My First Memory

My first memory is of my mother.

I’m sitting on the beach, my fingers tracing patterns in the sand. The sun is just kissing the sky, dusty pinks and cerulean blues and peachy oranges chasing away the night.

I curl my toes, digging them deep into the soft sand, the wind blowing my long, dark hair around my bare shoulders, tickling them, as I watch her.

She’s radiant, standing in the surf, her long, red skirt twirling around her ankles as she dances to the music. Shells and crystals wink at me from her salty blond hair that moves gracefully as her hands play a lively, enticing melody and she sings out to the sea.

She’s calling in the fish, I know. I watch, transfixed, as her bow travels back and forth across the viol tucked under her chin. It’s effortless; a song she’s created just for this moment, the notes sweet and happy and hungry.

The shells she has tied around her wrists and waist tinkle and clink together, adding to the magical sound she’s making. I shake my head, urging the shells I have twisted in my hair to join in.

She turns in a slow circle, catching her eyes with mine, and blends my dancing fingers and chiming shells into her song. I start to hum, putting words to the spell she’s weaving.

Her final notes are long and sweet, her bow drawing slowly across the strings. She finishes and kneels in the surf, dropping her head forward in prayer. I know she speaks to Avandra, and I bow my head in silent praise, too.

That afternoon, when Pa and Breth return from the sea, their net is filled with fish. Mother’s face breaks into a warm, joyous smile as she pulls Pa into her arms and kisses him. Breth looks away, embarrassed by their affection, but I soak in the look of love that passes between them.