Restless

                CHAPTER 1: ADRENALINE

                Suffocating silence. It’s a thing.

                The thing before you wake up from that impossible dream you just had. You know the one with fruit strudel that doesn’t seem to feed the flocks of pigeons surrounding  your naked body? It’s scary, the dream and the silence that comes before the realization that it wasn’t real. Pigeons don’t demand food. Strudel can be purchased at any bakery in the nation. You have a choice on who sees you naked. It was only a little light confusing dream.

                For me, there was no dream only that silence before the realization of the wail of seagulls and sound of a roaring ocean. Sounds are usually the first thing you hear after a dream. I knew that. Soon came the feeling of sand curving around the naked spots of my arms and legs that settled into me. The hairs on my arms curdled softly in the light breeze as did the stray curls that flourished my forehead from atop my head.

                I flashed my eyes open to the blinding sun over head. The big yellow bright spot caused my optic region to shield itself lowering my lids in a quick motion. Eyelashes fluttered as I peered down to watch. My tanned freckled hand grabbed a fistful of hot sand that easily melted away from my grasp. As I watched my fingers move I found myself trying to recall what the hell I was doing on a beach. The freckles on my hand seemed to lighten in the sun as if they deserved and craved its attention. I wondered if my face was coated with light tiny spots as well.

                It was then that I realized I hadn’t had a clue who I was or what I was doing here. Suddenly my case of amnesia hit me . . . and hard. As I tried to wrap my brain around questions no normal sane person should ask themselves, I sat up realizing what I was wearing. I peered down to my toes first wiggling the bare feet coated in sand that appeared to try to travel farther up my leg. From just above swollen ankles I could see the beginnings or the end of the long sky blue skirt that folded inward and outward on my thick legs. I could feel the waist band of the skirt tugging at my hip bone ending or starting just below my belly button which appeared to be on full display. I couldn’t see my stomach and I ran my fingers over the flat area pinching flesh that did not seem too pained. I could see the vivid orange material reaching down toward my belly button. I felt my hands against my top signifying that I in fact was bearing a rather revealing orange handkerchief top. As I found myself feeling more exposed then necessary I began to feel and tug at my hair. A big old rat nest laid a top my head I surmised. Wild overly curly hair flourished down to my shoulders. I peered toward the ocean on my right though I feared what getting wet might do to my perhaps unnaturally curly hair.

                I watched as the waves washed in, feet from me. I tried to recall if even the sound seemed familiar. Nothing. It was as if my mind was wiped clear except for all the important stuff. All the basic knowledge and opinions I had acquired throughout my life were still intact, but not the why. I knew that the ocean made me feel a bit uneasy, but I didn’t know why. I knew I felt overexposed in this attire, which made me believe I was not wearing this outfit by choice. I folded my arms across my chest watching the foam flutter up from the dark sand the water spread across. A seagull dove in for a landing letting its feet get wet. The sun soaked against my pores which was oddly uncomfortable. I looked up toward the yellow giant in the sky squinting as if asking it why I couldn’t remember why I felt like it was my mortal enemy.

                Either way I knew that I did not belong on this beach. I peered around for other people. Judging by the heat it had to be summer, but there were very few people on the beach, perhaps because it probably was early in the morning. A couple was off in the distance hand in hand trying to make it pass sand mounds that built up. I looked toward shore to see that a hill was formed upwards to what appeared to be a parking lot followed by a glorious assortment of beach homes. My plan of attack was unknown to me. I didn’t know who I was and most importantly I didn’t know where I was. For all I knew I was in the middle of South America. I wasn’t though. Somehow I just knew that. Like how a dog knows exactly where that dead duck their master shot down was. No, this was definitely America. Just the way the air moved told me, that and the chatter of English that curdled slang in the air from where the parking lot resided.