watched her sink her feet into the soft sand, the breeze flicking up her short hair. I stayed, mesmerized, as she skipped to the water’s edge, allowing the breaking waves to lap over her feet. She held her dress higher on her legs to avoid the splashes.
Her head tipped back to feel the sun on her face. Then, she glanced back to where I sat. She glanced back and she laughed. Free, without abandon, like she had no cares in the world.
I was transfixed, even more so when a reflected ray of sun from the sea cast a golden sheen on the side of her face, her green eyes emerald in this new light.
I lost my breath, actually fought for breath at how stunning she looked. Before I had even thought it through, I had my camera in my hand. I felt the weight transfer into my hands, and closing my eyes, I let the urge succeed.
Opening my eyes, I lifted the camera to my eye. Uncapping the lens, I found the most perfect angle of my girl dancing in the waves.
And I clicked.
I clicked the button on the camera, my heart stuttering at every snap of the shutter, sure in the knowledge that I was capturing Poppy in this moment—happy.
Adrenalin surged through me at the thought of how these pictures would develop. It was why I used the vintage camera. The anticipation of the darkroom, the delayed gratification of seeing the wonder that you had caught. The skill it took to work the camera to achieve that perfect shot.
A split second of serenity.
A moment of magic.
Poppy, in her own world, ran along the shore, her cheeks flushing pink with the warmth of the
sun. Lifting her hands into the air, Poppy let the hem of her dress fall and dampen with splashes from the water.
Then she turned to face me. As she did, she grew perfectly still, as did my heart in my chest. My finger waited, poised over the button, waiting for the right shot. And then it came. It came as a look of pure bliss spread across her face. It came as her eyes closed and her head tilted back, as if it were a relief, as if uncensored happiness possessed her.
I lowered the camera. Poppy held out her hand. Feeling high from the rush of having my passion sprung upon me, I jumped to my feet and walked across the sand.
When I took Poppy’s hand, she pulled me close and pressed her lips on mine. I let her take the lead. I let her show me how much this meant to her. This moment. And I let myself feel it too. I allowed myself, for this brief moment, to push aside the heaviness I always carried like a shield. I allowed myself to get lost in the kiss, lifting the camera up high. Even with my eyes closed and no direction, I was convinced I had captured the best picture of the day.
Poppy stepped back and silently guided me back to the blanket, sitting us down, resting her head on my shoulder. I lifted my arm over her warm, sun-kissed shoulders and pulled her in close to my side. Poppy glanced up as I lazily placed a kiss to her head. When I met her eyes, I sighed and pressed my forehead to hers.
“You’re welcome,” she whispered, as she looked away to stare out over the sea.
I hadn’t felt like this in so long. I hadn’t felt this peace inside since before we parted. And I was thankful to Poppy.
More than thankful.
Suddenly a quiet, awed gasp escaped Poppy’s mouth. “Look, Rune,” she whispered pointing into the distance. I wondered what she wanted me to see, then she said, “Our footprints in the sand.” She lifted her head and smiled a beaming smile. “Two sets. Four prints. Just like the poem.”
I pulled my eyebrows down in confusion. Poppy’s hand lay over my bent knee. With her head tucked under the shelter of my arm, she explained. “It’s my favorite poem, Rune. It was my mamaw’s favorite too.”
“What does it say?” I asked, smiling slightly at the tiny size of Poppy’s footprint next to my own.
“It’s beautiful. And it’s spiritual, so I’m not sure what you’ll think of it.” Poppy sent me a teasing look.
“Tell me anyway,” I urged, just to hear her voice. Just to hear that reverence in her tone when she shared something she adored.
“It’s more of a story really. About someone who has a dream. In the dream they are on a beach just like this. But they’re walking beside the Lord.”
My eyes narrowed and Poppy rolled her eyes. “I told you it was spiritual!” she said, laughing.
“You did,” I replied, and nudged her head with my chin. “Keep going.”
Poppy sighed, and with her finger, she traced lazy patterns in the sand. My heart kind of cracked when I saw it was another infinity sign.
“As they’re walking on the beach, in the dark sky above the person’s life is played out for them to see. As each scene is played, like a movie reel, the person notices that two sets of footprints were left in the sand behind them. And as they continued, every new scene brought with it a trail of their footprints.”
Poppy’s attention honed in on our footprints. “When all the scenes had been played, the person looks back on the trail of footprints and notices something strange. They notice that during the saddest, or most despairing times of their life, there was only one set of footprints. For happier times there was always two sets.”
My eyebrows furrowed, wondering where the story was headed. Poppy lifted her chin and blinked in the bright glare of the sun. With watery eyes, she looked at me and continued. “The person is really troubled by this. The Lord said that, when a person dedicates their life to Him, He would walk with them through all the ups and downs. The person then asked the Lord: why, at the worst points of their life, did He abandon them? Why did He leave?”
An expression of deep comfort washed over Poppy’s face. “And what?” I prompted. “What does the Lord say?”
A single tear fell from her eye. “He tells the person that He had walked with them their whole life through. But, He explains, the times where there is only a single set of footprints were not when He walked beside them, but instead, when He carried them.”
Poppy sniffed and said, “I don’t care if you’re not religious, Rune. The poem is not only for the faithful. We all have people who carry us through the worst of times, the saddest of times, the times that seem impossible to break free from. In one way or another, whether it’s through the Lord or a loved one or both, when we feel like we can’t walk on anymore, someone swoops in to help us … someone carries us through.”
Poppy rested her head on my chest, wrapping herself up in my waiting arms.
My eyes got lost in a blurred haze as I stared at our footprints embedded in the sand. At that moment, I wasn’t sure who was helping who. Because as much as Poppy insinuated that it was me who was helping her through her final months, I was beginning to believe that she was somehow saving me.
A single set of footprints on my soul.
Poppy shifted to face me, her cheeks wet with tears. Happy tears. Awed tears … Poppy tears. “Isn’t it beautiful, Rune? Isn’t it the most beautiful thing you’ve ever heard?”
I just nodded. Right now wasn’t the time for words. I couldn’t compete with what she’d just recited, so why would I even try?
I let my focus drift around the beach. And I wondered … I wondered if anyone else had just heard something so moving that it rocked their very core? I wondered if the person they loved more than any other on the planet had opened up to them so purely, with such raw emotion?
“Rune?” Poppy said quietly from beside me.
“Yeah, baby?” I replied softly. She turned her pretty face to me and cast me a weak smile. “You okay?” I asked, grazing my hand down her face.
“I’m getting tired,” she admitted, reluctantly. My heart cracked. Over the past week, I had begun to see tiredness gradually creeping into her face when she’d done too much.
And worse still, I could see how much she hated it. Because it prevented her from enjoying all life’s adventures.
“It’s okay to be tired, Poppymin. It’s not a weakness.”
Poppy’s eyes dipped in defeat. “I just hate it. I’ve always been of the opinion that sleep is a waste of time.”
I laughed at the cute pout that had formed on her lips. Poppy watched me, waiting for me to speak. Sobering, I said, “The way I see it, if you sleep when you need to, it means we can do more when you’re strong.” I brushed the tip of my nose over hers and said, “Our adventures will be that much more special. And you know I like you sleeping in my arms. I’ve always thought you look kind of perfect there.”
Poppy sighed, and with one last glance at the sea, whispered, “Only you, Rune Kristiansen. Only you could give reason to my biggest hate so beautifully.”
Kissing her warm cheek, I stood and gathered our things. When everything was packed, I looked over my shoulder at the pier, then back at Poppy. Holding out my hand, I said, “Come on, sleepyhead. For old times’ sake?”
Poppy looked at the pier and an unrestrained giggle leapt from her throat. I pulled her to standing, and we walked slowly, hand in hand, underneath the pier. The hypnotic sounds of the soft waves crashing against the old wooden beams cocooned where we stood.
Without wasting any time, I crowded Poppy back against the wooden post, cupping her cheeks and bringing our lips together. My eyes closed as the warm skin of her cheeks heated up under my palms. My chest heaved, breathless, as our lips kissed, slow and deep, while the cooling breeze rushed through Poppy’s hair.
Pulling away, I rolled my lips, savoring the taste of sun and cherries bursting on my mouth.
Poppy’s eyes fluttered open. Seeing how tired she appeared, I whispered for her, “Kiss four hundred and thirty-three. With Poppymin under the pier.” Poppy
smiled shyly, waiting for what had to come next. “My heart almost burst.” The hint of teeth showing under her smile almost did make it burst, making it the perfect time to add, “Because I love her. I love her more than I could ever explain. My single set of footprints in the sand.”
Poppy’s beautiful green eyes widened at my confession. They immediately shimmered, and tears spilled over and tracked down her cheeks. I tried to brush them away with my fingers as my heart pounded in my chest. But Poppy gripped my hand, softly nuzzling her cheek into my palm. Keeping my hand in place, she met my eyes and whispered back, “I love you too, Rune Kristiansen. I never, ever stopped.” She rose on tiptoes and brought my face down to stay opposite hers. “My soul mate. My heart…”
A calmness settled over me. A restfulness, as Poppy fell into my arms, her light breathing seeping through my shirt.
I held her. I held her close, embracing this new feeling, until Poppy yawned. I tilted her head up to mine and said, “Let’s get you home, beautiful.”
Poppy nodded and, folding herself to my side, let me walk her back to our things, then up to the car. Reaching into the pocket of her purse, I took the car keys and opened the passenger-side door.
Placing both hands on her waist, I lifted her to the seat, reaching across her to click the seatbelt into the socket. As I pulled back, I placed a gentle kiss on Poppy’s head. I heard her breathing hitch at my touch. I went to straighten up, when Poppy took hold of my arm, and with thick tears on her cheeks, whispered, “I’m sorry, Rune. I’m so sorry.”
“What for, baby?” I asked, my voice breaking at how sad she sounded.
I pushed her hair back from her face, as she said, “For pushing you away.”
My stomach hollowed out. Poppy’s eyes searched for something in mine, before her face contorted in pain. Fat tears poured down her paling face and her chest shuddered as she fought to calm her suddenly erratic breathing.