Ivarius Faldine (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
climbingivy) wrote2007-07-27 04:42 pm
climbingivy) wrote2007-07-27 04:42 pm
Entry tags:
A day at the beach
Memories do so love to tumble about in my mind. I found a photograph in Lexi's files today, one she saved for me when she was browsing her image sites. Hardly a second passed before I could feel restless wind against my face, the cool April air before spring sweeps over England. We were on holiday and I was young, newly minted with my rosary and license to preach and to grant marriage rites. I had forgotten it was the weekend my family always went to the beach, forgotten until my father arrived by carriage to collect me and scold me until we arrived. My clothes were rumpled and my mother fussed over my tired eyes, telling me I mustn't remain awake through the night so frequently. I calmed her worries, kissed her cheek and told her I was well, simply inundated in my studies. She released me in favour of some small cousins to exclaim over.
I wandered off down the beach with the laughter of my family behind me. There was something about the sound of the surf that day, a note in the cries of the gulls overhead. It felt as though I lived in déjà vu. I didn't know it would be the last time I was together with my whole family. Nothing save peace touched that day; I was the learned second son and my brother had earned himself a title in a competition. I remember falling asleep on a blanket spread on the sand, too weary to remain awake.
Memory fails me for the return trip, my father must have lifted me (he was always strong enough to do so, I was a thin creature) and held me for the carriage ride home. I woke in my bed, wondering if I had truly ever gone to the beach. The sand in my boots was the only evidence left of the day. It was one of the last times he called me son, that day. I do miss him, and my mother. I daresay I even miss my brother despite his exuberance and constantly aggressive nature.
Less than four months later I was sailing across the Atlantic, cast from my family and my country, stripped of my licenses given to me as a member of the church. I fancy to think my life didn't truly begin until I landed in New York with nothing more than my violin and a single change of clothing.
I wandered off down the beach with the laughter of my family behind me. There was something about the sound of the surf that day, a note in the cries of the gulls overhead. It felt as though I lived in déjà vu. I didn't know it would be the last time I was together with my whole family. Nothing save peace touched that day; I was the learned second son and my brother had earned himself a title in a competition. I remember falling asleep on a blanket spread on the sand, too weary to remain awake.
Memory fails me for the return trip, my father must have lifted me (he was always strong enough to do so, I was a thin creature) and held me for the carriage ride home. I woke in my bed, wondering if I had truly ever gone to the beach. The sand in my boots was the only evidence left of the day. It was one of the last times he called me son, that day. I do miss him, and my mother. I daresay I even miss my brother despite his exuberance and constantly aggressive nature.
Less than four months later I was sailing across the Atlantic, cast from my family and my country, stripped of my licenses given to me as a member of the church. I fancy to think my life didn't truly begin until I landed in New York with nothing more than my violin and a single change of clothing.