The Light We Shared
A Romantic Short Story
It is golden hour on the last day of summer, light spilling against the white sand of Coney Island Beach. Beachgoers waded in the still warm water of the Atlantic Ocean, encased in a warm otherworldly glow, their eyes wide open, attuned to the minutiae of the living breathing world around them.
That is how Amelia chose to move through this world, dusk now descending, the reflections of The Wonder Wheel a paint palette rippling in the shallows. She stood warming her hands by a bonfire, and where she made small talk with friends, it stirred her heart in equal measure, and she longed this night that someone might see her fully and make her the centrepiece of the evening.
When Michael noticed her, he saw the softness of her face, the rippling orange light of the bonfire moving in waves and subtle undulations against her pale skin. His heart skipped a beat. He felt pulled by her quiet gravity, and Michael who had learned to trust his instincts left his guitar playing friends to approach her.
“I just thought I’d get warm. Mind if I share the fire with you? My name is Michael.”
She smiled. “Amelia. But shouldn’t I get some sort of peace offering or something?” She wore a cerulean peasant blouse, ivory linen shorts, the edges of her cream crochet poncho caressing sand.
“You’re right. Just give me one second,” said Michael. He left the fire to scan the sand in the darkness, Amelia fearful her ribbing had scared him off. A moment later he returned with a small sand-dusted shell and presented it to her. “It’s a moon shell. It has all sorts of magical qualities. They say it makes you fall in love with the person who gave it to you.”
Amelia’s face flushed with heat, and a playful laugh of amusement fell from her lips. “That’s really good,” she smirked. “I wouldn’t mind some company.”
“Thanks,” said Michael, “‘cause it sure is freezing over there!” An undeniably handsome smile appeared on his youthful sun-kissed face. He ran a hand through his short light brown hair, and Amelia, taking notice of all his movements, bit softly at her lower lip.
Soon they found themselves walking — slow in step — on the boardwalk, tall street lamps forming pools of light, illuminating their path.
“Yeah, classic Huck Finn upbringing,” shared Amelia. “Me and my sisters would go running through meadows barefoot, trampling wildflowers. We’d take the dog and run through streams of water. It was beautiful really. I don’t think a lot of kids are raised that way anymore.” She looked longingly out at the dark ocean. “Truth be told, I miss it. I don’t know if I’ll ever have that again.”
A silence hung over them. It lingered a moment, and when they brushed hands, Amelia’s heart leapt.
“I think those are some beautiful memories,” said Michael. “Makes me wish I had a childhood like that of my own.”
As they walked together the smell of cotton candy and funnel cakes found them from the amusement park. Amelia pointed.
The Wonder Wheel.
Michael shook his head. “No, absolutely not.”
“Why not?”
“I’m afraid of exactly one thing in this world. Can you guess what it is?”
“Is it making nice girls smile?” joked Amelia.
Carnival music played around them, a jovial welcoming tune, and when the steel cart they entered left the ground, Michael could feel the knots tighten in his stomach. “Oh God, I think I’m gonna be sick.”
She put one arm around his back, and her other hand into his. She couldn’t understand why, but she trusted Michael. Maybe it was his presence, his kindness that allowed her to be fully herself. Soon Michael was taking deep, controlled breaths.
When they reached the apex, ocean met sky. Michael’s heart soared. He took in the vista — the sparkling waves, the moon off in the distance. Fear had been replaced by something more powerful.
“This is amazing,” he smiled, the contagion of his joy conquering her.
They spent the rest of the night sitting on the beach, long after their friends had packed it in for the night, banter turning into expositions of truth, of how each other felt about the depths of the human soul. Amelia saw a deeper side of Michael, beyond the facade of humour and youth. She saw a person with the depth of the deepest ocean.
Then, slowly, darkness receded and morning broke all around them. The red disk of the sun poked its head out just over the ocean. Michael gazed into Amelia’s eyes. When they kissed the world fell silent. In her mind’s eye, Amelia envisioned a monarch butterfly spreading its wings, taking flight from a lush spring garden.
He would remember the moment years later in a dream, alone with her, light cascading through the thin white curtains, wind caressing their faces. The exactness of her ocean eyes. The hues of her sleepy sandy-blonde hair splayed out over his shoulder. The faded mango scent on her skin mingled with the softness of smoke from the bonfire and sunrise of the morning. He would learn to love this memory, here, now, alone with her in this light flooded room where they shone like doves. Though they ached for sleep, they received a broken one, first fading, then tuning into a dull waking punctuated by their steady breathing, holding each other tightly, like creatures pining for warmth.
