She was at Orchard Beach in the Bronx, low on self esteem and even lower on self worth. Her life spiraled down with a loss of vocation, and loss of significant other. She climbed on the rocks at Section 13 and reclined, her back combating the jagged edges of the stone.
She stared up at the overcast sky, birds flying aimlessly in her line of vision. Her stare transitioned into a trance, the clouds forming abstract shapes. Her eyes slowly closed as she succumbed to the subconscious.
“Welcome to Cloud 99,” voiced a male sitting on a cloud shaped sofa beside her.
“What? How did I get here,” she gasped, spying the man and the Long Island Sound below her.
“You let yourself go. You got caught up with the wonder of the clouds, and voila, you are here, Cloud 99. I named this cloud,” answered the male, with a hand gesture as if he just performed a magic trick.
“But I was down below on the beach. I must’ve fell asleep and this is a dream,” she reasoned.
“Perhaps, or an escape from your troubles, if only for a short while,” the male answered. He went on to explain what happened to her could be likened to a song one can get lost in or driving and getting lost in thought and when you catch yourself, you have no recollection how you got to that point in your travels.
“How long does this escape last?”
“Not long, but you got here once, you can get here again,” the man said, with raised eyebrows. He scooped his hand across the top of the cloud. “Looks like we are about to get a little rain,” he commented, as he shaped a ball of cloud into a cup. Rain filled the cup and he handed it to her.
“So good,” she commented between sips. Suddenly, she found herself fading, fading, until she was back on the shore rock way below. For several moments she just breathed, deep in, deep out, and trying to process her atmospheric experience. Her thoughts were a pleasant memory of the skies and the man that greeted her.
Her after-dream reflection party ended and realization crept back in. She needed to address her issues and change for the better. Still, there was one lingering thought. The man was there when she arrived on the cloud and there were no signs he was going anywhere when she left. Why?
She took a bus back to her tiny efficiency apartment, in need of maid service. Her recent job quests came up empty. Her nurse’s aid experience did little to net her employment. Job applications at marketplaces throughout town didn’t pan out. She was back at zero.
A week later, another bus ride brought her back to the beach. Her mental condition was tanking, but she had to try to get back to Cloud 99. She took her place on the rock and stared up at the sky until her eyes burned into tears. Her gaze turned to dry blinking, and then her eyes closed.
“Welcome back to Cloud 99.”
Her eyes opened and she found herself on a seat beside him. She instinctively cupped some water vapor and formed a cup, although it didn’t look like rain. “Who are you, and why are you here when I arrive and still here when I disappear?”
The man raised his head, revealing a glum outlook. “I have been here a long time, but this might be the last time you see me,” the man stammered, his voice cracking. Before she could respond he explained he had been in a coma for seven years and his family has decided to pull the plug on his life.
“Is there anything I could do?” she pleaded.
The man’s brows wrinkled in deep thought. “Perhaps you can communicate with them to hold on a while longer.”
“What can I say? How can I find them? I don’t even know your name.”
“Larry Logan. I am at the General Hospital not far from the beach.”
The woman nodded assent of the location. “I am Mary Martini.”
Larry gave Mary explicit instructions when she got to the hospital and what to say to her family in the event there would not allow her to see him. “Just say Larry is sorry he didn’t want the fire truck. That should trigger a response from them and hopefully get them to reconsider.” Larry explained his mother was deeply hurt by his emphatic, whiny rejection of the truck given to him at Christmas after everyone thought he would love the present.
“I hope I see you again, Larry,” she said, as she slowly began to de-materialize.
She awoke back on the rock and shuffled off to catch the first bus to the hospital. She checked in at reception and took the elevator to the fourth floor, hung a right and knocked on the door to room 423. A sophisticated woman opened it, and made a wedge between Mary and the inside of the room.
“I am here to see Larry Logan.”
“I am his mother. I have never seen you before, and I am here every day,” she huffed, and began to close the door.
“Wait. Larry is sorry he didn’t want the fire truck,” Mary blurted out, as the door closed before her. She waited outside a few moments before making her exit out via the stairs. She got outside and was welcomed with a steady rain. Unsheltered from the elements, she surrendered to the pelts of precipitation as she trudged to the bus stop. A voice yelled behind her and she spun around to see Larry’s mom motioning at her.
“I will let you see Larry for a moment,” his mom called through the storm. Mary rushed toward her when a sudden inspiration hit her. She pulled her coffee mug from her purse and let the rain fill it.
They entered the room, and Mary inched toward Larry, sitting up comatose. Mary brought the mug to his lips and wet them, moisture seeping from the edges. She lightly touched his forehead and exited the room, thanking his family for her intrusion.
She stopped going to the beach when she got a job at the local supermarket, but a month later, she awoke from an evening of slumber with the inspiration to get back to the rock.
She rode the bus over without a plan of what to do when she got to her destination, but felt a nudge to go. She snaked around the wooded path and met the sands toward the rock. As she neared, she saw a figure lying at the same spot she usually occupied.
“Larry,” she called out, as she scaled the rock to meet him.
“Yes Mary, it is me. I was hoping you would come back here,” he exclaimed, her momentum had her diving in his arms. They wet each others shoulders with tears, locked in an embrace.
“I have six months home recovery and I need someone to look after me. It doesn’t pay that well, but it is a job. Interested?” he whispered in her ear.
Mary lifted her head and her welled eyes met his. She nodded and returned comfort back on his shoulder.
Moray Writes 