Empty Spaces

The frost that coated the ground began to sparkle as it popped and snapped, alerting the coming of the sunrise over the Sierra Nevada mountain range far to the east. It was a beautiful contrast of warm sound, echoed by the constant crescendo of the Pacific Ocean that bordered the small lifeless town. There was no movement on the thirty-seven streets that bisected the town’s inner portion. Sidewalks rolled up early there, even in the relatively weak tourist season that would descend in a few months. The town’s residents were cozily tucked in, protected from the cold that seeped up the beach and over the grassy slope, through the thick blanket of trees to curl around their houses as if wanting to get in. The town stretched out upon a steep downward slope, pouring out of the redwood dominated treeline a half-mile from the coast like frozen honey, looked out over the ocean’s foggy surface as if it were surveying all that it owned.

Sporadic redwoods and pine, clumps of tall spindly birch, eucalyptus and acorn barely peppered the grassy clearing, becoming thicker as the land rose from the ocean, becoming a forest that seemed impenetrable further up the hill. The thick wood would finally join the Mendocino National Forest to the east a few miles.

The two lane blacktop from Highway One climbed over the hill and turned instantly into Main Street, then continued down the steep slope toward the sea paved in cobblestone, where brown trimmed picturesque shops lined comfortably next to each other waiting for their owners to open them for business. At the top of the hill, with the forest just behind it, one could see for miles out over the water. When the sun rose and burned the fog away, ships could be seen going out to sea from San Francisco Bay far to the south. But they could only be seen if people gave the ocean a glance.

Rhyze Damon was one such person. Her sharp green eyes focused clearly, trying to see past the foggy blanket that warmed the water before being stripped off by the rising sun. She stood warm amidst the cold air in a long black wool coat that stretched to her ankles where her green heels took over. Her thick, curly red hair cascaded down the outside of the coat to her waist, some locks choosing to rebel and fall down her front.

She could see her breath join the fog, rising in the air past the chimney smoke that had become a typical winter scent, unnoticed by residents who didn’t pay attention. She had lived in that town all her twenty-nine years, and every day that she could remember, she had looked out over the ocean. She wasn’t sure what it was she expected to see, although there were indeed different things to see on a day to day basis. One day there would be an oil tanker drifting slowly miles out. Another day there would be nothing, and yet another day would reveal to her God’s own masterpiece; a painting of reds and blues, purples and magentas, splashed so lovingly in brilliant tranquility that she felt that she had to pay it respect. The ocean could reveal many things, and forget many things as well.

She liked it in that town. Every day was fresh, yet predictable, and she felt safe wrapped in its embrace. Her past washed away with the rip tide, forgotten by all as soon as it had happened. But for a reason she couldn’t fathom, she could no sooner forget herself as she could forget she had perfectly manicured fingernails. Was it possible that she looked out over the gentle Pacific in hopes it would mercifully take her memory away from her? Could it take the pain away? It was indeed powerful and many secrets did it hide, but try as she might have in earlier years, it didn’t help her.

Still she gazed.

She had just come from visiting old Lyle Franks on her way to work. It being so early, his wife Mabel had chattered at her harshly for not getting her beauty sleep, but Rhyze’s visit was just as important on that morning as it had been every Friday Morning for the past ten years. The last few years had been especially hard on all of them, as they watched Lyle get weaker and weaker from age. He had been bedridden for a year now in their cozy large house, plugged into a heart machine that made an unnatural noise with every pump of his blood. The house, like her heart now seemed empty as a result, dusty and cold since he had been confined to the bedroom that looked out over the ocean below. The color of his eyes were gray, where once they had been the softest baby blue, gentle and loving as he had always watched Rhyze and her younger sister Fahle work alongside Mabel in their garden. On walks he had held their hands, and often talked to them about their lives, school, their work and comforted them in times when they had no parents to do so.

Though Fahle visited him almost every Friday as well, but later in the afternoon, Rhyze seemed to be his favorite. It didn’t matter to her about that, but Fahle had always been sensitive on that subject, so Rhyze never mentioned her going over at all and Lyle never said either way if she was or wasn’t. It was the same way with the sisters’ real father, who had left town when she had turned eighteen years old, and left the two of them in the Franks’ hands to watch over.

The big city doctors had been surprised at how long he had lasted so far, and had long ago given up diagnosing a particular amount of time he had left to live. Rhyze smiled, thinking of his face. He was stubborn, and she knew that he would try to stay with them for as long as he could. He had promised her long ago that he would never leave her until she found a love that would take his place. Rhyze and her sister were the closest things to daughters that Lyle and Mabel had and likewise, the two sisters loved them as their own family.

Her breath sighed in a thick curl of fog, and she broke her trance. Work had to be done. She stepped off the cobblestone Main Street, her heels clicking against the hard rock. There were some that questioned how in the world she could walk in high heels over the bumpy surface. There were many things she could do, many secrets that she held that most couldn’t understand. Or maybe they just downright refused to. She was like the Pacific, she often thought, holding her secrets safely close.