I’m sitting on the porch watching the feeble sun disappear and the tide come in. It’s cold and dark nearly all the time now. The ocean has turned gray, like overcooked steak.
“I hate it here,” I text Daniel.
He texts me back a sad Baby Yoda.
I don’t respond.
A few minutes later, my phone lights up. Daniel is FaceTiming me.
“Alma, you didn’t say anything at school.”
I shrug. For days, I’ve been getting by on shrugs and nods and the occasional thumbs-up.
“Let me see it,” he says.
Daniel loves it when I turn the camera and let him look at the waves.
“It’s like you live in a painting,” he says.
Daniel sees the world like that. To me, though, the ocean is a monster and the waves are its giant claws, raking the sand, dragging itself up the rocky beach.
“Did you finish your project?” Daniel asks.
“Not yet.”
Our assignment is to create a work of art that expresses gratitude for something or someone.
“Do you mind if I send you what I did?” Daniel asks. “I think you might like it.”