by Hollye Davis
Her aunt held various odious pieces of clothes to the light, “Oh honey, we need to go shopping. Not for a TV but for some clothes.”
Cloe whipped fully around, “Oh no, don’t worry about it. I will figure out something.” She snatched the various clothes her aunt had removed and started stuffing them back in the bag in a vain hope to hide the really hideous ones. It frightened her that she would be an imposition. Heck she knew she was already an imposition! She just didn’t want to bring attention to it.
Her aunt’s slim hand covered Cloe’s hand stopping her frantic jerky movements, “Honey, don’t get upset. I have money your parents gave me. Don’t worry at all. It’s taken care of.”
Cloe snorted at the bold face lie. Smiling sheepishly her aunt confessed, “Okay, that was a lie. We both know your parents are the two most selfish people in the world, so no need to make stories. Let’s just say that I need to get you clothes because there is no way that I’m going to allow you to wear these!” Her aunt swept her arm in the air gesturing toward the bag of rags. Then she gave an exaggerated shudder and zipped the bag, placed it on the ground, and in a dramatic fashion rolled it out to the back deck. Cloe watched wide-eyed as her aunt used all her strength to hoist the dilapidated suitcase over the edge of the deck railing and let it go. A resounding plop signaled it met its final destination, 15 feet below.
Cloe should have been upset that her clothes now sat in a sand pit but instead a rusty bark of laughter escaped from her mouth.
Watching her five-feet-nothing aunt hoist a bag nearly as big as her over the deck was a hilarious sight. Claire’s eyes twinkled with satisfaction as Cloe continued to laugh. It felt good.
Claire then brushed her hands off and stalked out of her room leaving Cloe behind.
With her laughter fading Cloe glanced around, not sure what to do, so she stood dumbly. Only moments later, her aunt returned with a pair of shorts and a t-shirt.
“These are mine and although you are a lot taller than me, you are skinny as a rail and I think you can wear these until we can get something else. Heck they will probably look better on you than me,” her aunt winked at her.
With no other option, Cloe gently took the proffered clothes and walked into the bathroom. She slid off her t-shirt to replace it with the soft form-fitting one her aunt gave her. They did fit. She had a little less hips and boobs, but she was happy to be in anything other than what she had.
About an hour later they were immersed into little shops she had never heard of, which really wasn’t that remarkable since Goodwill was the only place she had ever been for clothes. She avoided the price tags because she probably wouldn’t even comprehend the money being spent.
Her aunt insisted that Cloe try on every single item she deemed cute and after a while Cloe began to droop. Her aunt declared her a “shopping virgin,” and thereby she would have to “break her in slowly.” However, the thought of shopping again made her sick.
When they got home, she unloaded the bags and went straight to her room to hang the clothes. She unpacked them slowly, reverently, looking and feeling every single item before leaving them in the closet. Tears blurred her eyes as she had never felt or seen such beautiful fabrics or clothes as these. The colors swam in front of her as more tears filled her eyes. Girls in Germany always wore beautiful clothes. She had wished for just one outfit like them but then again she had wished for a different life too.
Cloe quickly wiped her eyes when her aunt came into the closet smiling. “You have to be careful, you know, shopping can become an addiction and with you worshipping those clothes like that I think you might be a good candidate for a shop-a-holic!”
Her aunt laughed loudly but the only thing Cloe felt was shame. She was selfish and greedy.
Her aunt smiled sweetly, expectantly and Cloe tried to return a smile but she wasn’t sure it felt right.
“You do like them Cloe?” She asked worriedly. Cloe turned, searching her aunt’s eyes for insincerity, meanness, coldness and found none. Her lids dropped as she gazed at her tightly clasped hands when she spoke, “You have no idea how much these clothes mean to me,” then she searched her brain to find away to let her aunt know why these clothes were so special.
After a moment of silence she decided to tell a little about her life in order for her aunt to understand a little bit more about her. It was easier to talk about Texas so she began by reminiscing about her grandmother.
“When I lived in Texas my grandmother would take me shopping right before school started. She would buy two pairs of jeans and three different tops. That was big time.” She finally forced herself to meet her aunt’s eyes, trying once again to smile as she continued, “I haven’t had new clothes in over two and half years though, but neighbors in Germany left their castoffs. I got by.”
Cloe shrugged and looked at her hands again. She thought that was a good start and silently congratulated herself for talking so much. And now hopefully her aunt will understand why she was worshipping the clothes.
In a small voice her aunt said, “I’m sorry, Cloe, I really did try to find you sooner.”
Confused, Cloe glanced up to find tears trailing down her aunt’s cheeks.
Guilt bit into her. Cloe only meant to let her know how special the clothes were, not to make her aunt sad. She should have not said so much.
Deflated, Cloe exited the closet walking slowly to the living room. Her heart plummeted further as she spotted Claire on the couch with her head in her hands. Cloe said quietly, “I’m sorry Aunt, I didn’t mean to make you upset.”
Her aunt lifted her head turning toward her, “I feel as if I failed somehow. If only I knew more, found out quicker, things might have been easier on you.”
“It’s the past, let’s not dwell on it.” Cloe waved her hand mechanically, awkwardly. God she was a spaz.
Exhaustion struck me like a raging storm sucking any fool who dared to fight it in its gapping jaws. I was the day’s fool and I quickly succumbed to the violence of exhaustion.
- Cloe’s Diary
Chapter 4 Collision When Cloe woke in the middle of the night again, she was prepared. She wandered her way out into the blackness that engulfed the deck and breathed deeply. Tonight a sliver of a moon was reflecting off the moving water. It was the perfect centerpiece to the numerous stars that encompassed the sky. The sheer massiveness of the ocean reminded her of the cool nights of Texas where she snuck out to the front porch to lay on her back and watch for falling stars. The difference here was the constant roar of the ocean reminding her what laid beyond the darkness.
The fire was still glowing off to the right drawing her like a flying insect tapping the front porch light at midnight. The desire to move closer was nearly overwhelming but her fear was greater, keeping her firmly rooted on the wooden deck. She wondered about the silhouettes and why they continued to return. Cloe strained to see any details of the individuals but the firelight distorted them. They certainly didn’t look like they were up to anything other than conversation, she thought. After a few moments she began feeling intrusive and uncomfortable and so she went back into her room. She grabbed one of her well read books, crawled on her soft bed, and settled into the familiar pages she had read many times before. It wasn’t long before she fell asleep again.
Her next conscious thought was that it was too bright and she was too warm. When she couldn’t stand it anymore she flipped the covers and plopped her feet on the ground without opening her eyes. It would be painful if she did.
Through a narrow slit of her eyelid she was able to stumble into the bathroom. After a short shower and a fresh shirt and shorts, she began to feel more human and made her way out to the living room.
It was early enough to where she thought Aunt, the term she began to call Claire, might be up but when she walked into the living room and then into the kitchen aunt wasn’t there.
That’s when she noticed a note on the fridge. Her heart pained leading a trail of hurt deep into the most painf
ul part of her belly. Notes never said anything good. She hesitated then forced herself to walk to the refrigerator.
Cloe, I had to go into work early this morning, it happens like that sometimes. I will catch you later. Make yourself comfortable. I got you some cereal to eat for breakfast.
I love you, Aunt Claire She stared at the note for moment, her fingertips resting on the “I love you”. She didn’t question herself when she carefully removed the note, walked into her room, and opened an empty shoebox from the previous day purchases and slid the note in it. She placed the box on the top shelf and walked out of the room. The single determined thought was the note was hers.
After breakfast Cloe decided to walk on the beach. Forgoing flip-flops she stepped out to the deck and practically ran down the multitude of steps into sand that was as soft as it was beautiful. She wiggled her toes delighting how the sand slipped through them easily. She then rushed to the water stepping tentatively into it. It was ice cold but she enjoyed it anyway. She felt alive and happy.
Walking aimlessly down the shore, she kept her head down. It was a habit. At first it was because she wanted to stop people from interacting with her, asking her intrusive questions, or finding a reason to be mean to her, but later she learned that walking with your eyes down could be profitable. She often found change or treasures that people had lost or forgotten. Once she found a Euro dollar that bought her a much-needed pair of gloves. Today was no exception. But instead of something someone had lost it was a gift of nature. She bent down and scooped up a perfect white sand dollar that fit inside the palm of her hand. It was glorious and precious. She held it up to the light and admired how it glowed through the sun. Then she brought it down to study its simple yet intricate design in the center. She set it back in her palm excited to take it back to the cottage.
Once again she walked down the beach looking for other sand dollar and thinking about the one in her hand, how perfect it was. How wonderful. How Fragile.
The downside of walking with your head down is that sometimes you walk into things. Due to self-preservation she was pretty good about avoiding injury, but today she was distracted thinking about the sand dollar and she didn’t expect any obstruction on the shore. Therefore when she walked right into a wall, or at least it felt like one, she was more than confused.
Her perfect sand dollar slipped from her fingertips and fell to the ground but instinct forced her to look up to see what she had run into.
Confusion quickly turned into mortification as she fumbled trying to untangle herself not from a wall but from a well-muscled bare chest. She tilted her head further back to meet a stunning beautiful angry face with piercing cerulean blue eyes. She stepped back and just stared at him loose jawed. He was truly beautiful. With blonde wavy hair that hung in a popular style that she had seen almost every guy try to emulate but not quite pull off, an evenly proportioned face, oh and let’s not forget the gorgeous flawless body. He was stunning. The truly disturbing feature was that no matter how hard she looked she couldn’t find a single flaw. Not a scar from childhood chickenpox, not so much as a blemish. His body was well sculpted, tanned and his shorts hung low on his hips. Even his feet were perfect. She blinked wondering if she was seeing a mirage.
His perfect pouty mouth compressed into a straight line when he asked, “What the hell are you looking at?”
Her eyes wide, she jumped back.
Then her head went down to stare at her feet and her eyes instantly filled with tears. Damn tears, she could control every other emotion but those tears always gave her away.
Words stumbled out of her mouth, “I…I…ddddo beg your pardon, sir,” then she turned on her heel to hurry back to the cottage humiliated. He barked somewhere behind her, “Don’t you know who I am?” His voice was softer laced with a hint of confusion.
Surprised she turned around and glanced briefly at him then quickly back down to her feet. “Should I?” she mumbled.
In a bewildered voice he answered, “No, I guess not.”
A beat of silence, then she turned back around and ran. He let her go.
She knew he couldn’t have been too much older than her but he was so rude. No, that wasn’t true, she really was an idiot. If she had been paying attention she wouldn’t have run into him. If she hadn’t gaped at him like some monkey in the zoo he wouldn’t have been angry. She was tacky. She deserved to be yelled at.
When she got back to the cottage she realized that she had left her sand dollar back at the beach. Her eyes filled up with tears again as she tried to push the loss aside. It wasn’t a big deal. It was just a sand dollar, probably broken in a million pieces. She wiped her eyes and grabbed her book, sat on the couch determined to put the event behind her.
She stayed inside for the rest of the day fearful if she left the cottage doors she would evoke more anger out of people. Or…she shuddered, she might run into him, the Adonis, and deal with his anger. She’s had enough anger directed at her she certainly didn’t need to go looking for it.
The waves continued to roll in repeatedly crushing beautiful seashells into crumbles. The tide rose and left again while I sat and watched the sun set. What a beautiful thing to experience. Each day was like a birth and took me further away from the nightmares of Germany. Maybe like the ocean, my soul will be recycled into someone I could be proud of. Until then I will continue my path of mediocre. - Cloe’s diary
Chapter 5 The Fire Late that night her aunt came home smiling and wonderfully crisp. She always looked perfect, like the sand dollar. A sharp pain hit Cloe’s heart; she mourned her lost sand dollar. If it had survived the impact she was sure someone would have stepped on it by now. Oh, how she wished she had been brave enough to at least look for it before running off. It would have made a nice addition to the shoebox in her closet.
“Here’s the thing,” her aunt spoke, “I was going to go to the grocery store and pick up all these items on this list you made here,” she held up the list formally stuck to Cloe’s face and waved it about, “but I am not a grocery shopper. It is hard for me to admit but I have a major deficit in cooking and everything related!” Cloe smiled, for once not surprised.
Aunt continued, “Obviously you have some infinity for cooking so this is what I have done.” She paused for dramatic affect making Cloe’s grin grew.
“I went down to the local community grocery
store, it is around the corner, and set up a credit line for you to buy your list and whatever necessities you may need.” Aunt waved her hand in an arch.
“You may have noticed there is a very dusty unused golf cart down below and you are welcome to drive it, wherever.” There went that hand again. Claire always talked with her hands.
When Claire stopped talking she switched her focus from her aunt’s flying hands to find her with an expectant expression. Cloe looked around the room not sure how to reply, and then she simply said, “Okay,” with a shrug and a slight smile to show her she was pleased, and she was. She would get to finally cook again and that was cool.
Aunt turned on her heel toward her bedroom, “I’m heading out tonight. Shindig thing for the little brats,” Cloe watched her disappear then happily walked back to the living room to read a book. It was nice not having to hide in her room anymore, or to cower in a corner trying to disappear.
After her aunt left and a few hours later, she became restless. The book she was reading had a poor plot and she had already read it twice. Plus she was used to doing something. On the farm she had so many chores that by the time she stopped, she’d fall asleep. In Germany she tried to stay away from the apartment until it got too uncomfortable outside and every place she could find closed. Once inside the dank apartment, she would lock herself in her room and force herself to sleep. In other words, she worked hard to disappear. Here, however, she didn’t have anything to do, and, well, she felt…lost.
She set her book down and got up to snoop around for a few minutes. After opening a few cabinets, she was elated whe
n she found a stereo. A few tries later she found a station that played dance music. Cranking it up she began to dance. She wasn’t very good at it but what she lacked in style, she made up with enthusiasm.
Instantly, the music took her to a time in Germany. A rare time that was actually pleasant. She closed her eyes as she danced and remembered that night.
The door to the apartment was locked. Her parents refused to give her a key. She stood in front of the locked door trying not to have a panic attack. When she looked down to stop from crying, she noticed a note was slid halfway out from the bottom of the door. She picked it up and read the tiny script of her father: Make yourself scarce till midnight.
Assured that she still had a place to live, she walked aimlessly through the dark streets of Germany, the only destination in mind was someplace open and warm.
Eventually she found her way to a club that the methodical beat had drawn her in. No one questioned why a 16-year-old was in a dance club and she ended up dancing until she was numb. She didn’t go home until it was light and the club closed. It was a good night. It was almost worth the beating she received for waking her parents when she entered the apartment well after midnight.
Her eyes still closed, she DANCED around the living room to the thump of the music when a load clearing of a throat followed with a “Hello!” jerked her from her music-induced trance.
She frantically swung around to see the guy from the beach standing in her living room. Fear had her heart beating wildly. Oh God, please don’t let him hurt me, she prayed silently, looking wildly about she noticed he had brought friends too. There were three girls and one other guy all with the same amused looks on their faces.
Her face turned hot. Her mouth was dry with humiliation and fear.
“I came by to apologize for earlier and to give you this.” The guy, her Adonis, held out the sand dollar she had dropped. It was still perfect, still a creamy white and wonderful, but more importantly it had survived. She couldn’t believe it as she stared at it. It had to be a sign.