The Breeeze Janruary 2020

The sun’s shadow was growing long, the light fading
ever so slowly into the western horizon. Brilliant colors
of red, pink, orange and blue were smeared about in
a fiery display, illuminating the heavenly realms, for
miles and miles; no doubt the work of mischievous
apprentice angels. The view was breathtaking against
the deep black-green of the river and tree line in the
late December sun. The afternoon news predicted
clear skies, cool temperatures and a full moon. The
tide was about two hours from being full; it was about
20 minutes from twilight. Kayla dropped the kayak by
the rivers edge, flipped it over and sat herself on the
smooth, damp surface. Bad Dog! leaped and played in
the shallows creating the only sound in the creeping
stillness of the evening tide. Kayla pulled a tobacco
pouch from her vest and rolled a narrow cigarette. She
was supposed to quit in the morning and wanted to feel
the numb of nicotine a few more times. The sulfur from
the match lingered in the air. Kayla watched the flame
burn down the wooden shaft, not touching its tip to the
cigarette. Lost in its flickering dance and mesmerized
by its effect she lit several more in the same fashion
before ever touching off her “opiate.” The orange glow
of the cigarette cast an unnatural intermittent spark in
the nebulous light of the late afternoon shadows. She
inhaled deeply, savoring the indiscretion, exhaling the
consequence without care. Tonight her paddle on the
river, her first in several months, would be a journey of
remembrance and redemption; she wasn’t focused on
anything but her journey.
As dusk eventually pushed to full darkness she slowly put
several items in a small backpack and casually walked
Bad Dog! back up the path to the open tailgate of her
aged Wagoneer. She persuaded her loyal companion
back in the truck by throwing several jerky sticks, a trick
that always worked well in a pinch. Bad Dog! cried and
barked through the half open
windows as Kayla made her
way back down the path to
the river. It was dark now and
the air was quite crisp. The
blue kayak rocked gently in
the current as she balanced
herself in the small craft.
The ankle deep water was
cold as she pushed off into
the chilly night. The tail of
the kayak scraped the oyster
shells as she dug in, paddling
hard for deeper water. Finally
free of the shallow water
snares the kayak cut silently
through the smooth water.
The moon was now brightly
rising over Palmetto Bluff as
Kayla worked her way down
the chilly May River towards
the old Oyster Factory. The
on and off again red, blinking
lights of distant radio towers guided her toward her first
destination. She glided smoothly against the tide toward
the old factory, which was sleepily tucked into the bluff.
Kayla barely broke a sweat as she steadily paddled in the
breezy night air. She paddled up beside an old shrimp
boat moored to the factory’s dock, touching its hull as
she glided down its faded white side. The stale smell of
the sea, a long ago shrimp haul and salt filled her lungs.
It reminded her of warm, happy summer days. Kayla
inhaled the low country tonic deeply, leaning back in
her seat so that her head could see the stars. “God,”
the word slipped from her lips as if addressing a friend,
“what a year.”
The clanking of her kayak against the dock piling broke
her spell. Once again the paddle rhythmically hit water as
she worked her way back down river. As she approached
The Church of The Cross fond memories flooded her
mind; the rehearsal, the reception, and of course the
kiss stolen on the public dock before the boat whisked
them away. The years seemed to fly by in her mind with
each passing dock. Memories and thoughts caused tears
to swell in her eyes. “It is well,” she stammered out loud,
“it is well.” Gathering her emotions she pushed hard for
the head of the bluff, her final destination within familiar
sight. The incoming tide slacked as did the wind as she
turned the corner of Myrtle Island. Kayla drove her kayak
hard into the marsh until she hit a small piece of shell not
covered by water. She laughed at her ability to find the
piece of land at night, she had never been able to before.
This place used to be their favorite high tide spot. She
sat in silence for quite a while, thinking back over life. It
had been six months since the accident, since they had
routinely pulled out on HWY 278. They never saw that
minivan coming. Everything changed before they even
had a chance to say goodbye. Now, there she sat, in
the cold New Year’s Eve night air in the old blue kayak
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