Blueberry Girl--Chapter 1

By Sherrie Parnell © 2006

Chapter One

The sound of surf washing over sand is equivalent to tranquility. Toss in the murmurs of distant sea gulls in flight and you have a sedative for the mind. I love the sea and the memories of sand between my toes and the taste of salt on my lips. My first glimpse of the sea inspired an awe that transcended the spirit of the nine-year-old child within me. I felt as minuscule as the sea was colossal. Magical creatures lived and died there. Who was I to even think of entering their secret realm?

I sit now, listening to waves crashing over rocks. My hands tremble and my writing upon paper resembles spider webs. Some many fibers cast in a spider web. Lies and deception live there in the shadows of silk threads. I want to crumple this paper, tear it to pieces and toss it out the window, just like I want to smash the sound machine with its fake surf and squalls. So much for offering a calm atmosphere! I know they meant well—the one who suggested that nature sounds such as the ocean, would induce a calming atmosphere. Instead, it brings back memories, ones that lead to sadness.

There is no escape from the sound of surf, nor is there a passage away from memories. I take a deep breath, hold it for a long moment and then slowly let it release back into the air before me. Instead of running, I embrace the sea and the memory of that first glimpse.

I was nine and afraid of sea monsters. No one could get me into the water. I stood on the fringe of the foam, watching the other children frolic in the ocean. My long black hair braided tightly and hung over a shoulder. A few wisps framed my pointed face and I remember trying to push them away as they tickled my cheek. We were on a school outing. I remember a long line of orange buses and worrying if I would remember the number of the one I rode on.

My friends waved at me, shouting, “Come and play, Vivvie.” But I shook my head and rubbed my toe into the wet sand, so afraid of the water. I looked over at the blanket where the teachers were gossiping, hoping one would see that I was scared and come rescue me. But they were too busy eating potato chips and staring at the life guards.

Out of the blue, a boy I vaguely knew stood beside me. His red hair was as brassy as the sun at dusk. I tried to remember his name but it wouldn’t come to me. He didn’t say anything for a moment. I pretended he wasn’t there, wishing he would leave me to my fear. He spoke in a slow deliberate way, as if he was afraid he would spook me. “Are you scared of getting your swimsuit wet? It will dry, you know.”

“I know.” I refused to give voice to my fear. Putting my hands on my hips, I walked a little closer towards the receding tide.

But he refused to let it go, “Then why don’t you go play with your friends? They keep calling to you. It’s annoying.”
He was annoying. Something told me that if I didn’t answer him, he would never go away. “I don’t want a sea monster to eat me.” There. I said it out loud.

A slow billow of laughter exploded from him. “Sea monsters? Why would they want to eat a baby? You’re all black hair and bones. There’s no meat on you.”

I answered angrily, “They should eat mean ole red-headed boys.”

The boy straightened up from his belly-clenching pose and said in all seriousness, “Who says they don’t?”

Tears were beginning to pool on my lashes. All I wanted was for this boy to leave me, so I could stand alone in peace. He took my hand. His was warm as sun on a window pane in the late afternoon. He said, “You’re a funny girl. I like that.” His blue eyes were as light as mine were dark. With a smile, he asked, “What’s your name?”

“Vivian Wilde,” I answered, holding his hand seemed the wrong thing to do under the circumstances. Sea monsters ate red-headed boys, he had said. But I didn’t let go of his hand.

“I’m Trent Sawyer. Come on, I’ll go into the water with you. I won’t let a sea monster eat you.”

And he didn’t. Trent Sawyer protected me that day and I fell wildly in love with him. On the trip back home, he rode the same bus as I did and sat beside me. Some of his friends teased him about me. I watched him silence them with a look. To no one in particular, he said, “Vivian Wilde is my girlfriend. If anyone makes fun of her or hits her or pulls her hair or anything like that. I’m gonna come gunning for you. And it won’t be pretty.” (Later on I would find out that Trent’s hero was Marshal Matt Dillon.)

No one ever bothered me. Thinking back, I am amazed at how rapidly and without question, everyone accepted the fact that I was now Trent Sawyer’s girl. When I got home that day, I ran into the kitchen where my Mother was preparing supper. In a voice as excited as a roller coaster ride, I said, “Mommy, I met my Prince Charming. One day, we’re going to get married and live happily ever after.”

Without pausing from her task of potato peeling, she smiled at me and said, “That’s nice, honey. Now run upstairs and do your homework. Dinner will be ready in an hour.”

“But Mommy…” I wanted to tell her about my magical day.

“Vivian Carol Wilde,” she said, “do as I say! Your father will be home soon. And I haven’t got the potatoes on yet.”

Defeated, I went upstairs to my room. Since I didn’t have any homework, I decided to write a story about my Prince Charming who saved me from the sea monster and how we lived happily ever after.