Better Views

I sat in the Hudson River like it was kiddy-pool, my celestial head leaning into the palm of my hand staring at Manhattan like I was playing chess. My eyes flicked from building to building; looking, searching, unable to locate whatever it was that was calling me. There is something here, I can feel it soaking into my bones, speaking to my senses, begging me to listen. I cock my head to the left, my gut filling up with warmth as I stick my hand beneath the island. My fingers sink into murky sediments, I feel the land deep in my being, familiar as my mother’s arms. An ancient energy, as old as me.

It’s that something else Lorca spoke of. That haunting feeling that there is more than what I’m being told. I look over my shoulder, I see him. Standing there, near me but not with me. This isn’t about his purpose, its about mine. He moves his long dark hair behind his ears and looks down at Manhattan, I look back as well. I can see him and I, in our human forms, running through Hell’s Kitchen. No one is there, the city is empty. Our laughter echoes from building to building. We are finally together after many lives of missing each other, never able to unite, always kept apart because of an imbalance in the soil-

SNAP.

My eyes fly open at the sound of a twig snapping. I prop myself up on my elbows, the mulch stabbing into my skin. My sister Rhea is frozen in mid motion, her arms bent apologetically, her shoulders stitched to her ears, a grimace of remorse on her face.

“Were you sleeping?” She calls out.

“No, I was meditating.”

“Sorry!”

“It’s fine, did you need something?” I ask laying back down staring at the leafy branches of our family’s pear tree.

“No, not really, just got tired of being inside and thought I’d come out here-“

“To be alone,” I finished her sentence.

“Yeah…”

“Do you want me to leave?”

“No, can I join you?”

I patted the ground next to me but kept my eyes fixed on the blue sky that was peaking through the leaves. I raised my hand flexing and relaxing my joints and tendons. Watching them ripple beneath my skin reminded me of machinery. I felt the tremors of Rhea’s heavy footsteps through the ground before I felt her next to me.

“What did you see this time?” She asked me after a period of silence.

“I saw him again,” I hesitated before telling her the truth.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, he keeps popping up in meditations and dreams. I still never expect to see him, but he’s always there.”

“Hm,” she said, “what were you doing this time?”

“Running around Manhattan like we were the only two people that lived there,” I could feel my feet against the sidewalk again. His slender figure chasing after me, the happiness that possessed us.

I heard Rhea open her mouth a few times before she quietly asked in a child like tone, “Does this mean you’re leaving?”

“I think so. I feel like I’m being called back there. Will you be okay?” I knew the answer, but had to ask.

She lifted her pale arm, her veins mimicking a web of little rivers, she began tracing them with her forefinger “You know I will be.”


“How have you been feeling?”

“The summer is always better, my joints don’t get as stiff, but I’m still not great,” she wasn’t sorrowful when she admitted this, just resigned.

I rolled over to look at her, her skin was almost gray, her dark circles reminded me of the puddles we used to splash in on rainy days. We were twins, nearly identical except for our hair. Mine was dark, hers was a magnificent mahogany. Her eyes were the color of wet wood, mine a splotchy hazel. It was known, even by me, that Rhea was the beautiful one. There was something about her, the turn of her eyes, the sharpness of her cheekbones, the perfection of her downturned lips, that transcended the laws of beauty. It made her sickness seem even more misplaced. I hadn’t seen her skin be bright in dewy in a long time. She now, almost always looked pallid and unwell.

“Tell me more about this dark haired man. What else have you seen?” She asked as she closed her eyes, I could tell she was in pain.

I grabbed a half eaten pear off the ground and started to peel it so I had somewhere to put my energy. Anytime I thought of him my skin would ignite and feel like it was vibrating, like I was destined to float away if I talked about him for too long.

“Once I saw us as huge celestial being’s in the Cosmos-“


“How big?”

“Huge. So massive that the sun and moon were small enough for us to hold. We were laying there, in blankets of stars talking to each other. At one point, I reached up to dip my finger into the sun then I fed it to him. Then he smiled, plucked the crescent moon like it was a pear and gave it to me.”

“Wow,” she said, “that gave me chills, Zöe look!”

She showed me her arms and I looked at mine, they were also covered in goosebumps, despite the muggy air.

“It must be true,” She said, “you’re going to meet him, I know it.”

“You think so?” I asked.

She chuckled, “The human mind is a funny place. Despite you dreaming about this man for months, seeing him in meditations, having multiple people who all have varying belief’s tell you that you’re going to meet him, because they all feel it, you somehow still doubt it.”

“Yeah I know…” I suddenly felt sheepish.

“Why doubt? Why not believe?” She said it casually.

“Because it feels unreal sometimes, completely surreal-“

“Does it?” She challenged.

I thought about it for a moment, sinking back into my languid heart until the truth filled up my throat and I admitted, “No actually it feels real, far more real and true than anything else I’ve experienced.”

“So Its easier to deny it, is what you’re saying.”

“Yes, far easier. I ache when I see him, but I also feel so good, like I’m home.” I let out a deep breath, “But sometimes it makes me feel so awful because we’re apart. Like I’m torn in half. That's why denial seems inviting.”

“I don’t doubt that pain. I believe you, but I guess what I know is that feelings happen either way. You can doubt or believe, but you can’t control how you feel. So if he’s home, then he’s home and you're going to keep seeing him. You can’t fake a deep connection, no matter how it comes to you.” Rhea said this so calmly, so openly, so unafraid of sounding crazy or out there. She's never had time to worry about things like that, human things, as she likes to say.

“I always admire how at ease you are with the inexplicable,” I said sitting up, sticking my thumbnail into the meat of the pear.

“I am the inexplicable,” She said with a smirk, “I should be dead but I am not. It changes how you view the world when you’re told that something doesn’t exist but you’re living it.”

She slowly sat up next to me, picked up a ripe pear that naturally fell to the ground and took a bite. I watched the juices slip down her chin and onto her purple skirt.

“You know,” she began again with a mouthful of pear “if you ever start doubting what you feel, think about this tree. It gives us pears year round. Which is impossible but you and I have sat under this tree in every season, eating them, right?”

“You’re right… I hate being so head bound. So stuck I forget to notice the profundity of living.”

Rhea grabbed my hand, her fingers were sticky with juice but I didn’t mind.

“Don’t be hard on yourself for doing your best to understand what is coming to you. Most people can't see what you see… When you cannot live, you understand life is about doing and enjoying every little thing. It is not our thoughts that add to our vitality, it is our spirit. To watch life is a privilege, to live is innate.”

I hugged her, overcome with my love for her, my pain for her pain. The fact that she was sidelined to watch life pass her by without being able to participate because she was too weak. How strong she was, that she could still see the beauty in what life had to offer. Her depth of feeling had heightened with her sickness, but I had watched her spirit fade.

“I love you,” I pulled back to look at her “I wish I could trade with you some days.”


Rhea shook her head, her tone getting protective, “No I would never wish this on you, not even for a day. That is my nightmare, that someone I love would have to endure such tortures. No… I may have lost the joy of living, but I gained respect for life. Do what feels right for you Zöe, you’ll never be led wrong. How do you feel when you think about him?”

“Pure joy,” It left my lips instantly.

“So go there, go where it feels good, stop trying to fill in the blanks. Stop doubting. There’s no other shoe waiting to drop, connections can be as good as they feel. I promise.”

“Look at ours,” I said, rubbing her cool hands.

Rhea smiled and we laid back in the shade of the tree, listening to the wind rustle the leaves, the sun singing its warm tune, and the earth calling out to our souls, reminding us of that we are more than our bodies and minds, that we're meant for something else.