By Malia Bradshaw

On a red cushion in the shifting sand, beneath swaying palm trees and draped silks, two heartbeats stirred. To the left: voluptuous women, jade headdresses, sequined bras, feather tails, glittered ties, neon beads, men dancing on poles. To the right: dark waves crashing from an indeterminable dawn; quiet, steady. A Dominican breeze that carried the mantra of change, so subtle only the awake would hear.

We walked along the ground that rearranged with each step, grains molding and melding in surrender. The lights and music of the nightclub faded into uncertainty. Perhaps a memory, perhaps only an illusion. We sat beneath the stars. I held his arm and wondered where all these lights went when I wasn’t looking; where anything went when I wasn’t looking. There are so many things I don’t look at.

Two thousand kisses from lips that had never met and would never meet again. Drifting in a town where only three people knew my name or if I’d always been the same. Rolling through sand and fleas and gentle tides. That morning, I trekked through a jungle at the end of a side street in a poverty-stricken town in a poverty-stricken country. Dark caves. Black widows. Crystal waters that make you ten years younger, or so we’re fed. Everyone jumped in. Not me. Don’t you know? Only the foolish mess with time.

He traced my cheek with the palm I hadn’t yet held, gazing at me with eyes I hadn’t yet mastered; if I willed my lids down – a mere fragment of flesh separating me from all of certainty – his eyes would be any eyes.

Then: time. Don’t mess with time. He must go. Go. I should go. Those dark waves. Watch them roll. They always roll. You knew those waves would roll. Let it go, let him go. Near the guard with a gun at my condo. Those dark waves and his shadow fading into stars that were never really there. I wondered where everyone went when I wasn’t looking; where anyone went when I wasn’t looking. There are so many things life won’t let me look at.

 

Malia Bradshaw received her BA in Psychology from St. Edward’s University, and has returned to St. Edwards to pursue a Masters of Liberal Arts with emphasis in Creative Writing. Before returning to St. Edward’s, she spent a year writing for several local magazines. She is also a yoga instructor in Austin.

Photo by Mitch Paine.