The Departure of Iris

  The crunching of the oyster shells beneath her thin flip flopped feet had always been a comfort to Iris.  What annoyed the vacationers was a sweet amusement to her.   As well as the loose strands of hair that without fail would get held prisoner in her mouth or nostrils from the constant gusts off the bay.  As a child, she kept her hair short for her mother's sanity.  But as maturity took hold and there were hair trends to attempt, the wind was an evil arch enemy. She had always hated her hair anyway and Iris decided the wind was an evil ploy to make her social life non existent. Or at least her self confidence. But now, after everything,  the wind as well as the cracking shells and the salty air and the smorgasbord of smells were all part of her:  Part of the delicate puzzle of her existence.  These things were expected and that was normal.  And Iris had always held tight to the "expected" without the anticipation part.
   She didn't have a plan for today.  She rarely had one these days,  A Purpose.  It was mid morning, still early enough before the honking tourists and delivery trucks started taking over the harbor.  Only a few exercise fanatics along the narrow, cracking roads.  No one took notice of her.  She had always enjoyed riding her bike, thru town, past the pier, down Chequessett Neck almost to "The Gut".  She'd push herself a little further every time. Her goal was, of course, to get all the way to Jeremy's Point.  But she'd get achey or hungry or convince herself a huge storm was coming and she'd quickly turn her bike around and head back to town.  But she had not been on a bike, well, in a long time.

.....but something happened... she kept forgetting.

  She let the wind and the seagulls be her guide.  She walked through the timeless and never changing pier taking the long way around all the corners and edges to get a better look at the boats docked there.  She was disappointed not to see her favorite sailboat with the indigo, red and white sails. But the crusty, 60 plus year-old fishing boat, "Mama's Favorite" was present, getting loaded up with bait, tackle, and traps for the day.  She looked over to see if  Benny, the Harbor Master, was on duty.  He was, sitting high on his delapidated stool like a king on his throne.  He didn't let anything sneak past him, the self appointed emperor of the pier.  He looked as leathery and worn as his chair today.  She watched him give an obvious visitor strewn with photographry gear, a hard time when she parked "illegally"  to take photos. "Move your stinkin' car before I tow it myself!" he barked at her with his wild-dog, wide-eyed face.  She couldn't get in her car fast enough, poor thing.  Iris laughed to herself knowing by the out-of-towner's reddened face, she wouldn't  be back to visit any time soon.  "Good riddance," he said under his breath, "idiotic tourists."  Benny hoisted himself back atop his throne, obviously satisfied with his disciplinary actions.  He kept mumbling to himself, picking his teeth, and resumed surveying the parking lot and boat yard.  Iris shook her head and kept walking.
   Headed back to the main street, the breeze carried her towards the heart of town.  Over the smooth slate sidewalk her presence stirring a slight breeze on the crisp, white Sweet Peas and Queen Anne's Lace growing in such a way only Mother Nature could have designed.  Iris' love of flowers had been passed down honestly, from her mother.  As if her name wasn't enough, to bestow her dedication to all beautiful blooms, behind their house was the wildest flower garden in town. It had no rhyme or reason, but it mattered not to her mother.  It was hers, her heart and soul. And the only person who she shared it with was Iris. They would spend half the day out there, either working in it, pulling weeds, planting a new variety, cutting blooms for the hundreds of vases all over the house, or sitting in the 2 old, peeling yellow chairs, reading or drawing and enjoying the afternoon breeze. "When I die, Iris, I want to be buried right here," she remembered her mom saying aloud one afternoon, as if she was ordering lunch. She was sitting back in her worn wooden chair, looking up at the clouds, fanning herself with her straw hat.  "I want my body to become one with all of my hydrangea and roses and zinnias. And I want the Queen Anne's lace to be right over my head." She gestured with her arms in big motions, as if holding court.  Iris had been playing with the shells and rocks she had collected every time they went to the beach.  She was making them into flower shapes, using the oysters shells as the flower petals and the stones as the pollen in the middle. "Hm, Iris, honey? Don't you think,  because I am the queen of the garden and you're the princess."  Iris, was around 5 years old,  and didn't know what to think about any of what her mother had said.  She only knew that it made her sad and she wished she wouldn't talk like that.  She wanted her mama to live forever, like all children.

  what was it again.. she almost remembered this time

   Deep in thought, Iris realized she had stopped moving, and so had the breeze.  She must have been standing there for quite some time.  It was already getting to be mid afternoon and the winds were shifting. Not as strong, but cooler and more sporadic.  Maybe rain was coming. She did not like it when she was caught out in a rain shower.
    With the water to her right, she moved quickly now.  She knew O'Malley's Oyster House would be up on the right if she needed refuge from the always questionable rain. She knew O'Malley's like the back of her hand.  She had enjoyed the few years she had worked there.  It became a pivotal point in her teenage life: her first job, her first kiss, her first time feeling independent.   She had gone to school with the owner's son, who had mentioned to her on the last day of school before summer break, they needed help. If she was interested.  He was blushing when he asked her.  When she had shown up for her first day, he almost dropped his tray of salt and pepper shakers he had just refilled when he saw her.  She was 15 at the time.
    Sometimes she wondered if she had ever lived at all. Recollections were so fragmented and blurry. Like she never really experienced them, a dream perhaps.  Was this all a dream?
   She wondered if things would've been different had she not taken the job.  She had turned down the  opportunity to teach creative writing at her Aunt's summer camp in New Hampshire.  She had never left home, and being away the entire summer was vast without borders and unfamiliar. She wasn't ready.  Many of the girls in her school always talked of moving "away" and getting as far away from their small town as possible.  But Iris had never felt that way.  Her mom had begged her to go, it would be "good for her".  "This could be a wonderful opportunity that might change your life, Iris.  Why not try something new?"  But she didn't listen and her mom gave up.  "You're never going to leave this place Iris.  I travelled as many places as I could when I was young, Iris.  Oh, what a waste of life."  Iris felt defeated and sorry.  She had wanted to be brave and adventurous, but she wasn't.  She loved hearing the stories about her mother's journeys to far away lands like Thailand and Palermo.  And amazing as it all sounded, that's all they felt like to her: very elaborate and glorious stories.  Not a reality.  Her mother was worldly and cultured, eccentric but sensible.  Iris often suggested to her mother to write it all down,  to make a Life Book.    Her mom had smiled "Well, only if you wrote it for me, Iris, with your wonderful words. And then carried it in your heart and let it guide you to the possibilities that deserve you."
   But her mother had more confidence in her then she did.  She settled on safe and took the job at the Oyster House, where she spent the next 4 summers.  She was making good money by the end of her senior year, waitressing any shift she wanted.  She was very comfortable there.  It was easy and familiar. And it didn't hurt that she was dating the owner's son.  She enjoyed talking to happy vacationers and families who came to visit here every year.  They were always interested in her life as a native Cape Codder and how she liked it living here.  It was the only thing she was ever completely sure of because it was the only thing she ever knew.
   As much as she liked talking to the customers, her favorite time of the day,  was after her shift was over.  Jeremy would always sneak her a dozen or so oysters after she clocked out.  She'd slip out the back screen door, sit on the dock, pull out her shucking knife and pop the pearly shells open in one strong twist of the wrist.  She loved the process of shucking oysters. It was a skill she had learned from working there and proudly perfected.  She felt undoubtably and officially a local when she did this.  But having her own solo VIP seat on the bay, overlooking the water and the sorbet streaked sky, this was the best: Relaxed, happy, and an apron-full of tip money.  Who would want to leave this, she used to think?  Move away to the city or another state, away from hypnotizing water and mysterious sunsets on the Cape? Mind-blowing. Ridiculous.
   Jeremy would sometimes come out to join her, bringing her a token bottle of beer.  She would oblige him and pat the splintering dock, relinquishing her moment;  now 4 legs dangling over the dock.  It felt like a hundred years ago.  Iris felt strangely removed, saddened by the indifference to these once fond memories. Now just history of some girl's life.  She didn't want to linger here, she wanted to forget.  It made her remember, relive, with a pinch of regret.  But why, did she want to forget?  Things were foggy. Always foggy when she started to "feel" something.
   Continuing on her way, she passed under the mighty oaks, almost tripping over a rogue root that had sprung through sidewalk.  Was that the same one that she had hit with her bike tire that sent her sailing off when she was 7 requiring 3 stitches in her chin?  The sun had set and galleries were all closing up for the night, pulling in their bright flags and artistically crafted "Open" signs.
   Iris made a left at the fork in the road, and ventured up the small hill towards the corner market.  The loud barking of a dog startled her and she stopped to scan the area until she could find where it was.  She spotted through the shadows a dark chocolate lab watching her closely from across the street, equally as startled by her.  It's owner didn't look up but pulled the dog along, shushing it. The dog obeyed,  but kept an eye on Iris.  She was never fond of dogs. She had been chased by a vacationer's dog when she was riding her bike home from school in 6th grade.  It had proceeded to jump on her, knocking her off the bike and nipped her arm.  She was so terrified, she left her bike there and ran the rest of the way home.   She couldn't remember what had happened after that. Had the dog been impounded? Did her mom yell at the dog's owner? What ever happened to her iridescent pale blue bike? So many unanswered questions.
   There it was, right in front of her.  Iris suddenly felt that this was what she was trying to remember.

   ..Was she choosing to forget, repressing what was right on the tip of her mind or was there something else?

   It was the same, unchanged, lovely, and mysterious: The pale yellow cottage that was over 200 years old.  This was her favorite house.  There was something strangely familiar about this place.  It made heart swell and yet ache at the same time.  She wondered who lived there. She never saw anyone coming or going.  She recalled seeing lights on at night.  It was well kept, the yard tended to and there were always blooming flowers in the huge terracotta urns on the front porch.  She slowed her pace hoping she'd get lucky enough to see some life coming from behind the fragile lace curtains in the long paned windows.  Iris waited.  She had done this before. Made it this far and then find herself back at the start.  But this time, today, she felt different.  She had remembered more, and didn't want to lose this momentum.
   It was getting darker now, the aubergine and persimmon sky dissipated leaving a sliver of a moon and twinkling stars in its place.  Unsure what to do next, she looked around to see if anyone was coming, or was standing outside and perhaps watching her.  She wanted desperately to go inside the house.  Curious to see what it looked like, what kind of life it had to offer deep in the heart of this sanctuary.  But she knew that was out of the question and dared herself to just circle around the outside of the house. She'd check out the backyard and then she'd leave. No harm done, she thought to herself.
   Her skin felt prickly and her heart was racing. She was terrified of getting caught. But what would they do?  Yell at her to leave? Call the police if they were truly alarmed? She doubted that would come to be, plus there was nobody around.  Fate had not intervened and the curiosity wasn't going away like it normally did when she got to this point.  Iris walked up the old stone steps and instead of following them to the front door, she detoured around to the left side of the house.  Carefully along the grass, past huge purple and pink rhododendrons that dwarfed her 5 foot 7 inch height,  she tiptoed.  She would have liked to have stolen a peek inside, thru the oversized windows, but the flowers and greenery covered half the house. Towards the back of the house, there was a large, circular stained glass window.  She paused to see if she could see anything or even catch a glimpse of herself. But nothing.  Just blended blues and greens and yellow thick-cut glass chopped up in simple abstract shapes. Childlike.
    Rounding the corner of the house, Iris stopped. She scanned the backyard quickly afraid of being seen.  Iris felt dizzy, confused and for once in a long long time, sad.   A rusty bike, maybe once a pale blue, stood supported by a bent kickstand, surrounded by unpulled weeds underneath an empty clothesline.  The fuzziness of her brain was becoming clear.  Pieces were being put into place as she began to remember.  The memories were pulling her, tugging at her body and heart.  She felt as if she was floating above all of it, taking it all in, as if it were a dream of what once had been.
   She didn't need more than the sliver of moonlight.  She had walked here time and time again in her dreams.  Barefoot and knees dirty, she had walked and played in every spot of this garden, since the beginning of time.  Everything was the same, but sadly neglected.  The tangled vines seemed lost and searching their way out and were spread and knotted up into everything.   She had wanted to forget for so long and now... now,  she was going to have to remember.  She didn't know how long she would have.  This is where things got tricky, Groundhog Day all over again.
    She suddenly felt so cold.  She realized she was now sitting in the middle of the hibiscuses and purple coneflowers.  Iris was determined to find it.  But the sweet mint, basil and parsley dominated and held her captive with the snapdragons and cosmos.  She stood on her tip toes searching around her. A light grabbed her attention as she noticed the upstairs windows were now aglow.  Unmoving, not breathing, she watched.  Someone was in there.  But who was in the house?
   Iris sat paralyzed, waiting for whatever was going to happen next.  There was sudden heaviness in the air, making it hard for her to breathe.  Or maybe she was holding her breath.  She was scared. Scared to be discovered in this garden, scared to meet who this person was, scared about what this moment was going to become.
   The bang of the screen door jolted Iris out of her dilemma. She closed her eyes, like she did when she was a child, hoping to turn invisible.  She wasn't sure who she was expecting.  Nerves outweighed her curiosity and she needed to leave. She had seen what she wanted, unsure why she needed to see the back yard and what answers it would provide.  She turned to leave and something flashed in the corner of her eye.  Catching the moonlight and sparkling like the ocean waves at sunset,   stood a serene, silvery somber misshapen endless tower.
 
   That night
   Hunter's Moon
   the argument 
   Mama
   Jeremy
   The long bike ride
   Leaving

   Iris felt herself begin to slip, to fall back, back to her warm, dry shadowy place, as the wind whipped through Iris, deep into her soul, pulling her up, away.
  
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

   The figure slowly opened the screen door and walked towards the garden.  Unafraid and barefoot she was skipping over the cool, damp grass.  Knowing the right places to avoid and to step, she danced through the low wrought iron fence and went over the stone-shell tower.  Crouching down, elbows on her knees, she smiled at her odd and outrageously large masterpiece.   Her tiny hands working over something cold and smooth,  her thumbs smoothing the top.  As she released it from her hands, freeing it to join it's brethren, a breeze as familiar as her favorite blanket took her breath away, gently moving her unruly hair from the edges of her eyes.  Looking up at the stars and moon, she smiled. Knowing.  She looked back down and did a quick mental survey. 20.  That was the count.  20 blooms of irises had bloomed around the stone-shell tower.  Her pale mouth opened to speak, but closed quickly when she heard her mother calling to her.

  "Iris... are you out there?"

   The little girl ran back the way she came, not noticing that one iris had snapped from the wind.