Resting by the open grass field behind our house, her hands are rested on the tips of the grass blades, running her hand through them, much like our mother brushed our hair; gently with finesse, plaiting our locks into a tightly woven braid, pulling the strands I was twirling at my fingertips, and securing them away with the last of loose ends. When my sister starts speak, I am caught by surprise, there is a beauty in her that I have never noticed before. Her voice is familiar but her tone is held captive by solitude at the back of her throat. She points to our neighbor’s stalks of sunflowers faced away from us. “Did you know that sunflowers grow towards the sun? They’re beautiful. Aren’t they?” I don’t respond. I only smile at her, and continue to gaze into the empty air.
The sun’s rays are direct today; there are little clouds, and no haze except the glare from the sunlight hitting my glasses I notice the streaks from the light, wondering if my sister notices them too. She doesn’t wear glasses. Her eyes are too delicate, and beautiful to have anything cover them. She possessed recessive traits, much like our mother, but she has my father’s nose. No wonder she has a quirk for smelling problems, bugging into trouble. They always did, but it’s evident that she has the braveness of my father despite her delicate eyes, and tendencies. She is beautiful – so beautiful. I smile as I watch her immerse herself into the setting.
The sunlight that shines on her does well; does her justice; does mother justice; does father justice. I smile at the thought of mother standing and hovering over us. I imagine her hair getting caught in the wind, and the sunlight catching on her, exposing the roots of her dark hair as a light brown, her eyes become speckled with green, and yellow. In the light, her beauty persists – endlessly – I see her in my sister.
I thought light travels too fast to be caught, but how lovely it would be to have it in a jar – along with a sunflower, my mother’s gold rings, and my sister’s favorite trinkets. It would be beautiful – cherished. When I tell her about this jar, she grins, and tells me that I should leave some of my lemon cookies in it too. “They’re so sweet!” She says. I laugh, “…and yellow! My favorite color!” she adds.
“I know. Mine too,” I think to myself. They’re as sweet as you – just as bright as you, “… like the sun!” she interrupts. Yes, you are the sun. I smile, brushing the grass at my fingertips, looking at my sister in awe of her gentleness, kindness, and beauty. The sun hits her drowning her a little, and I see my mother. “What are you looking at?” She asks.
“Nothing,” I respond. She shrugs, and begins dancing, spinning, twirling in the grass, singing songs, I cannot understand, with carelessness. She clasps her hands like she’s trying to catch the light, dancing with nothing but the beat of her heart. Her laugh contagiously latches on me as we end up rolling in the grass in laughter. Looking towards the sky, she faces the sun, and her eyes are squinted because of her smile. It’s so big, and wide, her happiness makes my stomach flutter. I am happy for her.
Resting by the open grass field behind our house, my arms are reached toward the sky, my fingers trying to pinch the sun, with one eye closed; catching the light for her, when she already had. “Remember when we used to hide here, spinning in our dresses until our hearts gave out, and the light left us, only to return the next dy. Now we’ve decided our ambitions, spinning our minds – never stopping – until we’re wrapped in light,” I say. Lying on the grass alone, looking up at the sun, seeing her. I am happy for her.
– Emilyn Nguyen, Catching Light
↠ Emilyn's Journey ↞ 