Hear the Sea

Mary Ha (12) from the Spring 2024 Edition

     When the sun met the horizon, a young boy would wander through the wooden thicket behind his family’s farm into the empty colorless seaside. Leaving his toes cold and imprinted like a piece of honeycomb, he would run bare-footed into the fine-pebbled shore. He would also collect interesting-shaped pebbles in different shades of copper and blue. His frame was so thin, it was as though sheets of light could be seen through his translucent, hide-like skin. As he opened his chest out towards the ocean, the aroma of the salty waters felt almost nourishing in his hollowed stomach. The child found peace at the beach, for he could feel time pass as the sun descended deeper into the sea and the moon made the waves sparkle if one were to look at them at the proper angle. However, he could not stay outside to play for long. His mother warned him that once night fell it was not safe to explore beyond the outskirts of the farm. She feared she would lose her beloved son to prowling wolves, poisonous greenery, or wandering suspicious travelers. In spite of his mother’s cautionary tales, the courageous, cocky boy continued his adventures to the sea. He wanted to learn how to swim, in order to explore what was beyond his family’s small farm because it seemed to be too small for him now. He wanted to be like the sun and see everything that laid beyond the horizon. 

     His family worked diligently at the farm, so there was constantly something to be sowed, fed, or, his least favorite, cleaned. From dawn to dusk, the boy’s father was constantly tending to the weeping crops. When the boy watched his father work in the field, the child asked why he was placing crumbled pebbles into the ground. His father told him they were seeds. And they should grow food for them to eat, but something was wrong with the crops. In spite of this, the optimistic child picked through his pocket for the prettiest pebble from the shore he found that day. He gently cupped his hands to scoop out a small hole to plant the glassy, reddish-orange stone with the hopes of it growing into a beautiful tree with his favorite foods.

     One day, the child accompanied his mother to the market, which was indeed beyond the outskirts of the farm, but she said that it should be safe for him to come along. The sun soared its highest to watch the market-goers shop about for whatever it was they could scavenge. She firmly grasped her precious son’s fragile hand with a sense of tenderness, in fear of the inevitable for her fragile boy. However, he felt agitated, his body felt as if it was being dangled above the dirty, beaten ground from his mother's grip. He jerked his hand from hers and held onto her skirt instead. The skirt extended to her ankles and felt rough and sooted, but he did not mind. This was a safe distance for him, not too close, but close enough to call for her. 

     The town square was a cacophony of hysteria, unrecognizable to their common marketplace. The boy seemed to find City Hall to be quite popular among the passionate townspeople. The mother and son attempted to squirm their way to the nearest food stand through the enraged demonstrators filled with pure discord and hostility encircling the grand hall. As the two find the stand, there was nothing left for them to buy. Every piece of produce was swept from the market. Not a single crumb was to be seen. They returned to the farm empty-handed and disheartened. 

The family underwent another night with hardly anything that could have sufficed as edible at their farm. Crops remained as crumbled pebbles in the ground and the market was still a battleground for bickering and yelling. 

     One evening, the last rays of the sun poked through the wisping leaves of the thicket, catching the eye of the young boy. The child wandered into the dense trees beyond the outskirts to the water once again. The salt smelled more refreshing than ever as he walked further from the shore into the sea. He could feel each grain of sand graze his purpled shins and the salty water lightly stinging his splitters and scrapes under his feet, but he advanced toward the sunlight. 

     Shortly, the tiny embers began to sizzle out into the navy and the boy was nearly consumed in it. As soon as the spell broke, he realized he needed to return home, return to his family. He frantically tip-toed through the sand back to land, yet each step was harder than the last. The sea began to reel him into the tight grasp of the never-ending tide and he could no longer maintain his balance. His limbs soon went numb. The harsh water began to freeze each nerve and climbed further up his neck. His breathing shortened, brisk and sharp. He could not continue back to shore. Water was the only sound his ear could take in, however, there were faint yells back at shore. His lungs were truly filled with sea salt. 

     The parents returned from the beach enduring an unforgettable, agonizing memory. His mother collected the boy’s various finds from his adventures, which consisted of uniquely shaped rocks and pebbles, withered flower petals, and a few blades of grass that had been loosely bunched into a rope. She gingerly placed the miscellaneous items into a modest wooden trunk along with her sooted skirts, frayed blouses, and nightgown. His father hauled their luggage into a small carriage and both set on their voyage to a new sustainable home.

     Along their journey, the sky was the only source of guidance for the wandering couple. Under the hottest beams of the sun, they still held their hands to the closest river. Even on the darkest of nights, the moon would shine on the path away from the prowling wolves and poisonous greenery. In moments of hopelessness, the stars gave them a glimmer in their eyes. Through the dirt-paved roads lined with white flowers, their journey seemed to be never-ending, but their dear son would oversee everything that laid beyond the horizon for them.