Green

By Cate Otto

 

There’s a tiny patch of green sticking out of the sand. I bend down to get a closer look; it’s the corner of a piece of fabric, it’s been buried by the beach. The green is bright and light and slightly translucent—what does it make me think of? Mona’s eyes. This past weekend. She sat across from me in the restaurant; I’ve never loved her more. Her delicate nose, her feathery blond hair. Her striking green eyes. She looked nervous and frail. Her pale hands shook visibly when she lifted the porcelain cup to her lips. She pretended not to notice, told me there was nothing the matter with her.

“I’m okay—really. I’m just a little anxious about my upcoming exams.”

“You’ve written exams before… I’ve never seen you look this stressed.”

“I just haven’t been feeling well. I’m nauseous all the time. And I’m exhausted. It must be from too little sleep—I’ve been staying up late to study every night.”

“Are you sure that’s all it is?”

“Well, I guess there’s that, and…”

“What? What is it? You can tell me. You can trust me.”

“It’s nothing serious. I’ve had a tiff with Chris, but really… I’m fine. I’m okay. Everything will be okay.”

Chris. Mona’s boyfriend. Two weeks ago. I heard voices behind the closed door at my neighbour’s party. Normally I wouldn’t have listened, except the voices kept rising and it made me worried. It sounded like a woman and a man—they were arguing. The woman was crying, the man was drunk. Mona and Chris.

“What else do you want me to say, Mona? I have my whole life ahead of me.”

“So do I! How can you be so cruel? It’s immoral, what you’re asking me to do… I’ll never be able to live with myself.”

“I’m not asking—I’m telling. You can choose: either you do this, or you’re on your own.”

“That’s not fair, Chris… this isn’t for you to decide alone.”

“Well, that’s the way it is. I refuse to give up my entire future because of your stupid mistake.”

“It wasn’t just my mistake! You’re a part of it, whether you like it or not.”

“No. No, I’m not. If I were you, I’d get it done before it’s too late.”

“Please, just listen to me… we have other options.”

“Like what, Mona? There are no other options… or do you plan on telling the dearly beloved Marjorie about your little accident?”

“Our accident. And don’t you dare. You keep my mother out of it. She can never know. She will never forgive me.”

Marjorie. Mona’s mother. The day before yesterday. I was on my way home from class when my phone rang. I took it out of my pocket; Marjorie’s name flashed on the screen. I hesitated before I answered. I could taste the threat of catastrophe on the salty coastal air. She sounded worried, on the edge of hysteria. I took a deep breath and plunged into the drama.

“Aunty Marjorie… is everything alright?”

“Oh, my love, sorry to bother you… I don’t mean to be paranoid—I know I do that sometimes, but…”

“Yes? It’s alright, I don’t think you’re paranoid. Is this about Mona?”

“Yes. Yes, it is. You haven’t seen her today, have you? I’m probably silly to be worried, but I haven’t heard from her, and, well…”

“How long has it been? When did you last speak to her?”

“She left the house yesterday afternoon—said she was going for a walk on the beach—but she hasn’t come back yet, and I can’t… I don’t know… I just have this terrible feeling gnawing at me.”

“I’m sure she’s okay, Aunty M. Maybe she’s at a friend’s house?”

“Oh, sweetie, you know Mona doesn’t have any friends, except for you, of course. And that lousy… I phoned Chris too, and he said he hasn’t seen her either.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help. What do you need me to do?”

“Oh, I’m probably overreacting. I always do. It’s just that she’s been acting so strange lately, you know? She’s so quiet, and pale, and she’s tired all the time… it’s probably just the upcoming exams. I shouldn’t have let her go to the beach in the first place—she should be studying. She can’t be wasting her time with walks on the beach.”

The beach. The tiny patch of green. I take hold of it with my thumb and forefinger and pull it out of the wet sand. It unearths itself, unravels into something long and thin. It’s a damp scarf. It’s bright and light and slightly translucent—what does it make me think of? Mona’s scarf. This past weekend. She sat across from me, and her green scarf perfectly matched her green eyes. It was tied loosely around her neck. Her pale hands fluttered about it, fiddled with it nervously whenever she thought I wasn’t looking. She looked scared. Her voice rose shakily against the din of the restaurant. I wished I knew how to keep her safe.

“Mona, whatever it is… you can tell me. You can trust me.”

“There’s nothing to tell—I promise. I’m fine. I’m okay.”

“Whatever it is, everything will work out for the best. You’ll see.”

“You’re right: everything will work out. This is for the best.”

 

Cate Otto from South Africa is a philosopher who thinks words are magical. She believes writing is an extension of the author—their thoughts, dreams, and fears—and that it gives you a glimpse into their being. She aspires to share her being with others through her writing, if only to contribute to the magic that is language.