Someone Else's Ocean

by Kate Stewart

In our short summer together, years ago, he’d poked fun at my sandals when I refused to take them off. As a six-year-old, I was convinced my few wardrobe staples in life would be my father’s Fruit of the Loom white T-shirts that fell below my knees, gold belt, and matching sandals. I had a thing for Greek mythology, especially Aphrodite and I hadn’t really grown out of it. I shrugged, looking down to admire my new sandals. “Some things don’t change.” “But some things do,” he said carefully, studying me closely in my spaghetti strap white sundress. The morning sun’s effect paled in comparison to the current of heat that swept through me as our eyes locked. Ian broke contact first, pulling a hammer from one of the bags on the porch. With the way he swung that hammer, I felt like I had my very own Greek deity, my own Sucellus in front of me.