Sun Chaser

I am chasing the rising sun as I run from them.

That golden globe, it leads me forward as if it is running with me, encouraging me to finish this God forsaken chase and get to Eliane.

I hear them taunting me, calling my name. I am not far from the middle school, I can still turn around. But Mr. Schremp won’t be in his classroom to save me and I am already on Tangerine Bridge. It isn’t a big bridge, not long anyway. But it is arched high, at least ten feet above the ocean. It might as well be a skyscraper to me. You don’t get many of those in the Keys.

Home isn’t far either and I’ve done this chase 364 days in a row. Home is my best bet. But I was late getting out of the house this morning of all mornings. 364 days I’ve been the mouse that got away. 365 days was too long for Joe to not get his prey. And Joe always gets what he wants whether it be this year or the next two years until he goes to high school. Of course, I doubt he will stop there.

My body shakes as I run out of air. It’s humid and I’m shivering. I’m almost over the steep bridge.

I trip. I fall. I slide. I stop.

Joe is already on top of me when I clear the sand from my eyes. He picks me up. I don’t know why because he just throws me back down again and says, “Get up faggot.”

I get up. I dust the sand from my knees with shaking, scratched hands. I rub my head where Joe has pulled me from the ground and watch as some of my hair falls out as brown snow. I don’t look at Joe’s face. He said to never look at him. So I just look down at his feet. He wears long white socks with sandals coated in golden dog hair. If I didn’t know Joe was an eighth grader I might have thought he was one of the old tourists asking for directions.

“Where’s your girlfriend, runt?” Joe asks. He pokes me. I stumble backwards with the pressure.

I don’t answer. I just shrug. Shrugging is all you can do unless you want a fist in your mouth.

“Well, tell you what Jude, how about you stop hanging around her and I’ll leave you alone,” Joe says. He shoves me when I don’t answer. His boys laugh. “How’s that sound? I take Eliane and you have no friends.”

“Who says she is his friend?” says one of the boys. “He’s probably just lying.”

“Yeah, I never see her with him at lunch. Probably too embarrassed to sit with him anyway.”

Eliane is real. She’s been real ever since her mother brought her over to play in our kiddy pool.

“Dude, are you crying?” Joe says.

I shake my head no. I am not crying. I am too scared to cry.

I double over when Joe’s fist plunges into my stomach. I feel my tears fall down my cheeks. I quickly taste the salt in my mouth. Stop crying. Don’t cry in front of them.

“Joe, dude, let’s throw him over the bridge,” One of the boys says.

“Dude, won’t that kill him?” another says.

“Woah, I don’t know…”

I make a startled noise in my throat and begin inching away as Joe and his boys contemplate whether or not I will die. I decide they will never throw me over that bridge as I begin wishing Eliane to appear by my side. But she is waiting for me at school. Eliane is waiting and she hates it when I leave her waiting.

I look over at the sun. It is almost above the giant palm trees. It glimmers at me and I can sense Eliane sitting alone in front of Mr. Schremp’s class. She is waiting, waiting for me. I feel the warmth of the sun, it seeps into my legs. They are no longer numb with fear.

Like a bass wriggling free from its line, I shoot off down the road towards school. I am chasing the sun again, passing the pastel stilt houses, the clueless tandem-bikers, a girl with a melting Popsicle. I hear Joe and his boys but I know it will be okay. Eliane always makes things okay.

~

I wait by my open window, straining to see any sign of her. Any moment she will drop belladonna onto the windowsill and I will climb down the vines so that we can escape into the night. She is my Peter Pan and I am her Wendy. The old home creaks and groans in the brewing storm winds making me look with every sound. I hope my parents or any of the tourists don’t wake and I hope Eliane gets here soon. We have a lot to talk about.

My eyes begin to flutter and more and more do they stick like glue. Images of the day flash behind my eyes: last day of school, Mom packing my lunch- Joe and his boys taking my lunch, a painful walk to Tuttle Bay Middle, Eliane waiting for me to walk to Mr. Shremp’s class, and then that horrible moment at 9:02 when Mr. Shremp asks us what we’re doing this summer. Eliane rose from her seat and had gone to the front of the class only to proceed to tell us that she was moving away. My heart had filled with tears; my heart is still full with tears. I still wonder why she did not tell me first.

Finally there is a rustle of leaves and a belladonna blossom drops to my windowsill. It is time.

Swift as the raccoon that drives Dad crazy, I climb through my window and down the side of the house, the trumpet shaped flower resting tenderly between my lips. I know by the time I get down she will have already retreated into the trails for me to find her. And I will find her.

I’m already sticky from the salty Florida air when my feet collide with the hibiscus bush. I pluck one of the orange flowers and run. I always have so much energy in me when I’m going to see Eliane. So I keep running until I reach the trails behind the house.

Night is our favorite time to play. It’s time when all the grownups have gone to bed and the trails to the mangrove trees are not flooded by the tide. Cicadas whir my ears numb and I wonder what they’re humming about. A key deer stumbles out of the nearby fern bush and I wonder what it’s running from. The sky rumbles and I look up. The clouds are sad and gray, reminding me to quicken my pace. Eliane is waiting.

The fork in the pathway is daunting. Robert Frost would have a fit. I stare, both trails looking exactly the same and I feel my eyes begin to sting with frustrated tears. It is late. Dad might be up. What if I get lost? But I see in my mind Eliane. She sits in the roots of the mangroves with the crabs, a halo of golden curls around her head, lit by the white moonlight. She is waiting.

I take the trail to the left, Eliane is left handed. The trail is still damp from the high tide, sand and salt splashing against my pajamas pants. I see a familiar giant of a tree. Its draping mangrove roots twirl out and around, invite me back to our hideaway from elementary years. She sits on a massive root watching, her wonderful blue eyes indigo in the darkness.

“How’d ya find me so fast, Jude?” She says. I can tell she is disappointed.

I say nothing at first and place the orange hibiscus next to her and tuck the belladonna in my t-shirt pocket. There’s a flash of a smile that hides behind her pout.

“I knew you were here the whole time,” I lie. “Besides, I thought we should talk.”

Eliane really pouts this time. I regret bringing up the talking. I don’t really want to talk either.

“Well, you know I’m leaving… so there,” she says and starts to climb to a higher limb.

Her small foot is grabbed by one of the twisting roots and she slips. My hands fly up and push her weight back onto the tree. We are both scared. “Don’t fall,” I say softly. My hands release from her backside. “Don’t fall.”

But Eliane is my Peter Pan so she puts her hands on her hips and pouts and says to me, “I don’t fall.”

I envy her ability to not fear. I fear. I fear about everything. I especially fear that Eliane will be leaving me. Once the summer is over, the boys will never leave me alone. I will be open game like that key deer.

“Then I’m coming up with you,” I say. I want to cherish our last sunrise with her. “Help me.”

“No,” she says. “Get up here yourself you big baby. I always help you”

I look at the girth of the massive tree and sigh. Anything for you, Eliane. I dig my fingernails into the damp bark and bring myself up and over a limb. I am on a lower branch than she; she is elevated above me as she should be. But I feel separate from her. My hand raises and I reach for her fingertips, her bitten nails the only imperfection on her. We sit like that, fingertips barely touching, and watch the sun rise above the mangrove trees and gray clouds. We are the sun chasers of Plantation Key.

~

I wake to my lungs being filled with water. The water rises with the sun which is at 7:15 am. Breakfast with Granny is at 7:00. I look for Eliane and she is nowhere. She must have gone back while the tide was lower. A black crab skitters across the back of my hand. I pick it up, it pinches me, I smash it against the tree.

Mom is waiting in the kitchen when I get home. She is baking some banana bread for the guests; I can smell the sweet smell of the over ripened fruit and musty chocolate being mixed together.

The bright yellow walls mounted with dead fish Dad has caught stare at me with their gaping frightened stares. The look my mother gives me as I walk in implies I should be on that yellow wall with the fish.

“Granny is in the living room waiting,” Mom says. She is whipping the banana bread batter furiously.

I don’t say anything, nod in understanding, and head for my room. My mother’s long red nails latch into my arm, banana goo seeping onto my skin. “Were you with…” she pauses. I can see the distaste as she speaks her name. “Eliane?” Again, I nod. She releases me with look of reproach. “Go clean up,” she whispers. “You’re tracking sand everywhere and you smell like crab.”

Granny is reading a salon book. She is a hairdresser. She sits in the brown wicker chair; her honey colored hair is pinned up to show off her colorful parrot earrings. She looks like island gift shop royalty. I clear my throat and she looks up from the page of different hair curlers. “Jude, my boy, come sit with Granny.” She motions to the little blue ottoman her feet rest on.

I am in my good kakis and favorite yellow polo. My hair is combed, but that doesn’t stop Granny from running her fuchsia nails through it as I sit in front of her. I sink low into that blue ottoman.

“So tell Granny, how is Eliane doing?” She is a big gossiper. That’s part of the hairstyling profession, so I tell her all my troubles. The ladies at the salon are entertained that way. I don’t mind. I really don’t.

“Eliane is moving,” I say. Just stating it makes my heart flood even more. “She is doing great though. I saw her last night.”

“Did you tell her that you love her yet?” Granny asks.

I shake my head in a sullen no. “She is moving. I don’t want to make things harder.”

“Maybe. That’s very noble of you Jude, but what if you told her you loved her and she felt the same way? Maybe you would stay in touch longer.”

I think about it. I had never considered this as a possibility. Hairdressers must be wise like that. They hear a lot of things, see a lot of things. It makes sense that they are secret therapists. “I’ll tell her then,” I say. “I will tell her tonight. She leaves tomorrow you know.”

“I know,” Granny says. She then hands me a cold crab cake. “Here, eat this. Made it myself.”

~

When I meet Eliane tonight I will tell her I love her. Granny has given me her support and even says to stop by the salon before I go so she can “fix me up”. The salon is ten minutes into town on bike so when I pedal up to Cherry’s Salon it is still dusk.

Granny is still doing the last customer’s hair. She looks up from the curling iron as the door jingles the bell. I am blasted with the sharp smell of nail polish, hairspray, and the faint sent of bubblegum. Granny’s shop is a lot like bubblegum. It’s bright and colorful and loud. Jimmy Buffett wails about five o’clock from the fuzzy wall speakers.

“Jude,” she says. She’s smacking on a big wad of lime green bubblegum. “Come here and meet Miss Vivian. She’s staying at your parent’s B and B, ya know.”

Miss Vivian is older than Granny. Her skin looks like a soggy brown paper bag, like the king Mom uses for my lunches, but her snow white hair looks great. “Nice to meet you Miss,” I say. I extend my hand for her to shake.

Miss Vivian gives me a limp fish of a handshake and croaks “Nice to meet you kiddo, didn’t realize you were David and Leanne’s.” The smell of cigarettes and lipstick wafts from her mouth. I crinkle my nose when she looks away and then go take a seat in the salon chair next to them. They continue whatever conversation they are having, but then Miss Vivian stops Granny and says, “Wait, is this the grandson who’s having girl problems?

“Well he won’t after tonight,” Granny says and gives me a wink. I slump in my chair from embarrassment. I never mind her telling stories about me because I was never there I realize.

Miss Vivian rests a soggy hand on mine and looks me in the eye. Her eyes are faint and glazed with all the things she’s seen. “Well I think you shouldn’t tell her.”

Granny gives Miss Vivian a threatening glare, the one that is usually reserved for my any of my thick-headedness. I quickly disarm both of them though. “Well, she’s going to be gone so I don’t think it will really matter whether I tell her or not. At least if I tell her now I won’t wonder.”

Miss Vivian slaps at Granny when the hot curler touches her ear. “Cher, pay attention!” Granny apologizes but I giggle. I imagine Miss Vivian’s brown paper bag skin crinkling with that heat.

“Well, I think that he should tell her, especially because it will make him happier,” Granny says. “Jude, don’t listen to this twit. She doesn’t know anything about love. She’s been married seven times and still hasn’t figured it out.”

Miss Vivian scowled but leaned forward, dragging Granny behind her with the curler. “It’s true,” she says. She splays out her spidery fingers. On seven of them there are seven different rings. “Why don’t you take one of them to-”

“Eliane,” I offer.

“Eliane,” she says. “What a pretty name. Well why don’t you take one to her? They didn’t work for them, it might work for you.”

This time Granny slaps Miss Vivian. “Don’t fill his head with ideas, fool.”

“I’m not asking him to get married Cher,” Miss Vivian takes the ring off her pinky finger. It’s delicate and enthrones a lone pearl. It reminds me so much of Eliane and her soul. It is pure and she is delicate. “Take this one. It should fit perfectly on her…well she isn’t fat is she?”

“No ma’am,” I say. “Not at all.” She hands me the pearl ring, I clasp it tight. “Thank you ma’am.”

Miss Vivian then jumps up, despite Granny’s protests, and heads for the checkout counter, Granny chasing after her with a thick can of hairspray.

“Cher!” Miss Vivian says and swats the can away. “Get this lover boy all fixed up.” Her hip is popped to the side on which one indignant fist rests. Her unfinished curls bob haphazardly around her head like slinkies.

~

Plantation Key is small. That’s probably why they made it part of the Village. I still remember when Plantation Key was only four thousand people and Eliane became the most important one. We were five. I’ve been in love with Eliane for seven years. Dad says that’s too long.

Night is here along with its soft breeze. It pushes me to Tangerine Bridge, the Tangerine Bridge which floats above the dark ocean below, where the tall light posts stand and hang their necks sleepily, their faces emitting that orange light. It is here where the boys see me. My head is down and my hand lies protectively over my pants pocket.

Don’t see me. I am not here.

There are five of them, Joe has collected more, and they all look the same in their cargo shorts and muscle-tees. They wear white socks to their calves with sandals- a fashion statement I’ve always seen as ridiculous and idiotic, yet I am frightened. Hidden in those socks are a ton of loose change picked up from the younger kids’ pockets- probably some of my lunch money, too. I’ve seen boys beaten senseless with those flailing contraptions. Carter Knowles even came back with sixteen stitches on his lip. Joe Knowles is a monster. Carter Knowles is his younger brother.

Don’t hurt me.

My head is down, I’m not paying attention. I hear the blare of the car horn just in time to jump from my bike. I land in the sandy pit in front of the Tangerine Bridge. I am covered in sand and I feel broken like the glass that the sand once embodied.

I hear the boys’ laughter, maniacal, joyful laughter. I am lifted to my feet from the back of my shirt. I choke with the pressure against my throat.

“How’s it going Jude?” Joe says.

I am scared. I feel like if I answer he’ll only hurt me more. This is the closest I’ve ever been to Joe. What do I say? How do I get away? If I run this time will he catch me? Five to one.

“Joe, let’s throw him over the bridge this time.”

“Hold on,” Joe says. He holds up a hand to hush his boy.

I am contorted, looking up at Joe. He is looking back, his eyes filled with hate. Why does he hate me? I then remember I am looking at him. And Joe hates it when I look at him. I look down at the ground where I know I will end up in a moment.

“Where is your friend Eliane, Jude? Where did she go?”

Do I answer? Joe shakes me by my collar. Yes.

“Eliane doesn’t like you,” I say. I don’t know why. It is a stupid thing to say because it makes Joe angry. I think Joe likes Eliane.

“What’d you say faggot?” Joe’s boys stand taller, their stances rumble as if they are going to burst- burst with hate on to me. But I am not going to be like Carter Knowles. The sun is going down and Eliane is waiting and I love her.

No one knows what to do when my fist connects with Joe’s face. I feel the satisfying snap of his nose. Blood is on my hand as I shake it, splattering my war paint in the air. I am king of Tuttle Bay and Eliane will be my queen.

I look at Joe- I look at Joe right in his beady blue eyes. He has gotten up and he stares back at me. I feel fearless in his presence, enough to boldly repeat myself. “I said Eliane doesn’t like you and never will you monstrous piece of-” I am pummeled to the ground by Joe’s boys.

Their weight crushes me but I do not feel it. The euphoria of my dominance has made me numb to their fists and bludgeoning socks. I am lifted high, higher, above all their heads. I am the king, I am the sun chaser king of Plantation Key.

And then I am thrown, my body tumbles. My legs are my arms, my arms my legs. The sound of rushing air roars through my head. I smell the salt and fish coming closer. I see Joe, his grinning impish face, and then I impact with the black nothingness below.

~

I hear them fighting again. My good eye, my right eye, rests onto Miss Vivian’s broken ring. The pearl, Eliane’s soul, lies in the middle- a small sun surrounded by its solar system.

I gather courage in overcoming the unavoidable pain in my abdomen. My feet thump onto the ground and I stand stalk still. I hear another sound. A soft moan and a creak of a floorboard. It is either the brewing winds again or one of the guests getting up to use the bathroom. It’s most likely Miss Vivian. She’s the oldest and the one who drinks the most of Mom’s Bloody Mary.

My small, boney feet shuffle across my bedroom floor. I sniffle in pain, my back aching from today’s fall. I never thought water could hurt so much and I’ve been tumbled in the waves countless times, especially on the rough Atlantic side.

Every move I make down the stairs initiates a crack and moan of wood. My mouth is clasped over by my hand as I take the steps two at a time, moving as slow as an iguana. I am suddenly reminded of a littler Eliane and I, secretly squatting at the base of the stairwell. We are turned towards the living room, watching “The Shining” from behind the wall after being banned from it by my parents.

The kitchen light bleeds through the archway along with sound of my parents’ quarrelling. I balance myself and squat, holding the railing as support. I lean forward and listen.

“But she instigates him!” Mom shouts. “Our little boy has his ass beaten by those punks, his eye is blacker than mussels and Miss Vivian brings him back to my door and you don’t think I go crazy?”

“My mother is just trying to help, it’s not her fault our son is a lunatic. I didn’t think he’d actually try to fight either.”

A lunatic. Dad thinks I’m a lunatic? But I suppose love makes us all go mad.

“Don’t say that,” Mom is still shouting. “He is not a lunatic. He just doesn’t understand.”

“Leanne, there is nothing to not understand,” Dad’s voice threatens to explode again. “Eliane is gone so how in the hell is Jude still going to see her every night?”

Eliane isn’t gone though. She doesn’t move until tomorrow I want to say.

“I don’t know. It’s something psychological. Maybe he feels guilty over it so he keeps playing the situation over and over in his head.”

Guilty over what? My mind is inverting, spinning, my legs are dissolving beneath me.

“What if we take him to see her?”

“We don’t want to scare him, David.”

“Well if we don’t do something soon Leanne, your hibiscus bush will be naked.”

“What are they sayin’?” Miss Vivian’s husky voice breaks through my concentration. I tense and my balance is lost and I slam against the stair railing. I hear Dad’s heavy footfalls walk quickly out. He stands before me, a hulking dark figure in an eerie yellow light. I gather myself and run quickly back up the stairs, nearly knocking down a startled Miss Vivian.

“Dammit,” Dad says. I hear him start following me up the stairs. “Jude, come here me and your mother need to talk to you.”

I don’t listen. Eliane never liked Dad. Why should I like him?

“Jude, please,” Mom says. She isn’t shouting anymore. She’s done with that. Now I hear her. She is worried. But why? Why are they worried? And why don’t they like Eliane? Everyone loves Eliane. I love her.

I don’t stop though. I keep running. I run up those stairs and into my bedroom, slamming the door hard behind me. I don’t care if I wake up all of Plantation Key, I am going to see Eliane and tell her I Iove her.

I turn and I am horrified. Someone has nailed my window shut. Why? Why do they not want me to see her? I have to see Eliane. She will be waiting for me. And Eliane hates waiting for me. My fingernails dig deep under the jagged nails and begin to pry them up. I ignore the pounding on my door as the pounding of my heart is louder. The last nail flies away and my scarlet fingers yank open the window. I don’t hear Mom and Dad pounding anymore and take my chance.

I am perched on the windowsill, ready to jump when the fleeting thought of the pearl ring rushes into my head. I quickly risk going back to bedside table, grab the broken ring and slide across hardwood floor to the window. I jump through it and land in the sea of ferns and hibiscus bushes. I pull myself out, the branches sucking me backward. But Eliane is waiting.

I yank free. It’s a race against the sun, but I will see her. Eliane, she will know that I love her.

~

Her bedroom window is open, the gossamer curtains fluttering in the wind. I run up to them and tug. She doesn’t come. “Eliane,” the thick night air takes the name.

“Eliane,” I say again, louder. And then she is there at the window. She is looking at me, two little oceans reflecting back.

“Help me up,” I say.

She shakes her head vigorously; her golden hair ripples. “I can’t Jude. Even you are too heavy for me.”

“But the window is too high… Do you have a ladder?”

“No.”

But I must see Eliane.

Out of the corner of my eye I see a few bags of cat food. Mr. Blanchard keeps it there for their outdoor cats. It will have to do.

Cuddles, Crabs, and Conch hunker low as I approach them. They are hissing at me. They usually don’t but I suppose it is dark and they don’t recognize me. The bags are heavy, but I drag them over one by one. I stack them, one on top of the other until they give me enough height to climb through Eliane’s window. Cuddles, Crabs, and Conch follow me, surveying every move I make with their precious food.

I hoist myself up. Eliane watches like her cats, my every move. She stands back as I climb through the threshold and land into the barren room. I have forgotten. Eliane is leaving. Her life has already been packed away into boxes and the truck has taken them to Seattle. I hate Seattle.

“Eliane, I have to tell you something,” I say. My mouth is dry. I don’t know if it is from the heat or my nerves. What if she doesn’t love me back? What will happen to us? I can’t live without Eliane.

I reach for Eliane. Before I can claim her, the bedroom door bursts open and we both jump. A tall man steps through, warped by darkness and moonlight.

“What the hell are you doing in my house?” He yells. This man, he doesn’t look like Mr. Blanchard.

“Who is that?” I ask Eliane.

“I don’t know,” she says. I can see fear in her big eyes.

“Get out,” the man yells at us. “Get out of here.”

“Eliane,” I say. I reach out my hand. She ignores my gesture and runs for the window. I follow her, already knowing where she is going.

~

The mangrove tree waits for us as always. Its long willowy arms invite us back, to which we run. Eliane perches on her favorite branch at the very top and I follow. I am sore, but I convince myself it doesn’t matter.

We face each other on the same branch. She is looking at me. She smiles and I smile back. Inside, I feel like a soda bottle all shook up. I let out a decompressing sigh, my soda’s fizz escaping.

“Eliane,” I say. I then remember the ring and pull it out of my pocket with nervous hands. The pearl that reminds me so much of Eliane slips through my fingers and falls-

But it is not the pearl. It is Eliane. It is the day before we’ve left and we are sitting on the high branch together. She says “I’m moving.” I am mad. She didn’t tell me, she told the class before she told me. I was nothing. I was just another classmate.

“Why don’t you like me?” I say. “You’re my best friend.” More than that, I love you.

And then I hear what I must have ignored that day through my anger, my frustration. “Because you were the hardest one to tell, stupid.”

“You’re selfish Eliane,” I say, shoving her. She shoves me back and I slip, lose my balance. I reach for her hair, her beautiful golden hair, and yank myself up. She screams and punches me and then she is falling. She screams my name but I don’t do anything. I can’t do anything.

It was Eliane. She slipped and I watched her fall.

~

“I’m sorry,” I say. I am crying. I can’t help it. What has happened? Why did she have to leave me like she did? Why did I do nothing?

I feel a cool breeze across my face and I open my eyes. Eliane has placed her hands on either side of my face. They feel soft just like I remember them. “Stop crying,” She says. “I forgive you.”

I swallow the hard, unforgiving lump in my throat and look into her eyes. “What?”

“I forgive you.”

She takes her hands away from my face and folds them neatly in the basin of her dress. I pull out the ring and play with it a moment. Jude, you faggot, just tell her.

“Eliane,” I say. I don’t look up. I just focus everything into that little ring. “I love you.”

Nothing. Not a gasp, not a word. I look up. Eliane is smiling at me. She begins to giggle. I am hurt. I knew this was a bad idea. I knew Mom was right. I shouldn’t listen to someone who sniffs hairspray all day.

There is another breeze and I see Eliane’s little hands cup my own; two wedding doves. I look at her eyes again.

“I know,” she says.

I smile. “No you didn’t.” I am still wary.

“Yes, I did. I always did. And I love you too. You’re my best friend. We were always supposed to be together, I just knew it. I’m just sorry you had to hold on for so long Jude. It wasn’t fair.”

My smile quickly fades. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.”

“I know.” She says. But she smiles again. “Jude, what do you want?”

What do I want? To be with you forever even though, in some odd way, I know this is the last time I will see you. I want to hold your hand, and look at the sun rise for a new day. A new day, another day, because for me I know the days will continue to roll by until my skin is soggy and brown like Miss Vivian’s.

“To watch the sun one last time with you,” I say.

She doesn’t say anything. Her soft, dove hands hook onto my arm as she turns to face the sun. I face it with her and we watch it together. It rises, higher and higher above the horizon until it is on the same level as us. We are the sun chaser king and queen of Plantation Key.

The day begins to turn orange, pink, and blue. Eliane is my sun. “What do you want?” I ask her. The horizon is a wonderful mix of bright watercolors.

Eliane rests her head gently on my shoulder. “For you to chase the sun.”

I smile at the sun. “Anything for you, Eliane.”