A Touch of Truth

The flight from Nassau to Coral Cay was Kendra’s favorite leg of the trip, and she always wished it lasted longer. At 5,000 feet, the charter plane cruised through the cloudless sky, giving her a breathtaking view of the ocean below. She was captivated by the still water, the hues of turquoise, cobalt, and crystal blue swirled together beneath her. It was a kaleidoscope of color, a vibrant mural that stretched as far as she could see. Islands dotted their way south, some large and covered with homes, and sailboats anchored up along their shores. Other islands were tiny and largely uninhabited, and many were completely vacant. Kendra wondered about the people who called these islands home, how they came to be there, and what life was like in such remote places. It looked so peaceful from her window, and she twisted in the seat, craning her neck to watch as the last island faded out of sight. Then came a stretch of nothing but the most beautiful water laid out before her in every direction. It felt as if the little plane and its inhabitants might be the only ones in the world, and the hum of the engines was the perfect soundtrack to the view. Kendra relished the sensation of being suspended midair above the sea, free from responsibilities and worries, free to absorb the beauty with child-like fascination. An occasional ‘ooo’ and ‘ahh’ escaped her lips unaware, as her eyes darted from one magical section of the ocean to another. She had made this trip so many times that she recognized some of the coral and seagrass beds in the crystalline water, and she squinted ahead to catch the first glimpse of Coral Cay. It would appear as a dark shadow, indistinguishable from a grey cloud, until the white face of a sheer limestone cliff would emerge, rising from deep blue water like a sentry keeping watch at the northern tip of the island. Closer still, and she would see white sand beaches to the West and waves thundering onto the rocky shore of the Atlantic side. When Kendra caught sight of the murky shadow, she released her breath in a sigh of wonder, a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. It had been 7 years since she had seen the island, the place that meant so much to her family. As the plane descended for landing, she saw the runway, too short for airliners, and the little white customs office in the distance. The plane skimmed above the blue water edged with mangroves and scrubby marshland and over the main road, the “highway” that stretched from one end of the island to the other. She watched the flaps raise on the wings, and like a large seagull landing on the beach, the plane touched down and rolled to a stop at the far end of the runway. In the winter, the airport was alive with tourists and seasonal residents, on top of the usual inter-island travel, but in the middle of summer, traffic slowed to a crawl. That day, there were only a few planes on the tarmac- a Cessna, a Piper, and a Cirrus like her parents flew. She smiled and squeezed the beach bag on her lap, whispering, “Here we are- welcome to paradise.”