jackson
“There’s probably nothing sexier than a good sense of humor, is there? Let’s hope everyone left room in their baggage for a little bit of that.”
~Isla Fairfax, Playing With Matches Confessionals
When I getup for my run the next morning, Isla surprises me. She’s already up and dressed in white shorts and a flowy pink-and-green patterned top.
“Morning!” she tucks a small, amber glass vial in her pocket.
“Going somewhere?” I ask her.
“I thought I’d take a walk on the beach, do some meditation, and then check in with the crew to make sure the details for all the dates are coming together,” Isla says. “You going for a run?”
“I was thinking about it, but honestly, I’m a little sore from windsurfing. I’d rather take a walk. Mind if I tag along?”
“Sure, I’d love that,” she says.
The air is moist and fresh and pleasantly cool thanks to an early morning shower. When we get to the waterfront path, the sun bursts out from behind a cloud and the sky lights up in technicolor. Isla gasps with delight, grabs my hand, and drags me down toward the beach.
“Look - another double rainbow!” she says excitedly. “Second one in two days? It’s such a good sign!”
“It’s not a sign, Isla. It’s an atmospheric occurrence. It’s refraction. I think it happens a lot here because of ocean currents and rapidly changing weather.”
“Which ismagical,” she utters sagely. “Which color is your favorite, Jackson?”
“I don’t know, black?” I say, noticing we’re still holding hands. I can’t recall the last time I held hands with anyone as an adult. Most of my encounters with the female kind don’t involve a lot of innocent hand holding. Isla laces her fingers between mine. It feels so nice. So easy. She swings our arms.
“Don’t be like that. Black is not a color. And I know you know that.”
“Fine,” I glance around at the lush vegetation just beyond the sand. “Green. I like how green it is here. Every shade of green.”
The greenery on the island puts even Washington State to shame. Everything is supersaturated, like Isla’s wardrobe. It’s like stepping into Oz.
“I like green, too,” Isla agrees animatedly, glancing down at her top. “Especially with pink. Such a great combo, and diametric opposites on the color wheel. It creates good vibrations.”
“Right,” I say, raising a skeptical eyebrow. But her colorful shirt does make me smile. The little palm trees and flamingos are so cheerful. Or maybe it’s just Isla.
We take the path down to the beach and stroll along the shoreline in the wet sand. The beach isn’t crowded yet. In fact, there’s barely anyone in sight. Early mornings here are my favorite time. I love how simple and genuine morning tasks are. There’s no subterfuge in hosing down the patios and setting up the beach chairs. Nobody’s faking anyone out or tricking them when they put out towels or make breakfast. It’s too early for fakeness. Fakeness is a post-coffee activity.
We separate when we stop at the water’s edge. We let go of each other’s hands so we can kick off our shoes and walk barefoot in the sand. But the minute I let go of Isla’s hand, I feel like something is missing, like someone adjusted the screen and not in a good way. The colors are duller. The sand is less velvety. The humidity seems more cloying.
Isla reaches into her pocket and pulls out the vial. She unscrews the lid, and I see that it’s got a roller ball top. She rolls it on her palms and rubs her hands together. Then she stops, cups her hands, and breathes in deeply. Three times.
“What are you doing?” I ask her.
“Just a little cleansing breathing.” She holds out the vial and I sniff it. “Peppermint always sets me straight. Want some?”
“No, thanks,” I decline the offer, shaking out my arms and legs and bouncing on my feet. “I’m not into that stuff. There’s nothing magic about essential oils.”
“What areyoudoing?” she cocks her head and puts her hands on her hips.
“Just shaking it out,” I say.
“So you’re not into oils, but you’re into somatic practice?” Isla bites her lip and reaches out her hand. “Give me your hand, Jackson,”
“No,” I instinctively tuck my hands under my armpits. “What’s somatic practice, now?”
“It’s a way of releasing anxiety and trauma,” Isla says. “By shaking it out. It’s very effective, especially when done with intention.”
