Taylor's+Final+Draft

=Catching the Stars= As I stepped along gracefully to the rhythmic patterns of the waves crashing, I gazed into the horizon of water and sky taking in every bit of sunlight that I could. I was surprised, even though I spend every day here; I am always amazed to see the ocean. It sparkles and gleams gently, but crashes thunderously at the same time. How can anything that soft be so violent at the same time? I practically live on the beach. As a child, I would often times find myself hunting for seashells or letting myself be engulfed by each grain of sand molding to my body. During the day, I was exploring with best friend Anna, while at night, I became lost in the stars. They covered the midnight sky with a shield from evil. It felt like nothing bad could ever happen when they were looking down upon you. And because of them, I truly never believed that anything bad would happen. That was, until the summer after my seventh grade year. My mother had always been the understanding one. She was so fragile, yet strong. Nothing could break her, not even the violent waves plunging into the wet sand. Her bright green eyes were identical to mine, while she had straight, auburn hair. I shared my wavy blonde hair with my father. Freckles dotted his face like the night sky and his sea blue eyes mimicked the glittering water. My father, an architect, always had a way of knowing exactly what I was going to say before I actually said it. So while I cherished the conversation shared between us, the physical conversing was scarce. In the few moments with sparked verbal usage, he used to say the stars held all of his secrets, and one by one I would inherit this knowledge and this truth. I just thought that he used this as an excuse for a bedtime story, then, when my mom became sick, I knew that the stars and the secrets were hiding. I never learned that until my mom died. It all began with one cough. “Mom, do you want me to get you some cough medicine?” “I’m fine honey, let me show you something.” It was an overcast day, with a blanket of fog and moisture suffocating the atmosphere. I let my long, blonde hair drape over my sticky skin. Tiny drops of water softly began tapping at the surface of sand and ocean. They danced across the waves, mocking them, rippling them. On the beach, rain droplets dampened the sand, plastering to my peachy skin. As we sat, waves crashed before us, rain fell like strands of crystals, and the sky adapted a tender gray. The sun hid away just as the stars did. Lightning lingered in our surroundings. We sat in silence, letting the moment seep under our skin. Almost in one motion, thunder trembled overhead and a flash of light split the grains of sand. My mom pulled me over to the spot where the lightning hit. I slowly crept beside her. “It’s okay, lightning never hits the same spot again,” she whispered. I had been told this many times, not even sure if it was really believable. In any case, I bent my head down to the sand, glass. There it was. A small, yet bold piece of glass etched into the surface of sand. “Breath taking. You know Schuy,” my mom always used to call me this even though it wasn’t my name. She had always liked Schuyler better; said that if fit me more than my first name Lucy. Her voice was soft and kind, “I used to come down here every morning and watch the sun come up. The sun would rise and illuminate the landscape, flooding everything in its path with color and life. This was my haven. I have watched the seasons change, rain pass to thunder and then to sun. I have seen the waves tremble thunderously and then float gently under the reflection of the sky. I have seen the stars and watched them glow in the night. This place, so familiar to many people, but to me, it means more. Cherish it. Take it in. Just remember Schuy,” she paused and I watched the ocean reflect in her eyes, “The truth lies in the stars.” I stared at my mom, confused. I think she could sense it. She began to laugh. It was soft, yet it could be heard over the waves. That was the last time I was with my mom at the beach. Over the next few months, all I saw of my mother was her skin that crept out from under the blankets of her hospital bed. She was in that same room for three months. That same room with crumbling, white paint. I thought hospitals were for nurturing people back to health, but this room seemed only to make my mom sicker. I watched from a distance as her health went from good to bad right before my eyes. For days on end, my father worked as not only an architect, but also as my mother’s nurse. While my mother, battling sickness and all worked as the communicator. Even with my mother dying right before my eyes, conversation remained scarce between my father and I. It was shredded down to, “Will you get my car keys?” or “Will you get your mother that blanket?” Words were pulled from his mouth like poison. As I look back, I realize that my mother was not the only one suffering from her lung cancer. A piece of my father fell away with her each day. On the rare occasion that I accompanied my father to my mother’s hospital room, I found myself staring out the window. The ocean. The way the sunlight danced across the glassy surface. The breeze rippled in the waves of blue. I missed going with my mother. Then, I gazed around the room. Cracks lined each wall running along crumbling paint. The faded white seemed to envelop us, drawing us in, suffocating us. I looked at my mother. In the midst of her lung cancer, her eyes still glittered in the sun’s rays. Yet I could sense her punctured existence, yearning for her haven. She watched it from the confined Windex washed windows of her hospital room, 206. Then, I glimpsed to her pillow, longing to see her comforting, auburn waves. Instead, I found the cotton fabric. With chemotherapy and the other various treatments she was receiving, one by one, each strand of her hair had perished, just like her health. The last visit I made before my mom passed away was with my father and my best friend Anna. I had known Anna since preschool. Like my father’s, Anna had sea blue eyes that complimented her chocolate hair that dripped down her back. Anna nudged me along to my mother’s side. A woven blanket that we had brought from home delicately wrapped her body in a cocoon. Laminated hospital bracelets concealed her wrist. I sat next to her. We gazed into each other’s eyes. I saw past her wall, and she, past mine. Each day, her emerald eyes became cloudier. No words were said. Nothing had to be. The silence spoke for us. She drew my words and I knew she heard them. I felt my cheek dusted with tears. The mourning water rolled over my lips. Salty and bitter. As I tried to focus on not staining my cheeks with tears, my mother gingerly touched my hand. She secured my hand in hers, placing in it, a minute object. In my palm laid a seashell the color of midnight. The kind that can only be found in her haven. As the seashell shone with brilliance I detected the stars in the surface. My fingers locked around the smooth object, never letting go. “I love you.” And she was gone. In the following months, I drifted away from my existing life. Not even Anna, seem to reach my mental state. Since my mother’s death, I was afraid to let people in for fear that I would lose them, so I figured the best way to keep others out was to push them away. Anna called everyday, checking on me, I never answered. I never returned her calls. I never talked to her, let alone my own father. My father and I kept to ourselves, with the few exceptions of us crossing paths; I kept to the beach, while he buried himself with work. Even though we knew that my mom was sick, it still came as a shock to us when we lost her. We always thought she would be with us, communicating between us. So, I stuck to the beach and followed my mother’s advice. Cherish it. Take it in. Every sunrise, I was there, standing, breathing the sea spray, letting the wind twist around me and weave through my hair. The current brushed against my ankles, covering them with salt water. My shadow cast on the wet beach. And then throughout the day, I would walk along the beach, sometimes jog, taking in the people who dotted the landscape. They built sandcastles, surfed, jumped waves, and hunted for seashells. The more I lost touch with the surrounding world, most importantly, Anna, the more I wished I could go back. * * * * * After months of shutting others out, I noticed that Anna had moved on, knowing that I would never open up and let her in. Now, I often saw her on the beach frolicking in the water with some of her new friends. I envied her. How was it so easy for her to let people in? In any case, I continued my daily routine. In the evenings, I ventured down along the beach, surveying the stars. The sand felt cold against my warm skin. I lay closer to the water this time, allowing the water to collide with my body. I closed my eyes, imagining my mother there by my side, breathing in the sea spray, listening to the waves shatter the silence. Once I opened my eyes, I surveyed the stars, diamonds sparkling above me. That is when I decided to share my secret with the stars. The next night, as I meandered down to the water, I spotted Anna, surrounded by friends encircling a bonfire. It created contrast between the clear midnight sky. The heat whipped across my face, lighting all of my features. I approached Anna who was now standing out, facing the endless sky and reflecting water alone. “So, is there an expiration date for returning your calls?” I said, taking in the ocean with her. She stared at me, double-checking to make sure I wasn’t in her imagination. “Schuy!” she smiled at me and then we stood in silence. No words were said. Nothing had to be. The silence spoke for us. She got me. I took another glance up at the stars, which glowed brilliant. Then I realized, I would never actually lose my mother, the truth was always in the stars, just like her.