1
THE SUN WAS SETTING … everything was calm. Amber and gold reflected off the ocean’s blue face. The reflection danced like a pair of ballerinas until it reached the banks of the shore. Sitting on the sand looking out towards the sunset was a man deep in thought. He watched the sun go down as if he expected it to say something.
He was only vaguely aware of the sound of drums coming from the apartment complex behind him and the man flying a drone to get the “perfect shot” of the sunset. Neither mattered. His thoughts and emotions were as rampant as the colors dancing off the ocean’s surface.
The man’s name was Martin Weatherford. Even sitting down, you could tell the man was tall—6’4”, at the very least. He had prominent cheek bones and three freckles on his left cheek that looked like the Big Dipper. A reddish hue from a recovering sun burn adorned the exposed parts of his skin. Then there were his eyes … A vibrant blue that were as intimidating to look at as they were beautiful. His eyes were filled with remorse and fierce sadness. Like a leech, gloom sapped his hope away.
The sun began its reunion with the water, its final moments on the horizon before its farewell. Martin’s thoughts changed with the sun.
Why sun-set? Set has so many different definitions. Not to mention over twenty expressions starting from the word set. Set in motion … set forth … set one’s heart upon …
Martin closed his eyes tightly. He had set his heart upon many things and had failed repeatedly. The creation of a family, fulfilling his father’s expectations, impressing his nation … Yet it all felt small in comparison to the betrayal he felt. He tried to be understanding of the situation and everything he had been told … but that was not how he was raised.
“Actions speak louder than words,” he echoed. “What I set in motion is my doing and no one else’s. I am to act on situations ... not be acted upon.”
The drone crashed into the waves. Its constant buzzing was engulfed by the low roar of the ocean. A muffled whimper put a smirk on Martin’s face as the man set out to salvage the drone. In the distance, yells from the drummer’s parents silenced the beat. The calm made a welcome return. The sound of crashing waves set in all around him.
Set … Having a specified direction in motion. I envy you, Mr. Sun …
Martin stood up and brushed the sand off of his hands.
“Time to head back home,” he said to the ocean.
Martin made his way southward alongside the breaking waves. He lived almost as close to the Mexican border as possible. The town of Imperial Beach, California, had become his new home. 1112 Seaside Avenue was his safe haven. Although it had only been six months since he had isolated himself, he felt subtle changes freeing him from past attachments. His new haircut was an example of this change. Past societal pressures had pushed him to nearly commit some unspeakable things. He shuttered at the thought.
Martin gazed back towards the horizon as he reached where the sand met the cement. The sky was in splendid display, its colors splashing across the ocean and the clouds. All that was missing was the hallelujah chorus.
Something reached into the deepest corners of Martin’s mourning heart that he hadn’t experienced in a very long time … Optimism. For the first time since he’d left home over a year ago, he felt optimism’s blissful reassurance. Things may not have been ideal, but somehow, he knew they would get better. With the last sliver of light, the sun made its escape behind the horizon, leaving remnants of red and amber speckled across the water and clouds.
“May I also leave an imprint on humankind as beautiful as you when I am gone, Mr. Sun,” whispered Martin.
With that, Martin gestured toward the sun like a monk praying with ring fingers bent. An odd gesture to the outside world, but one of the highest respects to those familiar with its meaning.
Martin walked around the corner to the front entrance of his apartment. He rented from a large woman who owned the place by the name of Arlene Palermo. An orthopedic surgeon by trade, she was of Portuguese descent and loved theatrics. She was a big fan of Martin because he had read every Shakespeare play she had and could quote lines and discuss the underlying meanings.
From Trinculo’s lines from The Tempest to Hamlet’s “To be or not to be” speech, Martin had them down. (Although most things he read he never forgot.) Safe to say, Martin was Arlene Palermo’s favorite tenant and made no effort to hide it. Every time their paths crossed, she would greet Martin in the most formal of speech from which Martin would match. It was common courtesy for Martin, but just like common sense, common courtesy “wasn’t so common” as Arlene would say.
Ms. Palermo stood on the sidewalk looking completely preoccupied by something. She whipped around, frantically looking in all directions before quickly resting her eyes on Martin. Panic was in her eyes and no sign of theatrics were on display. Genuine surprise filled her expressive face.
“Good evening Ms. Palermo, is everything alright?” asked Martin.
“Martin! Oh, thank goodness you’ve arrived! I was cleaning the windows when I looked down and saw someone come to your front door covered head to toe in a tattered robe. I thought it strange because it’s been rather warm lately but then as I was walking to the door there was this flash of light and it startled me so much that I hesitated and then—”
“Ms. Palermo! Please calm down, madam. I’m sure it was just some local kids attempting some sort of prank.”
“No, but that’s just it, Martin dear! When I worked up the courage to shoo him away, he was nowhere to be found. What’s more … As soon as I made it down the stairs, what did I see? A child on your front step!”
Silence fell between them as confusion overtook Martin.
“Come with me, my dear. I should have gone to the child first instead of looking for the deserter. Come, come, come …”
Ms. Palermo walked to the front of the apartment with Martin faster than he had ever seen her move. She was surprisingly spry despite her age and size. Reaching the front of Martin’s apartment, their demeanor quickly changed to a quieter one. There was, in fact, a baby sound asleep in what appeared to be singed blankets. The faint smell of smoke hung in the air.
“Ms. Palermo, may I?” whispered Martin, gesturing to the child.
“By all means, Martin dear.”
Inspecting the child carefully, Martin started looking for any other contents the child may have arrived with. The child had golden-brown skin and brown hair with amber sprinkled throughout. It lit up with the light making it look like coals on the baby’s head. Martin’s eyes settled on a piece of paper tucked underneath the child’s head. As carefully as he could, he lifted the baby’s head and beckoned Ms. Palermo over.
“Please grab the letter, Ms. Palermo.”
She glided over quietly, leaned in, and gently slid the paper out from under the infant’s head. Cautiously, Martin lowered the child’s head back to its original position. Right before he could retrieve his hand, the baby gently grabbed his ring finger. Reassurance filled the baby’s face, coupled with an adorable yawn. Martin smiled.
Gently, Martin picked up the child and cradled him in his arms. In response, the child immediately turned over to make itself more comfortable.
What have you been through, young one? Who are you?
Returning his gaze to Ms. Palermo, her face changed expressions almost as fast as it changed colors. Glancing at the piece of paper, her eyes widened and then looked back at Martin.
“It’s addressed to you!” Ms. Palermo hissed, causing the child to flinch. The child squeezed Martin’s ring finger a little bit tighter.
“What?!” Martin mouthed, his eyes widening with surprise.
Did they find me? No, that’s impossible. I was too thorough and far too random. Even I didn’t know where I would end up when I set off …
Martin rolled his eyes.
There is that word again.
“Come into my apartment where it’s more comfortable, Ms. Palermo. When you’re ready, go ahead and read the letter.”
With the ripped letter in hand, she whipped out an ungodly amount of keys from her pocket. The keys jangled while she located the one that opened Martin’s apartment. With a swift turn, she opened the door. Martin turned on the living room lights with his hip and then turned to Ms. Palermo. With a nod, she began to read.
The hand writing was absolutely horrid. There could be no mistake ... the writing was hers. The parchment was smaller than normal, covered in soot and ripped cleanly at the top and a little bit by the signature. The rip must have been recent because that was the cleanest part of the paper. Confusion and questions filled Martin’s mind as he re-read the letter in Ms. Palermo’s hand. The envelope had the baby’s name on it. Cyrus … Martin shook his head.
How did they find me? Is this really her child? What should I do?
Looking back to Ms. Palermo, Martin asked, “Did you see anything else Ms. Palermo?”
“You arrived only moments after I descended. I have told you everything, Martin dear,” she replied with both the fear and the strength of someone desperately trying to clear their name.
“I will unwrap him from this blanket to see if anything else came with him.”
“Careful he doesn’t get a chill …”
Just as soon as Martin began, he stopped.
He might be …
“Ms. Palermo, could you be a doll and warm up some milk for the child? He might be hungry when he wakes,” asked Martin with a thick layer of charisma and a breathtaking smile he knew would surely convince her.
“Oh! Of course, Martin dear. So considerate of you really, why didn’t I think of that? It will be ready in a flash!”
Raising her finger up as if it were a sword, she pointed herself towards the kitchen and marched over like a member of a marching band. Never a dull moment with Ms. Palermo.
As she rummaged through the cabinets, Martin turned his back to the kitchen. He glanced behind his shoulder to make sure Ms. Palermo was preoccupied with the task he had given her.
As carefully as a collector unwrapping a relic, Martin began unraveling the child from his blue blanket. Besides some light burns and smudges from the ash, the child’s face was spotless. Martin switched from cradling the baby in his arms to an upright position against his chest.
“So, do you know this Marcella?” Ms. Palermo asked as a pan clanged to the ground.
The clanging from the kitchen woke the child. A pained and tired cry escaped his lips.
“Yes … I know this Marcella. At least, I thought I knew her …”
Martin slowly uncovered the child’s neck. The blanket was the most burned on the backside and Martin could see that some of the flames had scorched Cyrus’ neck. No wonder he’d started to cry. The skin was red and slightly blistered.
“What will you do with the child? We could make some calls to the boy’s extended family after the milk is ready.”
Martin unwrapped the rest of the blanket, revealing the child’s torso. Martin’s eyes widened, and he let out an audible gasp. Utter disbelief filled his chest as he almost dropped the child. Startled by the sudden movement, the child began to cry loudly.
“Oh dear,” said Ms. Palermo, peeking her head from the kitchen. “It must have been all the ruckus I made when I dropped that pan. The milk should be simmering in a minute or two. Would you like me to hold the little guy for a bit?”
Quickly covering the child’s torso, Martin whirled.
“Ms. Palermo!” Martin said louder than he should have.
“What is it?!” Distress returned to her face. Martin collected himself and then continued.
“The child is burned on his neck. Look!” Martin said, revealing just enough evidence.
Ms. Palermo began changing colors again. Great big tears welled up in her green eyes as she beheld the child’s blistered red skin.
“Let’s take Cyrus in right now and get him treated,” said Martin. “I don’t think his burns are too bad, but I would ask you to look over him when we get to the hospital.”
“Of course, dear! This little angel deserves nothing but the best.”
Martin gave a slight smirk at the comment.
“After we finish at the hospital, I’ll need to make a stop at the supermarket. It’s a little bare in here for a child. Perhaps you can help me?” Martin said, raising an optimistic eyebrow.
Like a soldier who had come to terms with the battle before her, courage and determination returned to Ms. Palermo. She gulped and then nodded fiercely.
“Absolutely. Be quick now.”
Ms. Palermo turned off the stove, poured the lukewarm milk into the drain, and then went and collected her things from her apartment upstairs. She returned panting after a couple of seconds with her purse and an overcoat.
“One more thing, Ms. Palermo, before we embark,” Martin said with stout conviction. “There will be no calls after we are done. I will be raising the child. I am now Cyrus’ caretaker.”
The look of determination on Martin’s face was quickly matched by Ms. Palermo’s. With the same conviction, she placed one hand on the back of the child’s head and the other on Martin’s shoulder. Looking directly into Martin’s eyes she said, “Of course you are.”
