#apollobar

All jagged edges and rough cuts have been erased from the fragment along with any sign of what it once was. Now replaced with rounded curves and polished sides that Lucy imagines must be smooth to the touch. She remembers learning of sea glass long ago, reading about it in an elementary science class. Her textbook had explained about the effects of weathering and erosion; how shards of broken bottles, plates, or jars are worn down overtime. The tides push and pull while carrying it miles away. A journey, Lucy vaguely recalls, takes years for glass to become as opaque as the pebble that now lays at her feet. She lifts her head and looks beyond the bank, beyond the smoothed glass and the chorus of waves crashing against each other.

Her eyes fall on the horizon, where the sky touches the expanding sea and she scans the line searching for a clue to the sea glass’ origins. How long has it been away from home? She wonders. She waits for a response but a silent ocean taunts her, holding tightly to its secrets. The deceptive peace and the absence of everything that she and the glass have been through pulls at her insides, twisting and tearing until she can no longer hold herself up. Lucy drops to her hands and knees, and she can feel the contents of her stomach threatening to spill out. Sand digs into her skin as she grips it. Needing something to hold onto and give her balance while she fights to keep what little she has left inside. But as she claws the beach, her lifeline escapes through her fingers. Flowing back to the shore and with nothing left to keep her steady, the remaining contents of her stomach eventually follow.

When there is nothing left to give up, she rolls onto her side, unable to bring herself to stand.

At least not right now. 

 The warm sand, baked from the afternoon sun, is inviting enough to convince her to lay down for a few moments longer. The emerald shard of glass now sits a few inches from her face and without thinking she reaches out and takes it. Lucy squeezes her hand shut, all the danger of broken glass long since worn away and with the pad of her thumb she outlines the bumps and divots of the stone over and over again as if running her fingers along a piece of die. 

The voice beyond is beginning to get louder now, he will find her any minute now but she’s not ready to face it. Just give me a few moments more, she pleads to herself. Her eyes fix back onto the task in front of her. Fingers, sticky with sand, occasionally grind against the stone as she moves it around in her palm. An action that emits a crunching sound similar to that of stepping onto gravel. The noise is quiet but distraction enough to pull her focus back in.

Lucy can’t help but feel a connection to the poor glass. Both of them in an indescribable distance away from home, forever changed by a journey they never asked for, but swept into nonetheless. She clenches her fist, pulling it protectively against her chest. Memories of home call upon an ache that has settled itself within her heart, and Lucy is unsure of how long it has been there. The pain conjuring up thoughts of how long it will be until she can go back home-if she can at all? Or will she become more like the traveler in her palm, destined never to return? The hot sand, the advancing desperate shouts, and smell of saline begin to overwhelm her. In an attempt to push out the world, she squeezes her eyes shut. However, the pulse of the beach is no longer loud enough to drown out her environment and a familiar voice has finally reached her.

“Chen! Where have you been? My god, what happened?” 

There is a sternness and sincerity to his tone that only he can bring and she doesn’t need to open her eyes to recognize who it is. So when his hands tentatively touch her shoulders, warm and solid, she doesn’t flinch. She knows it’s Tim. Her teacher, her friend, and now fellow survivor.

 She opens her eyes as she lets him pull her up into a sitting position, his own scanning her for signs of new injuries. It’s only when he finds none does his concern fall to annoyance. 

“We have been calling your name for ten minutes, boot. You know better than to just go off on your own and start ignoring everyone. After everything that has happened..” His voice falters and he fights to get it back under control of it, taking in a short breath and twisting chapped lips. Tim’s habit and pathological need to remain in control is so soaked in normalcy that Lucy can’t help but laugh at it. At the sheer ridiculousness of it all. 

“This isn’t funny.” He tells her, taken aback at the absurdity of her reaction.

“I’m sorry,” she chokes out while lifting her head towards the sky in disbelief, “You’re right, I know. It’s not funny. None of this is funny.” The insincere fit of laughter trickles away with her last few words and flows seamlessly into tears. After the intensity of the last few days, the nights adrift at sea and the morning’s fleeting relief of finding land, Lucy had not let herself grieve. Not allowed the reality of their situation sink in. 

Tim is quick to pull her into his arms, sheltering her from the wind and bringing a comfort only an old friend could provide, his initial annoyance now dissipated. The intimacy of the touch is uncommon and foreign between them, but Lucy allows herself to welcome the reassurance it unexpectedly brings. She tucks her head under his chin while hot streams glide down her cheeks. Lucy knows this situation has taken so much from them both, from them all, and will continue to ask more of them as the days go on, but she is grateful for his patience at this moment. A moment that is needed. A moment that has been earned.

 When her breathing falls back to even strides, she attempts to peel herself away, afraid of overstaying her welcome. But Tim’s arms tighten without a word and Lucy suspects that he needs a moment as well. So she gives it to him, instead taking the time to really look at his appearance for the first time.

Much like Lucy, Tim’s clothes are dirty and torn with fresh purple bruises staining his exposed arms. Red blotches have soaked into his shirt, and those thick pieces of cloth that stick to his torso like glue have now transferred onto her own shirt. She lingers for a moment on the rubber, yellow band around his wrist at her side. The same one they all eagerly put on a few days ago, now smudged with dirt and blood. Evidence of a vacation gone wrong. 

She braves a look at his face and his eyes catch hers, exhaustion and worry hidden within the lines tucked around his mouth and the creases between his brows. With their experience of being police officers, and Tim’s added time in the military, they’ve both been through traumatic events before, trained to handle the most stressful of situations. However, the LAPD doesn’t hold many courses on shipwrecks, and Lucy can’t recall ever receiving a Tim Test on what to do in the case of being stranded on a deserted island. They are in unfamiliar territory, and no amount of training fully prepared them for a situation like this. Rookies again.

Finally, as a silence begins to nestle between them, Tim pulls away and Lucy watches him debate on what he should say next. He shifts around a bit, growing uncomfortable in the quiet and from the kneeling position he had taken earlier. She imagines what he could be thinking, knowing “Are you okay?” must feel like too lame of a question and“Get up, let’s get moving” while more in line with Tim's usual rough demeanor, perhaps too harsh even for him in this present moment. He is the first one to break eye contact as he finally stands, stretching his legs. The silent debate in his mind seemingly over and won.

“What are you doing out here?” He asks finally, his question soft and low. For a second, she’s taken aback by the unusual gentleness he continues to show her. But when she feels some of the heaviness in her shoulders release, slightly, but as if lifted up by a balloon, she is thankful for his tenderness. Lucy looks down at her feet. A single brown boot on one foot, and she wriggles the uncovered toes of the other drawing his attention.

“My shoe.” She responds, and Tim raises an eyebrow. “I just wanted to find my shoe.” 

“After the rescue boat shows up, I’ll take you to buy a new pair, hell about twenty?” He proposes and it’s his turn to smile. It's small but there, and Lucy can’t help but feel the infectious pull of it.

“You are going to take me?” She teases and Tim scoffs.

“Why is that so shocking? I’m probably not as good as Angela, but I know my way around a shoe store.” He jokes and it is enough to bring a genuine grin out of her. 

Seizing the moment, Tim stretches out an arm and Lucy takes it, accepting his offer to help her to her feet. As she rises, the island beneath her sways and the clouds spin causing her to stumble. Tim is quick, as he often is, and steadies her by grabbing her elbow. Keeping her upright as he waits for her world to stop spinning. 

“Thank you.” She tells him, after a breath, and they both know that her words are meant for more than just this moment. 

There’s a pause before Tim says, “Rescue is going to come.” His voice is sure and absent of any doubt and Lucy notices the hand still cradling her elbow. 

“I know,” she whispers. And she does. Lucy has always been clever, and the logical part of her knows that Tim Bradford is right. With the advancement of modern technology, the likelihood of rescue boats arriving any minute now is high and there is no need for panic. So when Tim suggests they go back to the group and wait for help, she doesn’t argue. However, as he guides her back to their friends and fellow survivors, to their humble beginnings of a campsite not meant to last, the ache in her chest tightens. And the weight of the seaglass, still secure in the palm of her hand, grows heavier than ever.