The next morning I woke up quite disoriented. I had to close my eyes for a second and let the remembering wash over me like a wave.
It was very early, just at the crack of dawn actually, and only the first pale, springtime light fluttered into the room. I stretched and got out of bed, got dressed in a drab gray sweater. Gray seemed such an appropriate mourning color that it was all I wore. Gray like a stormy sky.
I quickly finger-combed my hair. The air felt odd on my head, with the absence of the Grandpa hat as I removed it. I quickly placed it back on my head and crept out the door. Just as I suspected, no one was up yet. It felt odd to stay in this house, with the morning quiet making even my breath sound loud, so I walked out the front door.
A light mist was rolling across the dew-stained grass and mourning doves called. The waterfall was still pouring water off the cliffs and the first bees were buzzing quietly in Georgia's garden. I walked down the dirt path, through the thick forest of trees. I eventually got bored of looking at the trees as I passed, so I walked off of the path and began to walk along the riverbank. I could see faint shadows of fish swimming in the cool blue water. Suddenly the line of trees came to an abrupt stop and short, trimmed grass spread out before me. A big square of stones with a neat little shop, a beautiful marble museum, and what I assumed was the town hall stood around it like walls. I guessed that this was the town square.
Nothing was open yet, so I decided to come back later in the day. I returned to the river and saw the landscape dotted with small houses now and then. Then the land slanted down and I came to the beach. It was beautiful. Stormy gray waves struck the shore, and the cliffs on both sides of me stopped sharply. I felt much more free here then anywhere else in town. Everywhere else I was surrounded by cliffs and walls, holding me in. Here, standing on the jagged, rocky shore at dawn with the salty sea wind whipping through my hair, I felt like I could fly. The ocean spread out before me, forever.
"Forever!" I yelled as loudly as I could into the roaring wind, knowing that only someone right by me on the beach would be able to hear me over the wind.
"Forever!"
The voice came out of nowhere. The voice was singing. My heart skipped a beat.
"Forever… Forever! The girl stands on the shore, screaming forever!" A dark figure emerged from the mist.
"Who's that?" I yelled.
"Whooooo are we? Who who, who who?" The shadowy figure sang in a way that was half creepy, half comical. He sang in a voice like a gust of wind, confident and flowing. Before I knew it, he stood right in front of me, looking me squarely in the eye.
He was taller then me and held a beat-up guitar case with patches and doodles covering almost every inch of the cheap black leather. He had shaggy, chocolate brown hair that fell over his eyes. His face was pale with brown freckles sprinkled across the bridge of his nose, and striking dark green eyes stared back at me from under dark eyebrows.
"I am Ben Kyle Kirk Slider," he said calmly, holding out his hand. A loud burst of laughter leapt from me and I stifled it with my hand.
"Do you think my name is funny?" he asked, not threateningly.
"Yes I do," I replied matter-of-factly, "and I am Penny Bluebell Sprout."
He seemed to consider me for a moment, to see if I was teasing him. I had no patience for this odd boy with the odd name, so I whipped around and walked up the hill with as much dignity as I could. He followed me, almost running to keep up with my pace.
"You can call me KK Slider," he offered, as if that was a huge privilege.
"Well if I ever happen to see you again, I'll call you Ben, because that name, unlike KK Slider, doesn't sound like an alcoholic drink," I snapped. He stopped for a moment, as if dazed and then ran to catch up with me again.
"What's wrong with you, Sprout?" he asked.
"Penny. I'm Penny and I'm annoyed and you are annoying me," I replied. We were almost at the house. Of course the house had to be the absolute farthest away from the beach that it could…
"I don't even live here. I'm a traveling musician," he said boldly, in a slightly braggy voice.
"I'm so happy for you. This is my house, so goodbye Ben," I said stiffly.
"See ya around, Sprout," he grinned. I rolled my eyes and slammed the door in his face.