Sandcastles
By Drew Watson
Sand, water, and the smell of sea salt were all she knew as she stood gazing at what could have been a beautiful painting or the start of an adventure. The ocean glittered like broken glass under sunlight, and the soft breeze cooled her heated skin. She ran, feet plunking into the seashore, ready to dive into the great blue. Ready to disappear beneath the whitecaps, to swim deep enough where she could create her own sense of control. Or she might stay near the surface, where the waves made her body sway, because a part of her liked to feel out of control. She liked that no one was there to hold her or talk to her, just a faceless entity strong enough to stop a city, moving her to its own beat.
***
Janae Marie Williams was named after three people. Her great-grandmother, who they called Nae Nae for short, was where her first name came from. Her last name was her father’s and her middle name had been her mother’s. Nana always said that she’d named Mom after the planet Mars because it was big, beautiful, and mysterious just like Mom. The family always looked at Nana funny when she told that story, but Janae thought it was adventurous to be named after a mysterious place rather than a person. And although she felt that her family would always think of great-grandmother Nae Nae when they looked at her, she couldn’t help but feel caught behind her mother’s big personality—even more so now that she was gone. Gone she knew was too light of a word—a euphemism. Dead was more like it, but that word alone made her eyes burn with unshed tears. Her mother wasn’t coming back. It had taken her months to realize this, months of forgetting that the table only had to be set for two instead of three, of seeing her mother’s favorite pair of shoes sit unmoved by the door. Those shoes only belonged to a memory now.
Grief was said to show itself in many different ways. Janae supposed that her grief was a lost and disjointed feeling of constant heartache. Her chest often felt like it was caving in, and sometimes it were as if she were underwater, fighting toward the surface. Janae frowned. Going to the beach and remembering the peace her mother found on the warm sand made life bearable. Those blue waves were all Janae could think about as she sat in class, pen in hand, and nothing good to say. Everyone around her scribbled words on their papers like they were born writers, and she sat, completely clueless. Outside the sun shined bright gold between the clouds, it was a funny contrast to how her heart turned gray as she tapped her pen against a blank sheet.
If she were a writer, what would she write? Janae didn’t feel like she had anything particularly interesting to say. She didn’t feel like she’d experienced enough to be as good of a writer as her mother was. The best characters, she thought, were born from pain, loss, and experience. Don’t you know that characters write themselves? Mama’s voice fluttered in her thoughts. But authors had to be given some credit. Janae believed that great characters were born from wisdom, and wisdom came with time. Although she wasn’t much of a writer, she was grateful to stories still, for taking her to far off lands where she could lose herself in extraordinary adventure and peril. Stories were immortal, and as long as you could tell them, they were yours.
Janae wondered what it must feel like to be a writer, to have such purpose in the mere stroke of a pen. She gazed out of the window watching the early rays of the sun glint off the dew drops glistening on the grass. Those drops would be gone within the hour, they would rise into the air, and return as rain. They would water the earth, grow crops, quench thirst. Their purpose was monumental, yet she couldn’t even write one word without wishing for her mother’s guiding hand.
"Janae," she glanced up, heart beating slightly faster, “Any thoughts on question one?"
She looked down at her blank paper.
Everyone's eyes were trained on her, heads swiveled toward her to gauge her response, eyes burned into the back of her head. She could feel everything. Were they thinking about her mother too? Janae shook her head.
Her teacher sighed, "Would anyone like to share?"
One person, two people, three—who knew?—raised their hands, and their answers all blurred together in her mind. Ms. Brandon jumped back into the lesson, and her thoughts drifted away once again, barely within her reach.
Seconds turned into minutes and minutes turned into hours and one could only hope that the days would blur too. But time passed, class ended, and the day’s events began to unfold like pages turning in a book.
The school bell’s ring shocked her ears as students rushed around her, shoving through the door, grabbing dropped pencils and bags. She moved slowly, ignoring the shaking of her hands, and the heaviness of her eyelids. Mama’s death had made Janae’s life into somewhat of a twisted story where the girl meets Death and cannot stand the sight of him. One month, 19 days, and 21 hours. She didn’t want to remember, didn’t want to keep count, but it was the default of her mind. How long has it been? How long will it take? Her father didn’t fare much better. His grief was nothing like her own;he had lost a lover, and Janae, a confidant, a loving creator. She pulled her frizzing hair into a bun and made her way out of the classroom, her body already heading toward the entrance of the school. People bustled around her, fiddling with their lockers or rushing to the cafeteria to be first in line for food. She wasn’t hungry. And she didn’t want to be around people any longer. What she longed for was space. Why did she have to go back to school anyway?
You’ve missed too much already, Jay. I know it’s hard, but you have to continue, her dad had said just a few days ago. But Janae couldn’t stand how normal everything seemed at school — how high school continued on as usual while she felt like a puzzle piece warped out of shape. Loud laughter echoed throughout the hallway, and she looked around catching sight of two friends clutching their stomachs. Their smiles were bright and their eyes glistened with the brief high laughter always brought. Two boys high-fived each other, someone dropped a textbook with a groan, and again, that laughter farther down the hall, a sound different from the last but alike in joy and glee. Janae couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed like that. Mama had loved to laugh.
Mom? Where are you? I miss you.
“Girl!” Janae saw Jenna moving toward her, forcing a path through the crowded hallway.
Janae looked at her through heavy lidded eyes and her lips didn’t quirk as they usually would at the golden cuffs that glittered under fluorescent light scattered through Jenna's long braids, her giant circular glasses, dressed straight out of the 80s.
“I’m leaving,” was all Janae said before she began turning away.
“Wait, what? No, you can’t just leave, Jay.” Jenna gently grabbed her arm, turning her toward herself.
Janae sighed, muttering, “I just want to be alone.”
“No, I’ll come with you, who needs Mr. Hendrick’s lesson on budgeting anyway?” She smiled softly but Janae shook her head.
“I just want to be alone, okay?” Normally, Janae wouldn’t have sounded so harsh, but this grief-stricken version of herself could care less for those around her, because her mother was dead and that was what people didn’t seem to understand. Even Jenna.
“You can’t keep doing this, Janae. You can’t push me away, just . . . just talk to me. I can—” Jenna stammered.
“You can what? You can help? You have no idea what it’s like,” Janae snapped, making a sound in the back of her throat that was almost like laughter. Jenna’s eyes flared with hurt and Janae looked away, sighing, “I’ll see you later.” Shaking her arm free of Jenna’s grasp, she turned, and walked away.
As she left school grounds, she grew lost in memories of those weeks after the accident. They were in the ice-cream shop just a block from her house. There was silence, until Jenna opened her mouth.
You gotta keep smiling Jay, just do the things that make you happy.
You don’t get it. You can’t. Just leave me alone. Janae had thrown the ice-cream Jenna bought her into the trash and walked out of the shop. She thought she could throw their friendship away with the cone, but here Jenna was, her determination a steady but constant wave against the shore.
Why do you push her away? She has always been there for you. Her conscience sounded just like Mama’s voice, as if she were there in her head, telling her what to do as usual. Janae wrung her hands, scowling as guilt ebbed at her conscience.
It was true, Jenna had always been there for her.
The small nurse’s office of their elementary school was where they’d first became friends. Janae was taken in after she fell off of a swing and scraped her knees. Jenna, however, had come out of a fight with another student and was patching up a scratch on her shoulder. Back then Janae had shied away from Jenna’s curious eyes and big personality, focusing on applying her band-aid just right so that her knees would have full coverage. The band-aid was just too small. That is, until Jenna had offered her help and opinion (which came with everything). Allow me, she’d said, peering over Janae’s shoulder with smart brown eyes as she adjusted her round glasses. Before Janae could protest Jenna was working magic with the band-aid and the gauze that was meant to be for the bloody scratch that glistened against Jenna’s umber shade. She’d wrapped up Janae’s knees with gentle hands and a proud smile.
“Thank you,” Janae nodded as Jenna beamed.
“I want to be a doctor.”
Janae shrugged, glancing at the other girl’s shoulder, “Well you can’t help others if you don’t take care of yourself.”
Jenna stuck her tongue out at the wall with a scowl, “I told Raymond I would give him the ball back when I was done, but he didn’t wanna listen.” Not my fault, her eyes glowed with defiance as she crossed her skinny arms and shrugged her shoulders.
Janae laughed and exclaimed, “Tell me all the details!” Jenna smiled, sticking her hand out, I’m Jenna.
I’m Janae. They became best friends that day.
Best friends, she thought, unable to think of anyone that could replace Jenna’s tall wonderment, her observant deep brown eyes that matched her beautiful skin tone and sharp nature. Mama had always laughed about how similar their names sounded. But the two girls really were nothing alike. Jenna was all lightning that hid a softness that only those who cared enough to look would see and Janae was a clear spring day, the kind you dreamed about.
The beach was only a short bus ride from school, and as her sneakers touched warm sand, the stories Mama used to tell before bedtime came back to her. Mama’s stories of the ocean were her favorite. Mermaids are immortal you know, they live forever and ever in the deep sea. And they only come on land occasionally, in the dead of night. Her mother and father were cautious around the ocean after the day Janae nearly drowned trying to search for a lost kingdom. Come on Mommy! I want to find the mermaids—her last words before she’d dived into the rolling and unforgiving waves. Janae, you little rascal! You scared us to death! Her mother could be very loud when she was angry. She’d been scolded for what felt like hours that day. You probably scared them bounding into the water like that, baby. Her tone was soft when she said, And you know they dwell in the deepest parts of the ocean, you would need proper gear to survive the journey. Janae smiled at the quiet memory and only wished she were able to make more.
Dipping her toes in the water, she fell into more of those tender moments, holding onto the stories she remembered as she watched the waves fold and spread across the shore. Wind swept curls from her face and the waves gripped her calves. The horizon looked so far it was and yet felt so close. Moving from the water, she lounged on her back, grabbing fistfuls of the warm sand, and then letting it slide across her palms, filling the gaps under her nails. There would be sand in her hair, and she knew what a pain it would be to wash it out later but the crescendo of the waves was worth every extra second spent in the shower, as was the feel of the sun beaming down on her. As was the freedom she felt in being unseen, wrapped in a moment alone, gazing into an endless blue sea.
There was Mama, sun-bathing on the beach with giant sunglasses, not a care in the world. She would hold her small wrists, guide her chubby feet into the water, and help her build sandcastles that would eventually wash away with the tide. She told her that the ocean was her friend, and that it would carry her to all parts of the world, wherever she wanted to go. In that same memory, Janae and her mother were lounging on the living room floor, bodies bent over a map of the world. Her mother had guided her little hands over the faded blue coloring, the one entity in the world that connected everyone — so many parts of it undiscovered, so much waiting to be found. She reached out her hand, as if trying to take hold of the salty water, trying to grab the ocean’s hand and let it guide her to its heart. But then she heard her mother’s voice, always reminding, always knowing. Don’t you have homework to do?
The minute she turned the lock to her house, she remembered what she had been waiting for. When she stepped into the house, she knew her dad had remembered too. He gave her a great big hug.
“You got in!” You got in. She saw the big envelope, she saw her name printed on the front of it. From Harvard University. You got in. The memory hit her like a punch to the stomach. She remembered coming home one evening to her mother typing furiously on her laptop, sprawled across the couch, constantly pushing up her glasses as they slipped down her tilted nose. “Janae, you should apply to Harvard.”
“Why?”
“Girl, because it’s Harvard!” Janae had cocked a brow at her mother, and Mama had looked at her and laughed that loud, wonderful laugh. Her teeth gleamed under the living room lights and Janae couldn’t help but giggle along. There was always room for laughter with her mother, always room for mischief and mystery.
Her dad had been in the kitchen, cooking up whatever concoction he’d found online. She remembered how Mama had made room when she’d slumped down beside her, how she’d somehow read her daughter’s insecurity straight from her eyes and smiled, “Come on, let’s do it together.” They’d started that night, had even allowed her father to chime in with his questionable suggestions. She didn’t know much about Harvard, and the only reason she’d researched and written out that application was because her mother had asked her to.
Suddenly she was back, glimpsing her mother’s smile in a frame, frozen now forever.
She stared hard at the envelope and the tears came faster than the shock. Dad, she was saying. She began to cry in her father’s arms, feeling the nostalgia hit her in the back of her throat. She saw an image of her mother walking through the door right that moment, a smile exploding over her face, her body overtaken with excitement, the happiness and pride at seeing her daughter’s acceptance into a higher education. But it wasn’t real, she’d never see that smile on her mother’s face, never feel her excitement radiating like sunlight into those around her.
“I know,” he whispered, “She would be so happy—” a pause, and then, “We will get through this, Jay, I promise.” Janae heard the determination fall into his voice, as if it wasn’t quite sure it wanted to be there. She felt his arms tighten around her—her father, who had relied on his two girls, had found his happiness through them. Her father who had driven her to the movies instead of school one day because he knew she was stressed, her father who loved to cook, but didn’t know how to, who was a human being broken by the loss of his beautiful wife. Somehow this letter, it meant more to him than it may ever mean to her, it was a parent’s pride, their success found in their children. She would never understand what he felt, but her arms tightened impossibly around his waist.
“Jay! Janae!” She could already hear the acceptance letter in Jenna’s voice. She could hear the excitement, she could see Jenna hopping up and down in the middle of her living room, Jenna’s mother screaming as though the sky was finally raining men. She saw Jenna's father, giving a curt nod, secret pride brimming in his hard stare. She saw beauty in that picture, joy and pride and beauty. It was there, just within her reach, but it wasn’t hers.
She felt a hand on her shoulder and quickly turned toward that ever-beaming face. “I didn’t get in, okay?” she snapped. Lie.
Jenna’s face scrunched. “What, but I was sure—"
“Well, I didn’t.” The shock was apparent in Jenna’s face, she looked as though she were ready to fold in on herself. Through all of the pain, the envy, the disgust, Janae felt a tinge of guilt weigh heavy in her chest. Why lie, Jay? And to Jenna of all people? But every time she smiled, she was reminded that her mother wasn't there to smile with her. Happiness without her mother, it was . . . wrong. Janae kept her face neutral.
“Congratulations. I knew you’d get in.” Janae said and attempted a smile. She wanted to smell salt in the air, she wanted to look at her feet through the rushing water, she wanted to be in her father’s arms.
“Janae I—” Jenna started, but Janae couldn’t predict what she was going to say, and the possibility of it being pity made her cringe.
“Look, we don’t have to talk about it,” she muttered. And that was all. The rest of the walk toward their lockers was made in silence. Silence seemed to be the new foundation of their relationship. Janae wondered if it was because of her. She wondered if the grief made Jenna uncomfortable, and she waited for the day when Jenna would stop calling her, or smiling at her, or talking to her. It was all too much, and she hated it. She hated that she couldn’t laugh without feeling guilty, or that she couldn’t predict when she would feel like herself again.
She could see the future: Jenna gone, making new friends, stressing over college classes and then acing them, discovering Boston without the girl who was never able to move on. She saw herself still floating in limbo, packing for college, disappointing her father, failing her mother. She would make friends, she had to. Maybe join a club or some program to distract her, to help her move past all of this. It was like a huge, enormous, weight. Harvard. A bright path was ready to be walked upon, and yet her lips did not form a happy smile, her heart did not swell with pride, the empty look in her eyes did not change.
When they sat down for lunch, Janae saw Jenna’s eyes fixed on the table, and her heart twisted in shame for not speaking to her friend, for not wanting to speak. She knew there was nothing she could explain, there was nothing she could say other than I’m sorry. It made her want to pull her hair out. She wanted to be kind, she didn’t want her next words to feel forced. But she had just lost her mother, and she didn’t have room in her heart for courtesy.
“Jenna,” she watched her bite into her favorite peanut-butter and jelly sandwich, watched her avert her eyes, which she only did when she was trying to hide how she felt.
“Jenna, look, I didn’t mean to snap at you.” She began, twisting her hands sheepishly, hoping her friend could still look at her the same. Jenna’s eyes scanned her own and suddenly Janae felt self-conscious, continuing, “I just haven’t been feeling well, I—”
Jenna looked pointedly at her friend. “Jay, there is no need to explain, I understand. You just lost your mom, that can’t be easy.” That’s an understatement. Frustration rose hot in her chest. She looked at Jenna, as she chomped on her PB&J, as she adjusted her glasses, waved at a friend passing by. She would never understand. Not ever. Janae could never make her understand, and that was the worst part. Janae looked down at her clasped hands as her emotions warred within her. She would not cry at the lunch table. She would not.
One night Mama was driving, and then she wasn’t. She was flying, the car tumbling through the air, crashing to the ground, and that was it. Drunk driver. They were all in the hospital, gathered around her dying mother, when a woman approached Janae, an extended family member she occasionally saw at parties. Hold her hand, she’d beckoned, taking Janae’s wrist, hold your mother as she goes. The little restraint she’d had burst into dying embers. She wanted nothing more than to rip her arm from the woman’s grasp and to shove her away, she didn’t want to be in that hospital, she didn’t want to do anything. Janae had backed away from the woman as if she were a viper and retreated into her father’s arms. That memory plagued her dreams. As did the image of Mama’s pale face, the false liveliness situated in her mother’s final moments before the casket closed forever.
She went straight to the seashore after school, just barely making it through an entire day without bursting. She spent hours upon hours staring into that sparkling surface, drawing patterns in the sand, thinking about everything she wished wasn't true before she finally made it home. She sighed at the same photo she always looked at before trudging up to her room. She loved that photo of Mama, but now it revealed how short life could be.
“Janae is that you?” Her dad’s voice echoed in the empty house.
“Yeah, it’s me,” she followed his voice and found him in the living room, writing in his journal, “What are you doing?”
He looked up at her and smiled, “I want to talk to you. Come sit.” Mama’s absence was etched by the dullness of their home, how the once bright lemon yellow of their living room walls now seemed to have lost a little bit of life, turning into a sleepy beige. Mama had taken something from everything, from color to happiness to life. Her father sat near the big lamp that lit the room in a bright but somber glow that would soon take over the bit of sunlight that still filtered through the room as dusk set in after a long day. As the days wound down, she noticed him writing in his journal all the time, sitting in the same corner of their plush red velvet couch by the night stand with the big lamp where he could set his reading glasses down. He finished up what looked like the end of a sentence and closed the worn leather covers over a messy script. He paused. She noticed the grey in his short afro and his small stubble. Not old, but wise. Her mother would say. Wisdom showed in his warm ochre eyes too. He always looked as if he’d been tanning, a constant golden glow under his deep brown skin. So unlike Mama’s smooth sandy complexion, which years of time on the beach had richened to fiery bronze.
“Well what is it?” She prompted, taking a seat beside him.
He studied her in that way he always did, first the lines of the face, and then the eyes, straight into the soul. “Why did you lie to Jenna about Harvard?” Her father had never been one to beat around the bush.
She turned to study the armchair nearby, it looked more soft than usual, Janae thought, although conscious of how she was distracting herself from the question. She sighed.
“How do you know about that?” She knew denying it would get her nowhere—he always knew when she was lying. Just like Mom.
“I heard from Matthew and Domonique.” Jenna’s parents. He probably ran into them running errands. She sat silent for a while.
“I didn’t raise a liar, Jay,” He said sternly, leaning back into the couch.
“I’m not a liar.” She wasn’t sure if she’d snapped at him or not, but considering her rising frustration and her desire to leave the room, she wouldn’t be surprised.
“So, you didn’t lie to Jenna then?”
“I just didn’t want her to know.”
“Why?”
Janae crossed her arms. “I just wish Mom were here,” she said and turned her head away from her dad’s gaze.
“You lied because you wish Mom were here?” She knew what he was doing, trying to get the real truth out of her that was hidden deep down in a locked chest she didn’t want to open.
“It’s hard to be happy without her.” She swallowed back her tears. “I don’t want to go to college anymore,” she sniffled a little, rubbing her eyes, “not without her.”
“Janae Marie Williams, I miss your mother very much, but do you want to know how I deal with her loss, how I am able to wake up each morning to an empty bed?” Janae looked closely at him, waiting for his response. He answered, “Because I know that she’s not really gone. She’ll never be truly gone. She will always be right here.” He put a hand over his heart. “It sounds cheesy, I know, but we can’t predict death, and we can’t stop it either. We are forced to deal with it when it comes our way. It may not seem fair, but there are many people out there who are feeling something like what you and I are feeling.”
He looked into Janae’s eyes, “Your mother loves you Janae, no matter where she is, she loves you. Whether she is physically here or not, that love she has for you will never die, and the love you have for her will live on in you as long as you cherish the time she spent with us.” When he looked at her, he saw the raw emotion glowing on her face, he opened his arms and she fell into them. They wept together, sitting on the plush red velvet couch that Mama had fallen in love with in their favorite furniture store.
The next day was the start of the weekend, and Janae spent most of it browsing through her mother’s journals. There were five journals in total, filled with poems and ideas for novels, snippets from her mother’s favorite books (Jane Eyre, Lord of the Rings, Wuthering Heights, and all of that other 19th century Gothic fiction, excusing Tolkien from that list of course). Janae thought gothic was a genre you really had to like in order to read, like cli-fi or high fantasy. She wasn’t entirely sure what kind of books she liked, but the writing had to be like melted butter, smooth prose that was irreplaceable. She liked when stories were profound enough to put things out of perspective, and then back into perspective once it all clicked in her head. As she flipped through a journal she hadn’t read yet, something cold and heavy thumped onto the floor. Startled, she looked down and found a beautiful tarnished silver key. It was about the size of her pinkie, and didn’t look like it would fit into any lock she’d spied in the house. The metal spiraled and looped like intertwined vines, creating an intricate and vintage design. She found the page in the journal it had been taped to and read Mama’s handwriting. It said:
What a beautiful key! I wonder what it could have unlocked.
Janae was skeptical but nonetheless in love with the mystery of it all, and a new connection to Mama. She found a long chain in her jewelry box and hung the key around her neck, where it could rest just between her breasts. The cool metal calmed her and she found herself fingering it as she flipped through more journal entries. She caught her dad carrying a big cardboard box past her open door.
“Dad? What’s that box for?” She called to him.
“I’m packing a few of your mother’s things, that’s all.” Janae felt her heart drop.
She caught up to him and saw him boxing up Mama’s clothes. “Dad, stop you can’t put away Mama’s stuff.”
He paused. “And why can’t I?”
“Because it’s her stuff!” Her heart raced, and she felt the need to rip the clothes from his hands, to scream at him to stop, that Mama’s stuff shouldn’t be touched.
“I’m only packing her clothes, Janae.” He sighed and looked heartbroken to see her eyes lined with silver.
“Mama would want you to leave her clothes where they are. You said yesterday that she would always be with us, so why are you acting like she’s gone forever?” His head drooped.
“Janae it’s all right, just because her clothes are gone, doesn’t mean she can’t still be with us.”
“But don’t you want to remember her? Don’t you care to?” She snapped as a flash of resentment cut through her and tears threatened to dampen the scowl painted across her face.
Her father’s grip tightened on the shirt he held. “Of course I care! But I can’t stand to see her occupy space she will never use again. I don’t want to see dust collect on her favorite blouse, or feel the need to wash her clothes when she will never wear them again!” Her father rarely raised his voice, but when he did it was the storm that hadn’t been predicted, full of thunder and lightning. This time, though, his voice was heavy with gloom and a dampening fire. Janae only shook her head and made for the front door. She ignored her father’s calls and fled the house. Clutching the key around her neck, she knew exactly where she wanted to be. She could nearly taste the salty breeze on her tongue.
In the late afternoon, the sun sat low in the sky and the ocean water darkened with the promise of night. The sun would spend its temporary time in the sky before leaving a sable earth for the moon to care for, but the ocean always stayed the same. The waves always moved against the shore, the water always sang the same song, consistent, everlasting, deep. The sand was cooler against Janae’s skin that afternoon. Her phone dinged with unread messages from her father but she couldn’t bear to see his apologies when she had been selfish too.
Your mother loves you Janae, no matter where she is, she loves you.
Her throat tightened. Right here, she pressed a hand to her heart, where her mother would always be. It wasn’t long before the sky turned into the dusted orange of a serene twilight and the clouds blushed pink for a moonlit dance. Janae checked her phone and got up, wishing the key she’d found unlocked a path that led to peace. But peace was like wisdom, it came with time. She might’ve gone straight home, had she not suddenly wished to be somewhere unfamiliar, different.
She’d heard from a friend that there was a party happening that night on a local college campus she might’ve gone to. She was going in the hopes of an escape, distraction, a new reality. The people at this party wouldn’t know her, and wouldn’t care enough to ask her what was wrong. She counted on it.
The party jumped and moved like a giant pulsing heartbeat. Music spilled out of the doors and windows and cracks. “Come on in!” Someone yelled to her. Inside, the music made her body thrum and she was excited to really be somewhere she didn’t have to worry about anything. Not Jenna, not college, not even herself.
Before she knew it, her face felt warm, and she wasn’t feeling the pumping beat of the song that played. She stepped out into the darkened backyard, grateful for the cool night air. Looking up at the stars was like looking at a map written in a different language, but for a moment she saw her mother’s face smiling down at her. She saw her eyes twinkling as two stars in a vast and unknown sky. Despite the music, the sound of her mother’s laugh on the wind coaxed tears to her eyes. Her mother’s warm voice was there, it’s okay, it’s okay to cry.
The backyard was big and she could hear the trees swaying, almost like the ocean's waves brushing against the shore. The blue night was so tangible, she thought she could cup it in her hands. She felt the warm earth beneath her, and heard the ocean’s call echoing in her memories as she stared at stars that reminded her of the dazzling light now gone from her life. And although the loud party continued only a few yards away, she did not hear the music, or feel the energy pulsing from the dancers, she only knew the tumble of emotions that pierced her heart.
Was this what it felt like to drown?
Leaning her head against the rough wood of a thick trunk, she closed her eyes as the breeze caressed her bare neck. She let herself give into that vulnerability, and tried to imagine herself as a girl who hadn’t a single worry. She didn’t know what she wanted, didn’t know how she could have lied to Jenna, her best friend, her sister. She didn’t even know what she wanted to be, who she wanted to be, who she was, when she was, why she was, where she was in this emotional mess she called a life. She took a shuddering breath and willed the tears away. This had to pass, this mountain she was tumbling down had to end somewhere. She just hoped that somewhere wouldn’t be a lonely place.
She heard rustling next to her and felt a warm hand on her shoulder. She could barely see through the tears that stood in her eyes but made out Jenna’s concerned face.
“What are you doing here?” Janae wanted to sound fierce but the emotion in her throat dulled the fire in her voice.
“Your dad texted me. I caught you walking from the beach and, I-I followed you here.” Jenna looked Janae straight in the eyes, never one to back down, but the tremor in her voice betrayed her. She knew Jenna was nervous, but she persisted.
“You were spying on me?” Janae just wanted to be alone. She didn’t want to put on a poker face so that Jenna didn’t have to feel sorry or guilty. She didn’t want to be with someone who could only say I’m sorry over and over again because death rendered people speechless, it made people too sensitive. Jenna was her best friend, the last person she wanted to push away, but she couldn’t help it.
“Yes.”
“Why?” The tone of her voice tasted bitter in her mouth. Jenna cared so much—so much care that Janae didn’t know what to do with it.
They sat in silence for a few minutes, and she could see Jenna trying to mask the hurt. She watched her search the depths of her mind trying to find something right to say. Jenna took a breath.
“I don’t understand. And I’m sorry I said I did.” Janae wasn’t sure what she was talking about, until it dawned on her. Lunchtime, the frustration. “I want to be there for you so badly, Jay. I want to know everything you’re going through, everything you feel so that you’re not alone. But I can’t. I won’t ever, but you have to know that I will always be here. I may not know what to say or do, but I will always look out for you.” The tears finally spilled over as her heart constricted. They were tears of frustration and love. Jenna didn’t care if Janae wanted to be alone, or hated her, she would always go to her. Janae thought of all the times Jenna had been there, through bad grades, bullies, even class presentations. She’d always given her strength, confidence, and to see such heartbreak in her eyes . . . Janae could not understand what it was like to be that selfless, that beautiful. For the first time, Jenna didn’t hug her while she cried. She didn’t say anything.
Janae managed to croak the truth she’d been yearning to say. “I lied. About Harvard.” She looked away from Jenna, tilting her head to the sky. She was back in that nurse’s office, making her first real friend, and who’s this young lady? That’s Jenna, she’s my best friend, she’d told Mama in her small voice. Her mother’s presence was there now, taking her hand, and placing it into Jenna’s open palm. It’s okay, it’s okay that I’m not there, her mother’s voice rang through her like the deep tones of a far-off bell. I will always love you.
I love you, Mama. She thought to the stars above where she knew her mother’s presence could outshine even the brightest star.
Jenna shifted, leaning back and tilting her head to stare into the dark sky. “I figured, Janae. You’ve never been the best liar,” she sighed.
A ghost of a smile touched Janae’s lips, and the two women sat in silence for a moment more. “I’m sorry, though. I shouldn’t have lied to you.”
Jenna shrugged, nudging her with her elbow. “You’re forgiven then, if that’s what you’re looking for.” Another smile, small, but bigger than the last. Janae wiped at her cheeks.
“Jenna, my dad—we got into an argument.”
Jenna only looked at her best friend and smiled, “Whatever it is, he will forgive you.” In the shadows of night, Jenna’s tender gaze looked so much like the one Mama used to give her as she whispered goodnight. Janae clutched her key in a tight hold.
Jenna wrapped her slim arms around Janae’s form as best she could. They held onto each other as Janae realized she didn’t need to explain anything to Jenna. Because she did understand, she understood enough to let Janae shed her tears in silence, in the arms of someone that loved her. Deep down, she knew that somewhere could never be lonely.
Drew Watson
6/9/2020
In writing “Sandcastles” I wanted to explore the different levels of grief and how it manifests itself in our relationships with those close to us. The story follows Janae, a young girl who loses her mother and is in the midst of coping with that loss while her father and best friend attempt to reach out to her. I wrote the story for the young adult audience, featuring black characters and in them my hope that young black women can feel represented where they are so often not. Growing up, I never felt like I could find myself in the books I read and now as someone that enjoys creative writing, part of my goal is representation. People of color, especially the youth, should be able to see themselves in the stories they read—in characters that aren’t stereotypical or cliched, but real, authentic human beings. People of color, you matter, and you have worth.
Black folks have been mourning the loss of black lives to police brutality and racism for centuries. I hope that after reading “Sandcastles” you’ll see that there is hope for a better world, and that there are small joys all around us that want us to flourish and to live. Your pain and grief is valid, relevant, and real, but don’t forget to look toward brighter days. Keep fighting, keep supporting, and keep hoping.
