First

Heather Kline

We were on the beach. We had been there all day. Now the moon hung high in the sky intertwined with thousands of iridescent stars. The universe glowed brightly around us, illuminating the water. It weaved its way down through the seemingly infinite space and managed to sprinkle the ocean surface with white.

By the grace of God, I could still see her.

I could see her hair. As the day progressed, it digressed from a braid to a bun to its natural state. She normally liked to downgrade the wad into small ringlets, but the heat had taken the decision away from her. I was thankful for that. Stricken with humidity, her locks swelled it to twice their normal size. Her voluminous locks seemed to breathe in the night air, swelling and deflating in the breeze. She smelled like fresh bread and hairspray.

She laid on her back, head resting at my side, mumbling in Greek. It was a habit she tended to indulge in whenever she had a lot on her mind. She would talk out her thoughts, hopes, fears, anything in an attempt to mentally straighten it all out. Some people found it annoying, but I didn’t mind. Her words strung together effortlessly, unlike her broken English, which she only spoke for my sake. Her native tongue had a rhythm to it that intrigued me more than any other sound. When she spoke, her voice became the melody of my favorite song.

I could see her shirt, inched up over her waist, revealing her speckled midriff and her pierced belly button, adorned with the bejeweled turtle she got for Christmas. Her hipbones protruded from her sides, creating a sharp edge on her otherwise smooth stomach. Random freckles popped up on her skin, creating a handful of constellations spread across her abdomen. I saw a sliver of a dove’s wing peering over the waistband of her low-rise jeans. It was one of many she had placed around her body. She viewed her body as a canvas. It was art. She was art.

I could see her face. Her sunken eyes gazed up at the sky. Her sky blue irises darkened with the day, settling into an almost royal blue color that contained depths I would spend a lifetime exploring. Her eyelashes were caked in mascara. The make-up did not lengthen them like she wanted, but thickened them. The black goop rubbed away from the lashes and spread around her eyes. Even smeared make-up couldn’t tarnish her perfection.

Her head tilted up, meeting my gaze with kind, tired eyes.

“Are you ready to go?” Her voice broke through the briny air, rough and warm.

God, she was so beautiful.

“No.”