Chapter 2

The needles, thin and delicate, continued their pulsating rhythm into my body; beginning at my toes and making their way up, entangling first my heels, then my ankles, moving upward, upward...countless pricks, soft and slow and first.  A little more than a tickle.  I giggled, what was this game?  I could not tell if I enjoyed it or not.  The pricks continued, making their way up my shins, when all of a sudden.. "Ouch!" I exclaimed, as the needles became knives, slashing and sawing and pulling and breaking--this game is not fun!  I thought, pulling my legs into myself, "Stop!" I shrieked, an irony taste rising to meet my lips.  It was the taste of blood.  

***

Brush my teeth.  Comb my curly, chestnut-colored hair.  Thrown on a pair of black jeans and a white tank.  Lace my boots.  I just adored the mysterious feeling of sneaking out early, no one aware of my location, lost in the world.  

Climbing out the large window next to my bed, I landed with a thump on the ground, crunching leaves beneath my boots.  Opening my eyes, I strained them to adjust to the darkness of Portola at 5:45 in the morning.

I always took the back route, just to be careful. Using the path behind our house instead of running past the countless other brick homes on our street, was always more secretive and definitely more mysterious.  The path's entrance began directly to the left of my cousin Belle's playground.  It was tricky to find in the complete darkness, but I always managed to find it.  The path was thin and began with a dirt floor, trees looming above. Once the path emptied was when it was imperative that I was extra careful.  The path's exit took one directly behind the most popular and most exclusive building in town, the government building. Massive and completely brick, the government building was the heart of Portola, surrounding it was the rest of the town.

Portola, California could be summed up in four words: overpriced, diverse, workaholic, beautiful.  Many people labeled it the "ideal" town.  All brick buildings, countless fountains and well built homes, landscaped parks, and even beach access fifteen minutes away.  However, more beautiful than any of the towns most popular amenities, were the gorgeous sunrises that sprinkled themselves across the morning sky day after day.  

Wednesdays were "Sunrise Wednesdays."  After Shae, my crazy best friend, decided one morning that the sunrises were too beautiful to be slept through, we dedicated every Wednesday morning to watching the sky evolve into its unique portrait, everyday different than the next.  The experience was heightened by the unspoken rules that came about: 1) No one but the two of us were to know about Sunrise Wednesdays, 2) We were always to meet at the sand dune with all of the slates of rock, at approximately 5:45 AM, and 3) We were never to talk while watching the sunrises.  These rules were not only necessary, but helpful to making the experience more solemn, and in a way, a religious one.

On this particular morning, I arrived at the dune first, after taking the second path--this one much more closed to public.  Me arriving first was something that rarely ever happened.  Shae, living with six other brothers and sisters, was always eager to flee his house as soon as possible.  I, on the other hand, just slept in a room with Will, my cousins in other rooms nearby, and so I treasured every moment of sleep that I could get.  

The air was crisp and cool, the ocean and the sky still dark.  I located our dune, dug out a seat, and reclined, head tilted upward in anticipation.