Sands of Time

Sand slithers under my naked feet. My long, black hair whips wildly in the wind. Feeling the sea at my back, he jerks me into his arms.

“Petra”, he sighs into my mouth.

I wrap my olive skinned arms around his neck. Love is not what I feel, but safety, and security; I abandon myself in his embrace.  He is whispering to me, but I cannot hear him. A loud perturbing noise is deafening in my ears. My shoulders are being roughly shaken.

“Audrey, wake up!” My mother shouts.

Glaring at the clock, I realize I am going to be late for school again.

Ungracefully, I pry myself out of the cocoon of my covers.  I gather up my showering supplies, and head towards the bathroom.  With the water cascading down my back, I reflect on my dream.

It’s her again, the lady with the raven hair.

She is so breathtaking, a bold beauty you could say. I have been dreaming about her as long as I can remember. Not always the same scenery, but always the same woman. Sadness reflects back from her onyx colored eyes.  Her name is Petra.

Brushing off my tendency for freakish dreams, I finish getting ready.

Extremely late now, I rush down the stairs. The old boards croak, moaning out in protest as I tear down them. My long, blonde hair covers my face in result of my mad dash. I brush my hands through my hair trying to manage the disarray of it in some sort of fashion. My feet slide into the kitchen; in a blur I grab a piece of toast from the counter.

“Wait,” My Mother says.

I pause abruptly. My Mother walks around the kitchen counter, grief heavy in her footsteps. Something is wrong. She hangs up the telephone, and leans against the wall for a moment.

"You should stay home today.”

“Why,” I ask suspiciously. Throwing my book bag down on the counter, I cross my arms over my chest waiting for her to answer.

“Grandpa Frank died last night,” She says softly.

A brick wall hits me, and I blink at her for a few moments. A lump gathers in my throat. My emotions are escalating into hysteria, but a stray thought breaks through my dramatics.

 I blurt out, “Where’s Dad?”

“He just left work, and he has a long drive to Grandpa’s,” She replies.

The last time I saw my Grandfather was before he moved away.  I was at a slumber party with friends.  Lori lived around the corner from my Grandpa.  Loaded on too much junk food we come up with a scheme to go trick or treating.  Nothing to typical for a bunch of rowdy teenagers, but this afternoon it was mid July. We gathered all sorts of silly things to wear.  Raiding her closet, we come up with funny outfits, and styled them with grass skirts and leis. Grabbing old grocery bags, we headed out.

The reaction of us all decked out out in our wonderfully, ill fitted and obnoxious attire was optimistically met. Door after door, Neighbors laughed at us and gave us treats. One neighbor gave us toilet paper. An older woman gave us eggs, and most odd of all a used crossword puzzle.  

Coming to my Grandfather house, I knocked on his door. Grandpa Frank opens the door and laughs out loud. Telling us to come in, he goes into his front room, and sits in his big worn-out lazy boy chair.  He is a large man at six foot four. His legs hang over the foot rest, knocking his walking cane down. His dog Tootles charges us not understanding the bizarre attire we have on.  We all crowd around him and tell him about our adventure.

While laughing at the sheer innocence of our day, he looks at our prizes we have collected. Excited to continue our fun, we do not stay long. I get up, place a kiss on his cheek, and head out his door.

Moisture slowly pools from the corner of my eyes. I turn my back on her. I loathe crying in front of others.  I fling my book bag across my shoulder and head towards the door.

“Well I am already late, I better hurry.”

“Audrey, really you should stay home,” She calls out after me.

Ignoring her, I feel the morning chill break against my face. The walk to school swallows me up and sooths my suffocating bubble of grief.  In my solitude, I can compose myself before reaching the school grounds.

Heading through the commons, I see my friend Tiffany. Her long, strawberry blonde, hair bounces up and down in her excitement to reach me.  She tackles me in a hug, as she spills the latest gossip on her newest crush. Half heartily I listen, glad at a small escape from my grief.