The Sun and the Moon [Wattys 2015 winner]

Chapter 2: Green Eyes and Blue

The Pacific Ocean sparkled to my right in the September morning sunlight as I drove south from Santa Barbara, my home, to Ventura, where I was to be in court later that day. Not knowing traffic, I had left early, brought a laptop and some files, and intended to work at a coffee shop until I needed to be in court. I had checked Yelp and planned on trying Southwinds Coffee, an indie shop that was highly recommended and close to the courthouse. Frankly, with an ocean-side drive almost the whole way, this was one of the best commutes in the world and I was glad to be out of the office and on to court for a pretrial hearing. My big trial was scheduled in a week; this was some procedural garbage I had to get rid of before the first day of trial.

I tried to keep my eyes on the road as I drove my black Mercedes convertible down Highway 101, but the ocean was really distracting. Chamber of Commerce weather, I called it--clear, blue sky, murky but silvery green blue water, and the crash of waves. No fog. You could see the Channel Islands in the distance and pelicans flying low along the shore. I bet if you stopped and watched, you could see dolphins. With the window open a crack, I could smell the ocean salt and stink. I still loved it.

I wanted to put the top down on my car but that would muss up my hair and I had to stay put together for court. I was dressed in semi-badass lawyer attire. Full badass was a navy pinstriped suit, pearls, and heels. Yes, traditional, but you had to play the part and the clothes were armor to play the part. Fucking power suits. They worked. Semi-badass was a pale blue suit with red heels, and gold hoop earrings. I still meant business. But I didn't need pinstripes today.

My hair was a little longer than shoulder length and very dark brown, almost black, with a lot of wave. I was lucky that it didn't get frizzy, it just curled more the closer I got to the beach. Driving alongside the beach didn't count. I'd be fine today.

Not that you could tell I ever went to the beach. I wasn't a California beachy girl even though I was a native Californian. I didn't match the type. My skin was so pale, naturally, and I spent so much time inside writing on the computer and reading law books and Harry Potter, that you really couldn't tell that I ever went outside. I loved the beach but I usually went there in the evening, walking along the shore, barefoot, picking up shells and seaglass. This was not a way to get your skin tan. Still, I had accepted my pale skin and learned to endure the comments from people who could not understand that I was from here.

My favorite body part, hands down, were my unusual eyes--they were almost violet they were so blue. If you squinted and dressed me up right, I sort of looked like Elizabeth Taylor--pale skin, violet eyes, and dark hair. I knew I looked alright. Too bad it was just a package. I knew that the insides were fucked up. On the outside, I was snarky, smart, and sassy, but if you took a closer look, it was grey and dismal.

As I drove, I thought about the past year. It was amazing that I was noticing things like the ocean sparkle and stink, the pelicans, the crash of the waves, and the islands. Depression makes you not notice things like that. It closes your world down and you don't enjoy anything at all. It's just too hard to do anything. Think. Move. Appreciate. Breathe. Too hard to do any of that.

Not that long ago, I had been hospitalized at a mental institution on a suicide watch. Panicked, I had called my best friend when I realized that I was driving around trying to find a good railroad track to stop on. This scared me badly and, in tears, I admitted my dark thoughts to Marie. She helped me get professional help and the professional help made me realize that I was depressed and that this was something that was treatable but I needed to work on it.

So, for the past year, I worked on it. I took medicine and went to therapy and exercised and tried hard. I felt stable, but I was still feeling empty. It was like something massive was missing. I could drag my sorry 31 year old ass out of bed most days in the morning, but I was not sure of the reason why I did so. I was grateful that I was no longer driving around looking for railroad tracks, but I wanted to feel something. Depression had robbed me of most feelings. The main thing that I felt these days was numb.