Sea of Stars

Chapter One: Moonlight

Spring 2011, 3 March, 0301

It was a dark night, illuminated by the glow of a thousand stars. Sunlight had long disappeared beneath the glassy indigo sea. The seawater was cool against her skin, leaving behind a sticky film on her calves as the tides pulled away. She inhaled a difficult lungful of humid, salty fragrance, and closing her eyes travelled back on a tentative thread of memory like moonlight.

It was at times like this when the tide was high that she would stand by the shores and let her mind wander to her younger sister's face, the light to her shadow, the words to her echo.

***

Spring 2011, 3 March, 0307

As she stood, frozen in place by the frigid memories, something cool pressed against her foot, coaxing her back to her uncomfortable present.

She bent over. In the sand was a glass bottle, rather simple, with a wide mouth and a stopper. Moonlight outlined the cassette tape inside in silver. She stared at the bottle for a long time, transfixed, enjoying the sensation of smooth cool glass against her skin.

The long echo of a mournful cry spread across the shores like a drop of moonlight diffusing its hazy threads across the glinting inky waves. Was it coming from the boats encroaching in the distance?

Rosemary, she heard, a faint whisper.

The strains of the abandoned whale song intermingled with the sounds that met her ears. And all of a sudden, she suddenly felt herself disappear - one with the wind and the salty sea spray.

***

Spring 2011, 3 March, 0400

She sat at a lamp-lit desk in the inky night, turning the smooth box around in her hands thoughtfully. She wasn't knowledgeable about cassette tapes. Still, she figured she should be able to navigate.

She spent half an hour locating her mother's old Walkman cassette player - rummaging through old boxes with a flashlight - with movements slow and noise level down so as not to disturb Violet, who was asleep. Violet hadn't been sleeping well recently and often lay awake, listening to Rosemary fall asleep before she finally did. Today, however, judging from the evenness of her breaths, Violet had already fallen asleep. Rosemary was glad.

Taking the treasure under the lamplight of her desk with the flashlight wedged under her armpit, she stared at the Walkman as if willing instructions to appear over its body. She wouldn't want to accidentally press the wrong button and wreck the tape inside. Between the crumbling pages of some dusty tome of memory, she vaguely saw in her mind's eye a pair of older hands, fingers as stubby as her own - gently prying open the side wall, sliding the tape in, clicking it shut. Scrunching her brow, her hands chased the memory to follow the same motion, and willed the memory away as quickly as possible before she could recall the softness of her mother's hands against her baby fists.

Turn the dial on the side to control the volume. To fast forward, press stop, and forward. She told herself no, that the voice in her head did not remind her of bluebells, bergamot and cinnamon, not the familiar scents of her childhood. Good. Under the dimming flashlight, she located a pair of earphones and plugged them into the Walkman. She pressed play.

Nothing happened.

Examining the plastic casing once again, she suddenly remembered how her mother had always carried around a pen specifically for this purpose. Her mother would painstakingly rewind her tapes with a pen. Wherever the Walkman went, a pen went with it.

Insert it in the left reel, Rosemary remembered. Putting the flashlight between her teeth, she picked up a nearby pen and gingerly turned it in its sprocket, rewinding the tape. She was careful not to use too much force so that she would not accidentally tangle the tape; a frequent source of frustration, as she could recall, in her mother's time.

There. All done.

Putting down the pen in delight, Rosemary took a second to admire her handiwork, before sneaking a glance at the fast-asleep Violet and darting towards the door, angling her head oddly so as not to face the flashlight's rays directly into Violet's face. As she did, she stole a glance at the clock, shining the beam onto the mounted wall clock that stubbornly stayed five minutes late no matter how many times she'd rewound it or replaced its batteries. Two twenty-two a.m. Perfect.

Sand granules were still stuck on her feet from her journey just now, poking into her feet against the cold scratched tiles of their floor, and found a home in the coarse weave of the faded purple welcome rug. Rosemary stole outside and dropped the flashlight onto the welcome mat, picking it up from where it rolled at her feet. She crouched down at the front step of their door, balancing the flashlight between her knees and turning the Walkman over in her hands in wonderment.

It was time for her to see what the message in the bottle was truly about. Inserting the earbuds into her ears, she held her breath. She could hear the steady thrum of her heartbeat, the rush of headiness pulsing, alive.

She pressed play.