Valentine Story: Searching For The Pattern, Part 2

First you wonder if they’re separate stories, but no, they’re not, they’re contingent stories
and they form a pattern. And you begin with some of the island as the
place to which the heroine of the book returns.
– Robert Creely

The plane taxis down the short runway alongside the water’s edge. When it reaches the end, the pilot makes a slow 180-degree turn, halts momentarily, then proceeds full speed. The huge aircraft lifts off with the thrust of its engines, climbs through scattered clouds, banks and heads out to sea. She peers down on the rough Atlantic swells, far from the gentle Caribbean side where she spends her days and languishes by night. She glances back at the mysterious peaks, pays homage to the jungle-covered hillsides and watches the pattern of galvanized roofs and multicolored cottages recede until they disappear. She strains for a last fleeting glimpse of the island through the floating wisps of clouds and wonders – how long before she will return.

It’s never one story – it’s many stories intertwined, or two running parallel. At some point they intersect, gain momentum, then remain at odds hovering like an early morning mist.

Oceans keep them apart, but the sea will bring them together. He dreams of flying – she a bird in flight.

On a brief spice island sojourn she chose the red silk scarf with the white bird pattern. When they returned to pick it up he disappeared, waiting for her in the harbor. Three years later he wrapped it around her and tied a knot.

Like any true story, it will be sprinkled with fantasy.

As the aircraft begins its descent she sees the outline of the lush island begin to form. The pilot always at the mercy of the weather patterns skillfully approaches from another direction. During the last hurricane they had been trapped inside by gale force winds and pelting rains for three days. When she emerged from the wood cottage uprooted trees and debris lay strewn everywhere. The plane hits the weather beaten tarmac, brakes hard and then glides to slow. She thinks of the secluded cove and the patterns of the waves she knows so well. She imagines how the rocks will have formed a new pattern – how the sands will have shifted. The plane comes to a stop, she gathers her bags, walks to the doorway and steps out into the tropical heat. She wonders if it will be the same story – or a new one. She wonders how long she will stay…