A Calendar of Tales: February

Way back in 2013, I was inspired by Neil Gaiman's A Calendar of Tales to write my own tales using the same inspirational quotes. I did not read his stories before I wrote mine, but I did read them after, and they are all awesome.

 “What’s the strangest thing that ever happened to you in February?”

“Met a girl on beach, searching for her grandma’s pendant, lost 50 years ago. I had it, found previous Feb.”

The pebble plonked into the Sound, casting ripples on the surface of the water. Mark didn't even bother cursing his inability to skip a stone; he felt as gray inside as the day.

He stuffed his hands down into the pockets of his coat. The air was freezing cold but very still. Even if there had been other people around, he wouldn't have been able to see them through the fog. He doubted anyone was there. In this weather the only cheer to be found was inside.

He walked slowly down the beach. It wasn't even his favorite. There were more rocks than sand here. There was a beach just north of here that had lovely yellowish sand, and, on a summer day, had a gorgeous view across the Sound to Vashon Island, and beyond it to the Olympic mountains.

This was the beach where he had seen her, last February. It was on the 9^th day of a streak of bitterly cold and foggy weather, and Mark had fled his cramped apartment following an urge to destroy things just to break up the monotony.

The only thing this had done was save his things; it was just as claustrophobic out in the fog as it had been inside. Then she had appeared out of the mist.

She wore nothing but a little blue summer dress, and there was yellowish sand on her bare feet and legs. Her blonde hair was long and straight. She'd seen him and smiled, becoming very beautiful, and then she'd taken one of his gloved hands and put something in it. He was frozen solid by this apparition. The light that touched her was not gray but a dazzling summer yellow. She'd kissed his cheek and run off into the fog.

By the time he thought he might chase after her, he knew he'd never find her in the fog. He'd have wondered if he imagined her if he hadn't been holding an aqua-blue, teardrop-shaped pendant in his hand.

Since then he had come back down every chance he got, and sometimes when he should have been doing something else. It had been nearly a year, and he had nothing to show for it but a pendant and a poor review at work. Every time he came down here, he resolved it should be the last, but it never had been.

He turned around. The visitor's center and small parking lot at the bottom of the hill were hidden by the fog, so he headed up the beach away from the water toward the path that lay at the edge between the forested hill and the beach.

A figure emerged suddenly from the fog and Mark's bones tried to leap out through the back of his neck. He knew immediately that this was not the girl who had given him the pendant; this person was as bundled against the cold as he was. He slowed and turned toward the figure.

As he approached, he saw it was a girl with long, straight blonde hair, but hers flowed down from under a purple knit cap, and her hands were stuffed deep in the pockets of an old wool coat. She noticed his scrutiny, looked him over, and smiled at him warily. “Good morning,” she said.

He shrugged, looking around at the fog. “Is it morning? Who could tell?”

She gave him a nod. “It's smart to come early. Gotta get down here before all the tourists so you can claim a good spot.”

Mark let out a little laugh. “I live here and I don't even recognize the place.” He turned and looked toward the Sound. It may as well have been a pond for all he could see.

She followed his gaze, and looked out at the fog, and stood near him in silence for a short while. He looked back at her. It could have been the same woman, he decided; they were of similar age, and her facial features were close. Still, he didn't see much of that other girl in this one. This was a winter girl.

She caught him staring at her and raised an eyebrow. “So what brings you to the beach on this fine morning? I mean, other than to soak up the sunshine?”

“Ah, sometimes it just gets too cramped inside, and then you think,” Mark shrugged, “Maybe it'll be better outside, but then, you know...it's not, really.”

“Ah,” said the woman.

“That sounds weird.”

“No, I get it. This weather sucks.”

Mark sighed. “Actually...I met someone here about a year ago and haven't seen her since, and I was...you know, I was hoping...”

“She'd show up again?”

“Yeah.”

She gave him a nod and looked back out at the Sound. Mark looked at his shoes, feeling awkward, and was beginning to think he might as well excuse himself, when she said, “I grew up here. Those apartments just behind Fourth Avenue.” She pointed up the hill. “My grandparents and I. Grandma would always bring me down here, whenever I wanted, even when it was snowing. I...come down here to remember her, and to look for...” she hesitated, obviously feeling awkward, too. “Well, my grandmother's pendant. Grandfather gave it to her when they were just teenagers, but she lost it somewhere before I was even born. She's always come here, so why not here?” She sighed. “It's a chance in a million, really, right?”

“What does it look like?”

“What?”

“So if I see it I'll know whose it is.”

“Well...it's a...blue, teardrop shaped...”

Mark took the pendant he'd been given out of his pocket and showed it to her. She froze in place, staring for a moment, then she moved the two steps between them and reached for it. He gave it to her, and for a moment she seemed to curl up around it. She wrapped it in her fist and pressed her fist to her chest. Then she looked at it again, and looked at him. “Where...how did you...”

“Well, the lady...the person I've been hoping to see again...she gave it to me.”

She looked up at him. “Really? That's...”

“Yeah.”

“Pretty weird.”

“Oh. Yeah. Weird,” Mark said. He hesitated only a moment; he had to at least try. “You want to get some coffee?”

“Like...right now?” She looked around and considered, then nodded. “Yeah, okay. Just give me a minute. I'm April, by the way.”

“Mark.” He wandered down to the water but didn't go far; he didn't want to lose her in the fog. He picked up a stone and tried skipping it. It plonked right into the water.