It's a horrible ugliness. I'm never going to escape myself no matter what I do. I shut my eyes and stop pacing, trying to sort things out in my head. That's what I always do. It's something Jia taught me. Make lists. It kept me going after she was gone. Lists. Itineraries for the day. Something to check off one by one; something to do next. Most of it was the same. Wake up. Brush. Eat. Poop. Shower. Dress. Subway. School. Work. Subway. Homework. T.V. Masturbate. Sleep. Rinse. Repeat.
Occasionally, like on the weekends, there'd be grocery shopping or extra work hours. But I'd go to work just to work. My off hours? Sometimes I'd study. Nothing in particular. Assignments for school. Random curiosities off the internet. I know I should've used the time better. To learn an instrument or another language or something useful to get me a better job. But I didn't mind making boba tea. It's easy. Scoop the flavors in. Boil the boba if people want. Protein scoops for the gym people. Blend it nice. Serve with a straw. Take credit card and swipe. Easy. Nothing to it.
But that's all from before. How do you plan your day when you can turn into a squirrel? I shiver again, feeling the lingering squirrel's mind somewhere in my subconscious. It's a part of me now, an anxiety adjacent to my own. I glance at the ruined chair and remember the disappointed ghost. I think about Squishy and what Kivuli said. She'd teach me to harness my powers. She could wear her shadows, she had a creature in there, and her shadows could even snuff out fire. What else could she do? What else can I do with mine?
My stomach rumbles. I bite into that brown thing again, peeling off some more strips. By now I'm convinced it's some kind of mushroom. I place that into my pocket, the sack of coins in my other pocket, and make up my mind.
The least I can do is get them a new chair. She'll be busy with that evil spirit, and I don't want the ghost to be sad again. Or worse, get angry.
Then she'll tell me about the world and I can decide what to do.
After looking for some footwear and failing, I spot a letter opener on a bottom shelf near the door. It's placed on a heavy brown parcel with the string still fastened in place. The name and address have been rubbed into an ink smudge. I wonder how long it's sat there, untouched, gathering dust. What’s inside? But I'm going to borrow the letter opener. It's a short dagger-looking thing, and the handle has ornamental silver vines. Fancy. Better not lose this like her cloak.
I wish I didn't drop my knife in the storm, but this will have to do for now. If anyone bothers me, I can stab them. I'll stab them, and while they're in shock, I'll turn into a squirrel and rush away. Or maybe I'll turn into Squishy and try to squeeze into their pants and set them on fire.
Even though I'm still barefoot, and I'm guessing Kivuli doesn't have any shoes around because of her shadows, I feel braver than I have any right to be. I set my itinerary in my head: Get to town. Pick up her order. Buy the chair. Get back and wait.
As soon as I step outside and close the door behind me, my itinerary goes up in smoke. The first thing to hit me is the gorgeous morning sun. The wind rises like the sky is inhaling. A sea of grass shimmers up and down the hills; everything is very much wet from the storm, but the scent of it! The aroma!
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It's like nothing I've ever held in my lungs before. Earthy and grassy with a helping of ocean. I close my eyes and breathe deeply through my nose. There are so many flowers. Red and blue and yellow. The breeze carries salt, and my heart picks up as I step away from the mess of plants and vines and overgrowth surrounding the cottage and lighthouse. The loose cloth of my gown billows around me, pressing against me, the excess fluttering like flags. I'm achingly aware of my lack of undergarments, but it's warm and gentle and sweet, and I stretch my arms and feel the sky move through me.
I walk around the giant lighthouse, eyeing the large cobblestones of its walls and realizing there's no door. The only entrance is through the cottage. Which I'm assuming is through the curtain Kivuli told me not to touch. When I get to the cliff, I almost collapse.
The lighthouse and the cottage basically sit right at the edge of the cliff. Okay, not the exact edge. There's about a few feet of grass-covered rock and flowers, but then it drops. And you can see the entire ocean from up here.
Looking down, it's like being on the top floor of a skyscraper and watching the street below. The cliff face is rocky and steep, and the sands of the shore are black. Waves churn and crash, and the coastline stretches forever in both directions. To the far right, I can make out a town, its harbor, and an enormous ship with massive sails. That must be where I have to get the chair.
A strange flopping sensation gathers in my stomach, and a little voice in my head says, jump. I could jump from here. I could shatter on the rocks below. I could just step forward, and in a matter of moments, it would be over. I'd be a broken pile of flesh waiting to become sand. Waiting for the waves to claim me. Crabs could rip me to manageable pieces. But that seems like a waste, and I push the intrusive thought away.
The ocean calls to me. It stretches endlessly, dark blue and massive, the sense of something enormous that my mind can't comprehend. Can't reconcile. Oceans are as deep as the sky is tall, but all we can see is where sunlight dances across the surface. It's like staring at the heart of the world; my chest fills with awe. I've never felt awe before. It's one of those feelings you read about in books. Or someone'll write an article about how they traveled east and "discovered" something that had been discovered for thousands of years, and you're just like, okay, cool.
Feeling awe is something else entirely. A deep sigh escapes me. A sense of attachment, like double-sided tape, sticking my body, my soul, my thoughts to the world. To the wind and the sky and the oceans and the land. All at once. A profound centering that tells me, I'm here. I'm right here.
Birds soar underneath, circling over the waves, They're small. Their nests are a ways down the cliff, too far to tell precisely, and if I get any closer to the edge, I might slip on the wet grass. But the birds have dark wings and white underbellies, and their beaks are orange and curved. They swoop into the waters, then resurface moments later with fish fidgeting in their beaks. Some of them drift with their wings spread, gliding away from the cliff, only to turn and fly back to shore.
If I could get down somehow... Or if one would get curious and come up here. Could I turn into a bird too? Could I fly? I can't help but feel a jolt of excitement. I want to try that.
I'd almost forgotten this feeling. It's like when I was a kid and Jia would say she'd bring me a treat. Or Jia had a performance, and mom wouldn't drink, and we'd drive over to watch. When things were kind of happy and I could hide because Jia would be shining so brightly. I'd be happy just to be the person she hugged first.
Tears run down my cheeks and I can't stop them. The flowers and the sea. Maybe it's not so bad to be here. Maybe... just maybe there could be a place for me here. Even if it’s not in my own body.