Sea Salt Stories

Part 2

Maria was a girl living in a cute cottage by the sea. She used to live with her grandparents, but both had passed away the winter of the previous year. And her older sister, Chiara, had married and moved out with her husband. Chiara was pregnant and soon to have a child. Maria was expected to move in with them, help out with the new baby and rent out her little cottage to get some extra income.

Since her grandparents' death, her life had revolved around mundane activities and her job. She was a knitter. She knitted the most beautiful sweaters and the coziest blankets. She sang constantly, and her voice was soft, like a lullaby and like a piano. While she knitted and thought of the person for whom it was, and this extra lit bit of magic, made the owner of the blanket or sweater, if his heart was in the right place, feel encouraged and loved. Almost as if magic ensued from Maria's hand when she knitted. And although Maria did not realize this, she had a little bit of magic in her tender heart. More than that, she was loved and cared for, even though most of her days passed in solitude.

Maria also loved picking sea shells.And sometimes doing bracelets and necklaces. She would do these for friends and family And she did not want to move out of the cottage because it would mean saying good bye to her one and only friend, the water. She was always there, in her happiest, in her loneliest, always playfully inviting the sweet caresses of the ocean.

But life was life. Times were tough. There was enough space at her sister's house, they needed help with the baby, she would be walking distance from her little shop and the extra money from renting her cottage by the sea would really help her out and make her little shop grow.

Besides, living alone in a cottage by the ocean was hard. The ocean tides and the incessant humid wind meant constant repair. She was always afraid of robbers coming into her house. After all she was just a girl, and she lived all by herself, or so she thought. There was not much she could really do. And she hated to admit it to herself, but she was starting to feel quite lonely. She knew it was time to leave her house by the sea. And so with a heavy heart, she accepted her sister's invitation and resigned herself to start packing soon.

The day before she was about to leave there was a pale blue sky, and the ocean was a brightly colored turquoise greenish blue water that bedazzled your eyes. Maria was doing what she did most mornings; she was looking for seashells. She liked them all. The pink ones, the orange ones, the white ones, the pink and purple intertwined ones. She especially loved those because the hues blended seamlessly at the same time that they mismatched each other.It was an interesting combination. As she waded in the water, everyone said hi. They all knew her since she was always at hand and eager to help.

There were a lot of families and couples and friends gathered around the beach that morning. Some were lounging and chit chatting. Others were reading or immersed in deep conversation. Others were simply staring at nothing and thinking about everything. It was a typical day, when the wind picked up. The howling wind ruffled Maria's hair, but she ignored it.

Other people did not. The chit chatters were the first to leave. And soon, everyone followed. But Maria trudged through the icy water, as if the wind did not bother her. Papers flew, kids cried, everything descended into chaos. The palm trees, usually elegant, restful, swayed back and forth, mere twigs to the unstoppable wind.

Then all of a sudden as if waking up from a dream, Maria heard the howling of the wind. Awoken she felt the tide surge engulfing her. She dropped all of her shells as the water dragged her to the bottom, her wet dress dragged her feet and did not let her reach the surface quickly. And when she did she barely had time to breath before being submerged in an endless pit of water .

Then all of a sudden, a strong hand grabbed her tiny wrist. And although she believed in magic, she had never experienced it first hand, until today. Today she did. And the hand hurdled her to the surface, magically as if the swishing of the water did not matter at all. She felt light, lighter than a baby, and almost as if she was flying across the surface of the ocean. straight to shore. All she could glimpse in her clouded eyesight was a dark blob of short hair.

After what seemed seconds but were really hours, she was back in her cottage. She remembered barely opening her eyes. Somehow, there was a bonfire in the middle of the room and she was wrapped like a burrito. The bonfire gave her warmth and slowly brought her back to life, but a deathlike stupor clenched her body, and it did not allow her to move properly.

She saw the same back outline of the young man that had taken her out of the water. Her eyesight was foggy and she felt nauseous, but she could still hear the roaring wind outside along with the crashing waves, but it was a muffled distant sound. What she could hear, very clearly and very delightfully, was this young man singing. He sang so beautifully that even the embers danced along with the sweetness of his voice.

She went back to sleep for a few minutes, which in reality were hours. When she opened her eyes, she no longer saw a foggy mist claiming her, the roaring wind and haunting lighting and the sounds of crashing waves were far away, a distant reality very different from the warmth that now emanated from her cottage living room.

She let the blanket slide down her back revealing her slender shoulders, and thinly covered body, her dress was now dry and it disguised her emaciated figure from days that she had not eaten.

For the first time, she saw his smile. And just like the embers reacted to his voice, so did her heart. His voice was magically mesmerizing. She smiled as he handed her tea. And he grabbed her guitar and he sang so beautifully that every bone in her body healed, and every bruise disappeared, and her eyes lifted from their somber stupor and her cheeks flushed with life. And as he smile at her, he said

"You can see me?"

And she nodded, flirtatiously, without thinking much about it.

He was taken aback, his smile stopped and with it, the embers stopped dancing, and the light lost its warmth and her pain returned, although mildly.

He left suddenly, with a sheepish smile.

And Maria was left thinking it had been a dream, and not an angel who had saved her.

Yet she did not move out of her little cottage by the sea, because she no longer felt alone, and had the sense that someone, somewhere was watching over her.