By Sarah Wolsey
I like to tell people that when we first met, I was unmoored. At the mercy of the wind and waves, the push and pull of the moon’s tides. But that’s not really how it happened. There was no open water. No raft. Just ripples in my tea as I blew against its fevered surface.
At the coffee shop overlooking Main Beach, curled up in my favorite orange chair by the window, I tried to catch the warmth of the afternoon sun on my nose. My toes tucked under my legs, I perched my cup on the coffee ring collages left by those before me.
I saw you before you walked in with your hands in your pockets. You were whistling, but I couldn’t hear the tune. The wind picked up and the leaves on the sidewalk gave chase around you. A young girl wrapped in a brilliant red scarf peeked up from her hot cocoa and waved hello. You smiled and waved back. Her chilled cheeks sprouted into a smile. A half moon filled with happiness and promise. I smiled, too.
When you wandered in, the bells on the door broke into song. A winter ballad of your arrival. One I had never heard before. Ringing in hope and truth. Ringing out sadness and doubt. A sweet serenade that unexpectedly gathered me in its arms and held me tight. Ringing, clanging, chiming and wild. You looked at me. You smiled. And I was adrift no more.
Sarah is an elementary school teacher with a degree in English from University of California, Berkeley.
