Hilltown and Seatown

When the moon had been full in Seatown, plums would grow on the evergreen trees no matter the season. They would fall scattered across the brown sand beaches, bleeding juice and pulp everywhere, and the tide would wash them away. Laura would sink her teeth into them and they would taste like stardust and violets, as her dog chased the waves.

In Hilltown, everything tasted like dust, even when the moon was full.

Laura would walk along the paths on the outskirts of Hilltown as the sun sank into a field of scratchy-looking blue grass, and the wind would blow across the empty, desolate field. When no one was there to see, she would close her eyes and, if she tried hard enough, the sound of the grass in the wind was the hiss of waves crashing against the sand.

In these instances, Laura wanted the sound to calm her. But like the tide, as soon as it washed away and she opened her eyes, it would divide in half what was sprinkled in and take her tranquility away while leaving only hatred washed up upon the shores of her soul.

She hated that the earth had decided one day, in a strike of cruel and terrible fate, to wake up and roll over, swallowing Seatown far deep down into its stomach where she could never reach. She hated Hilltown. She hated that there were no hills. She hated that there were only flat meadows, stretching out on all sides and locking the town away from the beaches. She hated the houses that looked exactly the same, a gallery of ugly stock photos, with red bricks and white paint and green shutters. She hated that it was never the perfect temperature. She hated that the forest floor was bare, like someone had walked through and swept up all the ferns and moss and lichen. She hated the dust that would roll across the town when it was particularly hot, and get in everything. She hated that the moon never turned blue. She hated the people who smiled too much and who probably didn’t mean their smiles, who didn’t grow plums in their backyards. Most of all, she hated that Hilltown was not Seatown.

As it so happened, Laura had been the only person lucky enough to escape the hungry movements of the treacherous earth because she was the only person out of Seatown that exact minute, that exact hour. She had been a mile north, at a museum, to see a collection of ocean fossils. Everything she knew disappeared as she remained in peaceful oblivion. Her gray house, her flower garden, her belongings, her dog. All that remained of her life were the things in her pockets and her broken-down car. The mayor from the next town over, who had offered to help any stragglers—a party of one—had found a place for her in Hilltown. He pointed, and she drove, and drove, and wept, wishing that the earth had at least saved her dog, that she could at least be beside her in the passenger seat, howling out the window like a happy whale. She found herself believing that the earth sparing her alone was a unique form of divine punishment.

Laura was on one of her evening walks in Hilltown, over cracked concrete and through the stock-image town, ending on the fringes of the empty, sullen field. The wind roared. The sun was a few yards from the horizon. Laura opened her eyes.

Had she truly heard what she just heard? It couldn’t be.

No; Yes; There it was again. It wasn’t the wind, it was a wail, melodious and sequestered. A whale-song.

Laura waded into the grass in pursuit of the delicate voice's owner. The grass wrapped around her calves, but it did not itch like she thought it might. It was surprisingly soft. She thought of wading through the cool water of the coves in Seatown, underneath the shadows of the clay cliffs and the Sitka Spruce, the one that people called the tree of life. The crash of foam against sand. The distant seagull cries. White sailboats across the water, melting into a horizon of rainclouds. Her dog, running ahead of her, but swiveling every so often to find Laura.

It was hard, she thought, as she pressed through the grass, rolling those memories across her palms. She could only barely touch them. Like a piece of ice that began to melt as you held it. Hold on too long and the memories begin to sting. She could not think of her home anymore without feeling the pain of the knowledge that she could never return. She did not know how she could ever be happy again. She had once been full of love, and now all she could muster up was hatred, no matter how hard she tried: clenching her teeth until she turned purple. Sometimes, even going for a walk was the worst feeling in the world, because she felt herself reaching for the leash on instinct at the front door.

Clouds rolled across the sky above her. But they would not bring rain. It never rained in Hilltown. There it was again, the song. It had not grown louder or softer, as if it had travelled with her, been delivered to her.

Laura walked a few paces more and came to the edge of something. A divot where the ground fell away like an ice cream scoop, and there it was.

The whale was dead. Its cerulean shape made the blue grass look golden. It was spread upon the meadow on its side, its eyes shut, as if it was asleep. No wound in its side, no blood or exposed flesh. Simply dead. She knew this whale. They could only be found in the waters around Seatown. But she knew this whale in another way, too. Trembling, Laura forged down the side of the valley and took three steps before reaching the gargantuan mammal.

She reached out and touched it and knew it was at peace.

Just then, it began to rain.

Startled by the sound of raindrops hitting the surface of water, Laura crouched to look around the side of the whale and found it. A tiny creek, like a silver thread, gurgling through the blue meadow and rolling somewhere far away.

Laura thought of following it, like picking up the thread and drawing herself to the source, where it was going that she could never reach.

But she couldn’t bring herself to. The whale was here for her. Perhaps they were the last living beings from Seatown.

Well, now she was the last.

Laura pressed her forehead against the whale’s blue skin as the rain washed over them, the sun still bright in the sky, sinking into whatever existed beyond the horizon. The raindrops were purple, like plum juice. Laura walked back to Hilltown in the humid twilight that brushed against her cheeks like kisses. People were making TV dinners, sipping evening coffees. Vacuuming linoleum. Watering the flowers outside of their painted green shutters. The air was warm, and humming with drowsiness. She could hear kids jumping on a trampoline somewhere. The meadow whispered to her, the moon turning everything silver.

For a moment, she glimpsed it so clearly; her dog amongst the blue grasses, running and running into the expanse, like water, until Laura couldn’t see her anymore, but could hear her voice, like a song.

The next day, when Laura returned, the whale carcass was gone. In its place amongst the grasses was a fresh, black mound of soil, and the bright green shoot of a baby plum tree.