Ocean of Time

It was a sunny day when it happened. When she left us. How the sun thought it was a good idea to present itself upon a group of individuals who couldn’t see anything through tear filled eyes was beyond me, but I remember the blistering heat that did nothing to lighten my mood. Read the room is all I could say to the sky, but nature doesn’t listen – it doesn’t care. Life goes on with or without people, no matter their impact on the world. And in the case of Jasmine Doyle, her impact on my life was no greater than my mother’s. Without my mother, I wouldn’t exist, and without Jasmine I wouldn’t either. If only she could say the same for me.

I haven’t been here since that night; the night she did for me, what I couldn’t do for her. If only I had known. If only. If only. What if. What if.

She’s gone.

And the only thing I can do is come here: the ocean. The ocean where time stands still, where my whole life flashes before me, where everything is preserved and unfolds like an ineffective laundry worker would do. Where my fondest and darkest memories are trapped and played back to me whenever I do so much as take in the freshly salted humidity that wafts around me in a claustrophobic bubble. Cronus Beach.

July 7th, 2006

Radios blasting. Boys laughing. Some voices breaking, others staying as high pitched as helium. This is the last place I want to be spending my Wednesday afternoon: Cronus Beach with a load of smelly boys who don’t yet understand the meaning of hygiene. We aren’t ten anymore; we’re eleven.

‘Okay, football time!’ Damien shouts out to draw the attention of every family and child within a kilometre radius. He pulls out a ball to kick it towards the deep blue ocean.

That’s where the ball belongs: away from me.

‘I’m team captain. Bagsied.’

‘Turn around, touch the ground, bagsy other team captain.’

Turn around, shut your mouth, nobody gives a crap. I don’t belong with these guys, and yet they dragged me out to this boring beach just so they could have an even amount of people to play football.

Looking across the grains of creamy sand and shingle, I see a group of girls. They’re my age and have been blaring “Since U Been Gone” on the radio on repeat for the past twenty minutes – choreographing a dance piece. I know that song. I know those words.

‘Aaron, I guess.’

I don’t even realise I’m the last to be called; that my “name” has been announced like I’m on death row. It’s a horrible name: Aaron – “Ay-ay-ron” as they like to call me. So funny.

‘He called you, dumbo.’

Good one.

‘I don’t want to play.’

‘Then why’d you come if you’re gonna sit there moaning all day.’

I had no answer to that. It wasn’t by choice – Dad says it’s good for me to get out and do a man thing. Be with the boys. Kindle friendships to last for generations by playing big boy sports like kicking a ball around in sand and annoying everyone close by.

No thanks; I’d rather let the ocean take me away.

And so I stand up, my Zac Efron bangs blow across my face and I dramatically swoosh them to the side again. With that, I storm off, letting the ocean breeze take me wherever it wants, which ends up being a silent spot with Kelly Clarkson playing nearby.

This is how I want to spend a Wednesday afternoon: letting an ocean take away my thoughts and emotions and setting me free, with top hit radio playing on repeat of course.

This ocean that has stood for millions of years. All of humanity has touched this ocean. Years of civilization have cycled through this water. Yet, it’s all wound up with me sitting alone on a beach as a load of prepubescent boys try to dictate my life.

‘Hey, my friends and I saw you walk away from those boys… are you okay?’ It’s the girl with the radio – the one with the long blonde hair tied back like Lindsay Lohan had hers. Why is she talking to me?

‘Uh… hi… I mean, yeah. I’m fine. Thank you.’ I smile at her, looking back to an amber-tinted ocean and a rose coloured sky.

‘If you want, you can sit with us. We’re making a cool dance if you’d like to join… We could teach it to you.’

‘Really? Did they dare you or something?’

She laughs at that like it was a joke. Like I was a stand-up comedian who was telling unlaughable jokes that the audience felt compelled to laugh at. ‘No silly, you looked lonely, and I like your haircut.’ She puts out her hand to shake it. Or pull me up. I can’t tell which. ‘I’m Jasmine, your new bestie. And since we’re besties now, you should tell me your name too.’

My name. She wants to know my name. ‘Um. It’s uh, it’s complicated.’

‘Did your parents not name you or something?’

‘No, sadly they did. It’s uh, Aaron. But I don’t like it very much. I don’t think it fits… me… I guess. Sorry, I sound stupid.’

‘That’s not stupid. Your parents are stupid for calling you that. How about,’ She looks around the emptying beach, where people were pouring in a few hours ago is now a popular spot for getting the hell out of here, with such a pretty site ahead of us too. ‘Blue. Blue is nice, it’s the colour of the sea, and I met you when you were feeling blue.’

I hate it. It’s perfect, a million and ten times better than Aaron. Not so tied down and set in stone and coming with responsibilities I don’t want.

‘Yeah, yeah call me Blue. Blue and Jasmine. Thank you.’

‘Tell you what. Here’s a piece of paper, and we’ll go get you one of my new gel pens, and we can write your ugly old name onto it and throw it into the sea. Destroy it. Say bye bye to Aaron.’

All I could do was smile in response, a large grin that took up my whole face, ear to ear; genuine happiness of childlike innocence. Bye bye Aaron. So long forever.

*

That first meeting was the start of something so important, so short, so life-changing yet so fragile. A friendship that wouldn’t stand the test of what life would throw at us, but will always stand the test of time. The ocean here at Cronus Beach wouldn’t destroy Aaron, it would preserve him there. Aaron lives on in those deep blue waters – as does Blue.

He’s here with me as much as I am here now. Not exactly mummified, thankfully, but I can see him sitting alone wanting a friend. Wanting more than what he had at only eleven years of age. Wanting a connection.

What he got was much more important. He got an identity. Not the right one just yet, but it was something: A start.

While I see Aaron sitting where the sand makes a dip, strangely not having changed since that fateful day fourteen years ago, I also see Blue nearly three years later. Right here, this same beach, near the same ocean. And to my demise, the same testosterone high boys.

April 13th, 2009

‘I don’t know about this anymore Jasmine. I think we should go back, I feel dumb.’

‘Dumb? You should feel like a hot ass bitch, ‘cause that’s what you are Blue.’

Hearing Blue lightens my mood. That’s me. I’m Blue. I control who I am and my identity, and I’m allowed to wear a summery dress before summer begins.

But that doesn’t remove the fear.

‘Thanks for letting me borrow your dress.’

‘I’m not letting you borrow it, it’s yours. It suits you more than it suits me. I look so bleh, you look so… just wow.’

I realise she’s only doing this to make me feel better, but I take it, and it works. I feel better – better than I ever have.

I’ve been wearing jeans tighter on me and tops with slightly more flowers on them over the past few months, but never a dress. Never a bra; at least not one with actual cups. Jasmine dressed me up all fine and dandy and beautiful this morning after a night in her house. Where else would I stay? Anywhere but home – at least then I can avoid my dad instead of telling him I’m not who he expects me to be.

I don’t show up to the matches. I don’t do the training. And I don’t answer his calls or his rage-induced texts either. I’m not him, I’m me. And I am not the boy he wants. No matter how hard he wants it, I can’t force myself into shoes that don’t fit. My feet are already too big and too manly as is – which doesn’t feel like me either.

But still, I’m not too sure who I am. Just a boy making a show of himself in a dress, hobbling around the beach, desperate to go back inside. I must prevail though, I can’t let them win. Who? Them. They are nameless. They are all around us. The stares and the preconceptions of someone like me dressing like someone like them. “Poor little boy must be so confused.” I am, but that’s none of their business. Why can’t they keep their gazes to themselves?

It’s not just the middle aged women, it’s the teenage boys too. Those are much worse; they won’t tear you down with whispers and stares. Instead they’ll use brute force to batter you down to the ground and beg them for mercy. 15 year olds who think they know all; that they’ve conquered life itself.

They know nothing. They don’t know pain or suffering or the feelings of an outsider. They’re the perpetrators of those feelings – they don’t feel them, clearly. Why else would they be over by the foamy water stomping down on the football at the sight of me. Stopping everything they’re doing just to get a good look at their old pal “Ay-ay-ron”.

‘Let them stare, Blue, they’re jealous.’ Jasmine rubbed my arm as a comfort. That’s what they all say.

“Oh, they’re only mean to you out of jealousy. They want to be you – the freak that you are.” Please. They’re scared of difference, they don’t want it. Who would want to be me?

Still, I understand Jasmine just wants me to feel better, so I welcome her arms as she sits me down on the beach blanket and pulls something out of her bag. I disregard the gesture, assuming it’s the radio or suncream. It wasn’t, unless she had gently wrapped the tanning bottle in silver wrapping paper with a pretty bow on top.

‘Open it.’ She rested it on my lap, weighing down my dress into a sort of crater-like surface. Very similar to the acne-ridden boys who were steadily approaching us. I’m probably being paranoid though.

‘Really?’

She nods with a gaping smile, a gorgeous smile. Jasmine is one of those early bloomers who appeared much more beautiful than she should be for a 16 year old girl – it made me feel even more insecure. I’d never be anything like her, but she certainly didn’t see me any other way.

I unlace the ribbon as if about to perform rhythmic gymnastics for the crowd around me – if they’re going to stare shouldn’t I give them a show?

The red ribbon lies flat beside me, I feel the urge to slap my knee down on it in case of wind, but this beach rarely feels the slap of chilly Atlantic winds, so I leave it. I hold the box by the lid as it slides out and reveals what’s inside of it gently: a beautiful necklace, lace and tissue paper cradling the chained resin.

I’m not sure what to say. It’s not often I get gifts, and to be honest, I don’t really know what this is supposed to represent. I grab hold of her and bring her in close nonetheless, enjoying the soft scent of eucalyptus and ironically enough, jasmine shampoo. Jasmine was a sucker for jasmine, she liked how meta it made her feel.

‘Turn around.’ She unlatches the necklace and holds it around my neck. For a second I’m prepared to elbow her, as if she is holding me in a chokehold. That’s what those guys would have done. Then again, they don’t buy presents for their friends – too womanly. After all, they’re not gay, no way.

I feel the chill on my chest and the warmth of the sun broiling my skin around it, which will leave an interesting tan mark. It eases me into a more confident state. The dress on its own made me feel sort of strange, some freak in the city looking for attention. But the necklace, the necklace ties it together. I feel like a girl. I am a girl. I know I am.

‘What is it?’ I ask, knowing exactly what it is.

‘It’s an amber, it represents preservation; something that can never be lost. Just like me and you, our friendship.’ She brushes her fingers against my chest and holds the necklace briefly, and I smile back at her. And then, without realising, I start to cry.

Before Jasmine has the chance to try comforting me, I hear slurs being thrown at me from behind. Like stones, no, like knives. Seven different men practicing knife throwing on my back, and they hit every throw. Every single one. They say “words will never hurt me”, they’re wrong. Anyone who says that has the privilege of being in a position to ignore the words. Probably the women who sit at the café across the way and stare as I absorb abuse like an old sponge that was tossed in the sink, one that smells of old dishes and mould.

They don’t know shit.

But it doesn’t mean I can’t turn to face them.

‘Aw look at Ay-ay-ron with his little dress. Turned into a sissy with your new girlfriend, have we?’ Damien says, trying to broaden his shoulders, as if my presence is emasculating.

Jasmine steps up to say something, but I step up too.

‘Her name isn’t Aaron you dickhead, it’s–’

‘Amber.’ I cut her off. ‘My name is Amber, and it’s nothing to do with you.’

As I expected, that was met with a ball to the face and my nose bleeding, and while on the outside I was hurt, I felt amazing on the inside. I’m not Blue and I’m not Aaron. My name is Amber Walsh, and I am a woman. And that feels right, no matter what looks or words I get.

My name is Amber Walsh, and I look damn good in this dress.

*

Dad wasn’t too happy about the dress, but he was obsessed with the idea of me getting in a fight – only because he wanted me to be just like them. But why would he want me to be someone who preys on insecure kids and feasts on their undoing? I’m just lucky I had Jasmine there to give me courage to stand up to those boys, because I never saw them again.

I never saw him again either. He didn’t want me at home if I was going to, and I quote, “dress like a little sissy bitch and pretend to be a barbie like one of those–” so I packed up my stuff and left. Still, I try forgetting the rest of those nasty words. Slurs upon slurs upon slurs. To this day, they still hurt me. No matter how much of a woman I am, or even appear – not that that should matter or is any of their business – people have their ways of bringing others down. Words have meaning after all – they have history and attachments.

I sometimes brought myself back here, to Cronus beach. Every few months I’d stroll along, alone, and think back to the day I found out who I was – watching back at the imaginary tapes of Jasmine and Amber skipping off and lying under the sun. She was a true friend, and she proved it. No matter how temporary she ended up being.

It wasn’t just those men in my life who I never saw again, it was Jasmine too. She had let me live with her when I had nowhere to stay, and when I had found my own place, life got busy. I had to work, I had to study, and the time was lost.

So I returned to the ocean to remember those times when time was plentiful, when we had all the time in the world.

Of course, there was one more night where we would cross paths, even if for the last time. The night I try not to think about, especially not now, not when I couldn’t return the favour.

Yet I have to remember, the last time we touched skin and felt the presence of one another, the night I’ll never forget and forever be grateful for, once again, at Cronus beach. Drawn together like magnets.

August 4th, 2011

Life isn’t as easy as she made it out to be. Jasmine set an example that I assumed would be easy to find; I was wrong. She was the only one and I let her slip through my fingers like the sand around me.

It’s nearing midnight now, nobody’s around except for me in my Victorian nightgown and my treasured necklace. I don’t remember how I got here – I barely even know where I am. At least I still know who I am, no matter how much I’ve lost because of it.

Life will never be as easy as she made it out to be. All I have left of her is an amber around my neck that droops down my empty bra. There is nobody on this beach who cares, because this beach is filled with the same amount of people who care about me.

Zero. And rightfully so. I’m worth nothing anymore. I have nothing. There’s nothing keeping me here, a slave to a system that won’t have me in the first place. The ocean can have me, if she’ll take me.

I wouldn’t be surprised if she spat me back out. She took Aaron just fine, that slip of paper was swallowed and dragged away, that piece of my identity was easily destroyed – She can destroy what’s left of me too.

No family, no friends, no time, no money, no future, no life, no nothing. I am nothing. And I find myself stepping up from the dry sand and walking blank-faced towards the ocean. My steps are slow, I’m dragging my limp feet along the ground and feel grains of sand lodging themselves beneath my toenails. It’s nice to feel something, at least, for one last time.

I haven’t blinked in three minutes, I stare into the blackness of the sky without a light, without a budding jasmine, dots of stars like dots of sand around me. Maybe I can join those stars; something I know she’ll see when she looks up at night.

The freezing Atlantic engulfs my feet first, and inch by inch my body disappears beneath the cloudy and swampy waters. I barely notice the cold, I hardly even notice the water either or the way my nightgown glues to my skin in such a specific way that I feel like a modelled statue that some preppy artist designed, naming it something like “Tragedy”, “Lost at Sea”, “The Woman.”

Water begins reaching up to my chest now, filling in the empty gaps that I wish weren’t so deflated. Doesn’t matter now – I’m a sinking ship, and the captain too. And we all know the old saying about a captain and her sinking ship.

Soon I will be preserved like everything else this ocean takes. Just like the amber, except I’ll be remembered in a block of salt and ice.

My hand floats up to the buoyant amber necklace, it’d be leaving me now if it weren’t for the clasp around my neck. I grip it as the tide begins to drag me away from the beach, nearing a point where my feet no longer bury themselves into the damp sandy floor, becoming one with the shards and sediments.

Then I feel something, not an emotion unfortunately, but a hand. Possibly a voice too, and then all at once I realise where I am and what’s going on and the fact I’m in water that reaches to my chin. Now I’m swallowing it and thrashing and I feel the chain pull off my neck in a panic, and then my hand is empty.

She pulls me away, pulling me away from the strongest tides of the fierce seas, and I hear her voice again.

‘Amber. Amber talk to me. What’s going on? What are you doing?’ Jasmine speaks with genuine concern, and I begin to think I drowned and have arrived in the afterlife; whatever that may be.

There are some inaudible noises from me as I collapse on the coastline and shiver as every ounce of my muscle tries to figure out what is going on. I don’t remember how I got here, or why I’m at Cronus Beach again with Jasmine – there’s no way this could actually be happening.

She rubs her hands against both my arms and wraps me in her fluffy jacket that I’m sure is being ruined now by the salt water that blankets me and lowers my internal temperature.

‘Thank you.’ I say, it’s all I can say. She saved me. She’s here with me. Whether she’ll stay is another question, but it’s one I don’t care for right now. Somehow, she was sent here to me, all the people in the world and all the days and all the moments, and this is the way the universe set up the cards.

I grab my chest, sort of in relief, but mostly to hold onto my necklace and fidget around with it, twisting it around my fingers and whatnot. Yet there’s nothing there, and I pat and pat and it doesn’t magically appear on my neck or anywhere else around my frozen body either.

Jasmine tries to figure out what I’m looking for, but I can’t possibly tell her what I lost. So I don’t.

‘It’s gone.’ I say to myself, but Jasmine understands.

‘You don’t need it. You’re Amber, remember? You don’t need a necklace to tell you that.’ And she hugs me and I can’t possibly let go of her or this moment, because right now I could’ve been dead. Amber did die tonight – with my necklace that I held close to my heart. It’s time to start fresh, I suppose. It can only really go up from here.

*

That was the last time Jasmine and I ever spoke. She told me she had just gone through a breakup and had come to the beach to remember the good times since she was about to move away. I was there for completely different reasons, but I guess for the same sentiment. I wanted to leave the earth in the place I treasured most, the place I sit now as the sun sinks into the magical ocean where time never moves.

Jasmine doesn’t know what she means to me, she never will know. She helped me when I was just a young lost soul trapped in a group of vicious men, she helped me when I was a young lost soul unaware of who I was, and she helped me when I was a young lost soul ready to lose everything. All of that, and I couldn’t return the favour.

I should’ve done more. I was caught up in my own life that I failed to see what was going on in her life. That night, she told me she was moving away, she was looking for a sign to stay. But I told her to leave; I wished her good luck and thanked her for everything.

That was my mistake. Jasmine needed a friend just as much as I did. I just never realised. She saved my life but I couldn’t save hers.

Still, seven years later, I must’ve had some impact on her life. I open my satchel and walk down the cliffside until I get to the main beach as the daily strollers and sunset watchers start to get ready to pack up. Just as it was that night, the ocean begins to leave me and her alone.

I open the little wooden box with the gold encrusted edges that looks like the coffin of a very small man, and pour its contents into the ocean, as asked. What’s left of Jasmine Doyle is sprinkled into the ocean.

She’s not really gone, is she? She’ll always be here, and I’ll always be coming back to remember her. My childhood friend’s grave is all around me, preserved here.

Just then, as the last of the ashes dilutes into the sea, something glimmers in the distance, something washed up by the sea. I walk over to the treasure and wipe my eyes a few times to make sure I’m not imagining things, that all my emotions and hormones aren’t driving me crazy.

As if no time has passed at all, the amber necklace rests upon the sand as if the sand itself was a red velvet pillow and a star twinkles in the sky, as if winking at me. I put it back on, and it rests above my heart as it always has, and always will. And I know that no matter what, Jasmine Doyle is still with me. She’s here, she gave me the necklace I lost as if it were the first day I came out here in a dress. Her spirit will forever live on here at Cronus Beach. Here at the ocean of time.

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