Still Water

The Sieve and the Sand

All four of Astrid's guests arrived on her doorstep at 6:00 P.M. Pops hadn't been lying when he said that Nan had already forgiven her rudeness, as the woman was the first to sweep her into a hug. The meal they shared that evening was quaint: fettuccini alfredo and a light almond cake. After dinner, everyone gathered in the living room for coffee.

For hours, they chatted about Astrid's future, Gene's troublesome customers, and fun times that they used to share. The group had even made plans to go fishing the following weekend at Webber Lake.

Astrid could not have asked for more from the evening. The company was great, and their energy filled her with life. Her smile was radiant for the first time in months, and thick, sweet honey surged through her veins, for the warmth of their love never failed to cast out her demons.

The trouble with Astrid was that she was very much like an hourglass. She could feel full and content, but the sensations would not last—it was only a matter of time. The night, like all good things, came to an end, and she was alone again. Nothing had changed. The teen's smile faded as she was left prey to her thoughts in a house that swallowed her whole.

In a futile attempt to stave off the impending sadness, Astrid stood in front of the rest of her belongings. Desperately, she searched within herself for the strength to unpack them. She had not been in the mood to dress up when she exited the shower—the teen had thrown on the first shirt she had deemed suitable for loungewear: a grey and white striped Anthropologie shirt that was at least two or three sizes too big for her. The shirt's thin material and floral shoulder cutouts did little to keep the chill of the air conditioning from seeping into her skin.

Why the hell is this house so cold? the teen huffed in frustration, it's not like the Ice Queen lives here...well, not anymore. Astrid's mother liked to keep the house cold year-round. When the girl had asked why, her mother had told her that it wasn't ladylike to sweat—Astrid had left the matter there.

If she knew that it would take her over two hours to unpack all fifteen boxes, she likely wouldn't have done it.

Astrid began the laborious task by dragging all of the offending items to her room. The once spacious safe haven was now a war zone. She had tripped at least six times trying to get all the boxes in there. The girl proceeded to tear the tape off of each of them so that she could begin to sort their contents by room.

It would've been easier for Astrid to use a knife to cut the clear packing tape, but Astrid didn't believe in doing things the easy way. The teen had always been too stubborn to admit her method of choice was wrong. Box by box, the small girl recovered clothing, toys and games, decor, and the other objects she deemed as necessities.

(start music here)

Astrid was not expecting to find summers long past hidden behind the cardboard flaps.

The memories came to her slowly at first, then all at once. It was almost like she could hear her younger self's laughter echoing through the now empty house, where her happiest moments had been.

Her first summer in Portland, when she was four, her Nan had pulled a few strings to sign her up for the little league team. It was then that she met her best friend—she and Virginia were the only two girls on the field. Nan and Pops came to each game, cheering her on from the stands. They'd all go out for ice cream to celebrate; she can still taste the sticky, sweet vanilla and the hot fudge drizzle smeared on her lips. At that moment, she could feel the way her heart swelled when her five-year-old self had won MVP.

The teen cherished the warm, fuzzy feelings as they wrapped her up in their arms. Astrid's old trophies filled a whole shelf. The worn, brown leather glove was a new edition. Her mother had insisted on keeping it, but the seventeen-year-old saw no harm in reclaiming it.

Mother would have to come home to notice it was missing, she reasoned, and she hasn't done that in months.

Next came the photographs—mental snapshots that meant more to her than the contents of her picture frames.

Astrid could feel the sun on her face and the wind in her hair as she posed with her Pops and Gene one hot July's day at Webber Lake. She caught her first fish, a scrawny yellow perch, and the older men could not have been more proud. Right after Nan took the photo, Pops had made a joke about cooking the fish for dinner. The animal-loving child threw the fish as far as she could into the lake to save it from being her supper. The two old coots never let her live it down.

Fireworks lit up the sky over Eastern Promenade Park. Astrid lay on her back in the tall, damp grass, not minding that her shirt was now damp. Her stomach swelled with chocolate pudding—it was practically all that she ate. She was twelve years old then, and they were celebrating the Fourth of July. The girl could hear Nan's laughter as she bragged about beating the little kids in the pudding eating contest.

When she was fourteen, Astrid cooked an entire Father's Day feast. The smell of barbecue filled the kitchen—her ribs had turned out wonderful. She was seated at her usual spot at the grand dining room table when she realized her parents were not going to show up. Her grandparents, however, had other plans; they brought ice cream and old movies. The three of them enjoyed Astrid's meal, gorged themselves on homemade vanilla, and spent the night cuddled on the couch and cackling about migrating coconuts.

The asphalt was slick against the soft skin of her bare feet. With her four-inch heels in one hand and her clutch in the other, Astrid crept her way down Main Street one rainy night in June. She was sixteen then, her hair much longer and her flowing pink dress completely soaked. The pleasant chime of the door did not fit in with the somberness of the night, and the sixteen-year-old almost let out a mangled laugh. Astrid could still hear the bittersweet tune of Billy Joel's Vienna playing on the store's speakers—Gene's taste was superb. When the old man saw her, he didn't ask questions. He took her hand, and the two danced to the melody in the air. Neither of them could do the steps properly, but at the end of the night, her face hurt from grinning.

As she returned to the present, a warm, single tear rolled down her cheek. Not this again, the teen huffed, brushing the offending liquid from her face. Her task was complete, and she was too tired to do anything but sleep. The sluggish brunette climbed into her bed and wriggled under the covers. Astrid stared up at the ceiling.

You can't spend your life in the past, you know? the teen reminded herself, don't be like fucking Guy Montag. You've got to put the damn sieve down, Astrid, before you waste away trying to accomplish the impossible. She huffed and rolled over to face her nightstand and was greeted by the faces of her parents.

A small, shaking hand reached out for the cool metal frame. Astrid pulled her parents close to her chest—like she had been longing to do with every fiber of her being. Despite her best efforts, more tears fell from her glossy brown eyes and onto the smiling faces below.

"Goodnight, Momma. Goodnight, Daddy," Astrid whispered into the silence, "I love you."

The girl reached over to the lamp on her nightstand and flicked the switch, bathing her room in darkness. Billy Joel's Vienna played in her head as the world faded away and Astrid fell into a deep slumber.

A/N: Hey, y'all! Sorry for the long wait for another chapter. This is actually the first chapter that I've struggled to write. It was a challenge trying to convey just what Astrid was feeling in these moments, and I hope it came across in the little vignettes I described. Also, props to those of y'all who caught the Fahrenheit 451 reference.