The Voice

By Isabella Dale

Her fourth flight in 36 hours had finally come to an end. 

The experience was interesting no doubt; Bella learned about airport security and the etiquette of flying, like how you had to remove your shoes before going through the metal detector or politely wait for your turn to order lemonade in an aisle seat. 

Credits: michelleothius.blogspot.com

By the time the last flight came around, she probably seemed to those around her like a frequent flyer. 

But she missed home already. She missed her father’s cooking and the sweet smell of her pillow. Sleep was hard to come by. She had never attempted such an upright nap before.

“She’s going to like you,” Bella whispered to herself, hoping nobody heard. 

The strain was unbearable. Never before had a granddaughter ever been so anxious to meet her grandmother, that she was sure of. 

The acid that had built up in her stomach from the initial goodbyes 6,007 miles away now started to grow into a pain in her chest. She could feel her body slowing down from lack of hydration coupled with jet lag. 

The walk to customs seemed like an endless majestic treadmill from one of her worst nightmares. Bella was restless. She wanted to meet her already, the one grandparent she had never had the chance to lay eyes on. 

Credits: hendralauw.com

She envisioned quickly what these next few years would look like.

Tea on the porch every Saturday? Brisk walks through the park? 

They all seemed too cliché  but she imagined them anyway. It was what she never had, and Bella always wished for things she never had. 

Turning the corner may as well had given her a stroke. Her eyes wanted to scan the waiting area, but at the same time Bella wanted to pluck them out like flower petals. 

She was only worried she wouldn’t be loved.

“Darling, you’re here” spoke a voice so soothing.

Bella turned around, tears instantly welling up in her eyes. She didn’t need to know the voice. She didn’t need the soppy greetings of a young girl meaning to make a good impression. 

That was her grandmother's voice. And all of a sudden she was home again.

Pier 39

By Isabella Dale

The mild wind, blowing in from the clear waters of Pier 39 engulfed the souls admiring its scenic beauty.

Bodies stood in respect, watching the world pass by one second at a time. Children played, tourists snapped memories into their digital cameras, and old lovers sat on worn out wooden benches gazing upon short waves fighting their way to shore.

Nothing could alter such calmness.

As the peacefulness blew in; hardships, turmoil, and the catastrophes of life no longer seemed existent among such stillness.

For once in a long time, I felt at ease.

Credits: tripadvisor.com

The feeling of longing took over me in an instant. Soon, I would have to leave this wonderful place. I would have to say farewell, and farewells were few and far between in my world. I lacked the ability to confront the last with an acceptance that still allowed me to move on with positivity. 

Therefore, farewells scared me to the core.

I asked myself the question: what happens after everything becomes a memory?

Do the photographs diligently taken through my camera truly justify the feelings I felt while standing there breathing it all in? No. No, they do not. 

And that was what scared me.

No matter how beautiful it all was, no matter how much better it felt compared to the existing reality I was faced with, time always has a price.

I wished right then and there that everything would stop, that this world would become my reality. 

But it seemed, the more I wished the further it ran from me, and slowly but surely, my true reality set it. 

As I took one last breath before turning away, I promised to capture this beautiful moment in my head, and hold on to it for the rest of my life. So that maybe one day, when my hair turns grey and my life becomes a routine of ignorant bliss, I'd still be able to recall the clear waters, the picturesque skies, and the smiles of those around me hoping for the same.