wraps his arms around me and squeezes, before turning toward the person on his other side.
I feel the connectedness passing from one to the next. Why don’t we hug more in the waters? This joining might help fight off the sadness.
Jesse’s mother steps forward. “Throughout the day, we have fasted in remembrance of our ancestors’ ordeal. Our stomachs churn with hunger to remember the hard days our kin endured when they had little food. Tonight, we will feast. We honor our ancestors’ sacrifices with our plates of plenty.”
At the mention of food, my stomach gurgles loudly. My body is not used to being empty. In the pod complex, attendance at the three daily meals is mandatory. The dark-haired woman has reentered the circle with a silver tray. She slowly parades around, allowing each person to take an object from the tray.
As she nears, I smell the sweetness of the island’s fruits. When it is my turn, I hesitate. Each variety of fruit looks delicious. I finally choose a bright yellow wedge.
When everyone has a piece in his or her hand, Jesse’s mother calls out again, “Look at the bounty of our island. Smell the aroma of our reclaimed lands. Give joy that our home is tainted no longer.”
The refrain echoes through the group: “We give joy!”
Joy ?I know what the word means: feelings of great happiness. The idea of cultivating happiness—not just regular old happiness, but great happiness—stuns me. All this time, it has felt like happiness has evaded me. Was the true problem that I did not spend enough time seeking it out?
“Spread the joy,” the crowd calls, and I taste sweetness as juice runs across my lips.
Jesse holds his orange-hued fruit— mango —to my mouth. I try to glance around the circle without moving my head. All around me, people are feeding one another their fruits.
“Hold the pineapple up to me,” he instructs, quietly.
I bite into the mango and juice runs down my chin, while Jesse swallows the pineapple. His warm lips touch the tip of my finger, sending shivers down that arm.
He looks into my eyes as he offers me another nibble of mango. Then Jesse wipes the last dribble of mango juice from the corner of my mouth with his thumb.
We are the last to finish the fruit sharing. I quickly turn to face the center of the circle again, cheeks blazing.
Rachel lifts her face to the sun. Her black hair falls back; the few silver strands glint in the sunlight. “It is time to behold the House of the Sun’s true glory. Make your way to the edge, please.”
Everyone in the circle grasps hands. The dark-haired woman leads the way, to the overlook that peeks over the clouds. Hand-in-hand, the others follow, until everybody stands along the edge. Silently, we wait.
The sun begins to lower in the sky.
Soon, the sun paints the white clouds with pinks and purples, oranges and yellows. The clouds glow.
This wondrous sight must be what we have been waiting for.
The sinking sun hides amidst the clouds that flare with colors, as the sky itself changes from lavender to rose to scarlet, with each minute that passes by. Does Professor S. know the glory of his namesake? Will I ever have the opportunity to describe it to him?
Everybody continues to watch, not exchanging a whisper or a giggle. The clouds continue to churn with color, so I know the sun still hides beneath them. It is amazing that such prettiness can be seen from high up in the sky as we are now or from the surface of the sea as we were on the boat.
When the last of the colors has dimmed to the dark purples and blues of the night, Rachel calls, “Let us eat!”
Jesse and Captain each squeeze one of my hands, then release me. Around me, people separate and head for the small fire. The sky is dim, but still light enough to see.
Sydney appears from behind me. “Wasn’t that amazing? Sunsets always are up here. Come on. I bet you’re famished.” She pulls me in the direction of the food.
I take the plate I am offered and add
I feel the connectedness passing from one to the next. Why don’t we hug more in the waters? This joining might help fight off the sadness.
Jesse’s mother steps forward. “Throughout the day, we have fasted in remembrance of our ancestors’ ordeal. Our stomachs churn with hunger to remember the hard days our kin endured when they had little food. Tonight, we will feast. We honor our ancestors’ sacrifices with our plates of plenty.”
At the mention of food, my stomach gurgles loudly. My body is not used to being empty. In the pod complex, attendance at the three daily meals is mandatory. The dark-haired woman has reentered the circle with a silver tray. She slowly parades around, allowing each person to take an object from the tray.
As she nears, I smell the sweetness of the island’s fruits. When it is my turn, I hesitate. Each variety of fruit looks delicious. I finally choose a bright yellow wedge.
When everyone has a piece in his or her hand, Jesse’s mother calls out again, “Look at the bounty of our island. Smell the aroma of our reclaimed lands. Give joy that our home is tainted no longer.”
The refrain echoes through the group: “We give joy!”
Joy ?I know what the word means: feelings of great happiness. The idea of cultivating happiness—not just regular old happiness, but great happiness—stuns me. All this time, it has felt like happiness has evaded me. Was the true problem that I did not spend enough time seeking it out?
“Spread the joy,” the crowd calls, and I taste sweetness as juice runs across my lips.
Jesse holds his orange-hued fruit— mango —to my mouth. I try to glance around the circle without moving my head. All around me, people are feeding one another their fruits.
“Hold the pineapple up to me,” he instructs, quietly.
I bite into the mango and juice runs down my chin, while Jesse swallows the pineapple. His warm lips touch the tip of my finger, sending shivers down that arm.
He looks into my eyes as he offers me another nibble of mango. Then Jesse wipes the last dribble of mango juice from the corner of my mouth with his thumb.
We are the last to finish the fruit sharing. I quickly turn to face the center of the circle again, cheeks blazing.
Rachel lifts her face to the sun. Her black hair falls back; the few silver strands glint in the sunlight. “It is time to behold the House of the Sun’s true glory. Make your way to the edge, please.”
Everyone in the circle grasps hands. The dark-haired woman leads the way, to the overlook that peeks over the clouds. Hand-in-hand, the others follow, until everybody stands along the edge. Silently, we wait.
The sun begins to lower in the sky.
Soon, the sun paints the white clouds with pinks and purples, oranges and yellows. The clouds glow.
This wondrous sight must be what we have been waiting for.
The sinking sun hides amidst the clouds that flare with colors, as the sky itself changes from lavender to rose to scarlet, with each minute that passes by. Does Professor S. know the glory of his namesake? Will I ever have the opportunity to describe it to him?
Everybody continues to watch, not exchanging a whisper or a giggle. The clouds continue to churn with color, so I know the sun still hides beneath them. It is amazing that such prettiness can be seen from high up in the sky as we are now or from the surface of the sea as we were on the boat.
When the last of the colors has dimmed to the dark purples and blues of the night, Rachel calls, “Let us eat!”
Jesse and Captain each squeeze one of my hands, then release me. Around me, people separate and head for the small fire. The sky is dim, but still light enough to see.
Sydney appears from behind me. “Wasn’t that amazing? Sunsets always are up here. Come on. I bet you’re famished.” She pulls me in the direction of the food.
I take the plate I am offered and add
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