Until Light Comes

Was there anything more boring than sand? Eliza kicked at a small pile that might have been a sandcastle once. Anything made here, on the long stretch of beach, faded even faster than the vase of flowers her parents bought each other every week. What a waste. 

“Elizabeth, don’t wander too far!” 

“Mommm! It’s Eliza! How many times do I have to tell you?”

Her mother shifted baby Tyler on her hip, then tucked a brown curl behind Eliza’s ear. Eliza swatted her hand away. “Elizabeth is a beautiful name, a family name.”

“Doesn’t mean I need to like it.”

“Right,” her mother sighed, “right, I’m sorry. Just, stay close, okay?” 

“I’m not a little kid!”

“Honey, you’re thirteen,” her mother said in that soft, condescending tone. It crawled into Eliza’s ear and wormed around her brain until that patronizing buzzing was all she could hear. 

“Ugh!” Eliza stormed off toward the boats strewn across the shore. 

Family vacations were the worst! Hers were, at least. Eliza could have been hurdling down to earth on a roller coaster with Jane’s family, but her parents insisted she spend her summer break with them, wandering the Normandy’s expanse of sand. So what if her great-grandfather fought here? According to her grandma, he also spent time on the family ranch in butt-nowhere Nebraska, but Eliza was never forced to go there. 

She let out another sigh and plopped down closest to where the water lapped at the sand. It kicked up against the algae-covered hulls of the old boats, spritzing her face with every new wave. 

As the frothy blanketed her feet, a small, thin rock came in with the tide and settled at her side. No, not a rock. Rocks didn’t glint in the light like that, did they? 

“What are you?” She asked the little object before picking it up with the tips of two fingers. It was warmer than she expected, no trace of the water’s coolness. As she let it settle further into her palm, it almost seemed to heat up. It took a beat, a breath, for Eliza to realize it really was getting hotter.

“Ow! What the—” She tried to drop the object as it seared her, but it wouldn't budge. She flung her hand wildly to no avail as her vision darkened. With the last dredges of consciousness, Eliza wondered if her mother was close enough to see her fall. 

✴✴✴

Eliza woke gently, like rousing from a refreshing nap under the light of the midday sun. 

The water was higher than she remembered, blanketing her shins and tickling her kneecaps. She blinked as her vision came into focus. The sky was brighter, too, no trace of the overcast clouds that had her father worrying back at their hotel. 

The little not-rock lay innocuously beside her, somehow more shiny than it had been. Eliza followed the line of its glint up towards the horizon, but she barely made it past the shoreline. 

“What the hell?” Her mother would chastise her for her language, but Eliza couldn’t bring herself to care, not when the boats that had been corroded hulls just minutes ago were… not. They had seen better days, what with the holes peppering the surface, but the metal was new with no algae in sight. 

She stood on shaky legs and took a few long strides over toward them. As she moved, she was hit with the sharp scent of metal. It was like her grandfather’s workshop mid-project, but stronger somehow. What happened here? Was it some part of the tour that her parents hadn’t warned her about? Her parents!

Eliza whirled around toward where her mother had stood, but no one was there, no one. There was no guide, no tourists wandering the beach, not even the rumble of cars off in the distance. Instead, Eliza found the sand stained red-brown and littered with metal. 

She couldn’t move, or maybe she didn’t want to. It was impossible, yet there was no denying where she was, when she was. Before the terror could take hold, the wind carried a soft sound to her. It was familiar, a song her mother used to sing to her after a bad dream. 

Dry your tears and wipe your eyes. Love, I’m here to clear your stormy skies. 

Have no fear, have no sorrow. Until light comes, my strength is yours to borrow.

She followed the song to a jettison of rocks where a lone man sat staring out at the water. He was dressed in a thin white t-shirt and tan trousers with the pant legs rolled up. 

“Hello.”

He jerked back and lunged for something at his side, but nothing was there. He looked up at her with wide, bloodshot eyes. They flickered with something she couldn’t pinpoint.

The man stared at her for a beat, then collapsed to the rocks in a heap of laughter. It wasn’t the amused laugh her dad let out every time baby Tyler farted in the bath, or even the polite chuckle her mom gave the church ladies who stopped her after every mass to gossip about Gloria’s granddaughter’s ex-boyfriend’s cousin’s runaway fiancee or whatever. This laugh was full of broken glass, and the man seemed to shatter with it. Tears spilled down his cheeks as he managed out a few words. 

“I’ve really lost it, haven’t I?”

“Um.” Eliza stood frozen on the rocks. Despite the man’s distress, Eliza couldn’t help but think his tears seemed inconsequential beside the vastness of the sea. Should she comfort him? She watched him laugh, seemingly unaware of the way the cool waves used his body as a splashboard.

“What was that song?” she asked instead. 
“I—” he blinked then shook his head. “It’s just a little ditty I made up.”

“You wrote that?” It seemed impossible, but so was all of this. “It’s pretty.”

“It isn’t all that,” he said, laying his head in his hands. She took a few cautious steps forward. 

“I’m Eliza.”

“Eliza, that’s an unusual name.”

She kicked at a divot in the rock. “It’s short for Elizabeth.”

“That’s my wife’s name,” he said, his eyes focused again on where the calm waters kissed the horizon. “She’s the one I wrote the song for.”

Another step. Two. “Where is she?” 

“Home, I hope.”

“Where is home?” When he showed no signs of wanting to toss her into the sea, she slid down and sat beside him. 

“Too far. Not far enough.” 

“Far enough from what?”

“Death. Hostility. Whatever you want to call this vile state of affairs.” He looked at her, then, eyes alight with far more clarity than they had before. “You’re not supposed to be here,” he snorted, “Hell, I’m not supposed to be here. If they knew I came back, they’d tie me up by my dog tags.” The man held the chain out in front of him. Eliza barely managed to catch the name. Walter Harrison. 

“You…” her words caught in her throat, “you said your wife’s name is Elizabeth?”  He hummed. Elizabeth Harrison. That was her grandmother’s name. 

“Our baby girl is Elizabeth, too. At least, I think she is.” Math was never Eliza’s favorite subject, but she counted back as quickly as she could. That baby was her nana.

“You don’t know?”

“She was due this month. I haven’t been able to get my letters.”

Was her great-grandmother alone when she gave birth? Had that story ever made its way down the family line? Eliza couldn’t remember.

“Tell me about her?”

“I used to see her every Friday at the dance hall, but I could never get myself to talk to her. She had these swabbies around her all the time, some real chuckleheads.”

“Um—”

“This one night, though, she was really cookin’ with helium out on the dance floor, I mean really knockin’ it out. No one else in the joint could cut a rug like her. I couldn’t take it anymore. She clobbered me,” he said with a smile.

“She hit you?” Eliza tried to imagine the woman who collected little spoons being so violent.

“What? No. I mean she was a dish and a lamb to boot.” Yeah, that didn’t help. “I just had to get to know her. Shame, I have two left feet. I tried to jitterbug my way over, but I tripped and knocked her down instead. Instead of hollering, she asked me for a shake.”

“She… wanted you to shake her hand?”
He blinked at her. “No. A shake. You know, a malt?” A malt. Was that the thing she had at a Dairy Queen once? 

“Ohh, a milkshake.” 

“That’s what I said.”

“No, it isn’t.” Eliza rolled her eyes.

“Shouldn’t a figment of my imagination know this already?”

“You think I’m a what?”

“Why else would you be here?” Walter glanced down at her clothes. “In sandals and a hem shorter than any I’ve ever seen.” Eliza eyed her dress. It was past her knees. “Maybe I need the company,” he said. “It’s been lonely since we lost Chuck.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Eh, don’t be. He said he wanted to go out fighting Nazi scum, and he did.” Walter ran his palm over the rock’s smooth edge. “He was braver than I’ll ever be.”

“But you’re here.”

“One man leading a parade of ghosts from one battle to the next.” He sighed and met her eyes. “Figment—” 

“Eliza.”

“Figment, I’m not brave for standing on a battlefield. I didn’t get a choice in the matter, and every night I’ve prayed to whoever’s listening that I’ll open my eyes and find myself back home with my family.”

“When can you go back?”

He chuckled humorlessly. “Hell if I know.” He eyed his tags again, running his thumb over the smooth metal. “You know what these are for?” She shook her head. “Identification. If we die and our bodies are in bad enough shape, this is how they know who to notify back home.”

“That’s awful.”

“That’s war.”

He gave the tag a light tug and the clasp gave way. Silver slipped through his fingers as he scrambled to catch it, but it dropped into the ocean with barely a splash.

“Shit.” He stared into the water. “Now Cap won’t have anything to tie me up with.”

“Isn’t that… good?”

He shoots her a sideways glance. “Not with how creative Cap is.” Walter stared up at the cloudless sky with a deep sigh. “I should go before I get myself in worse trouble.” He stood and she followed him back down the jetty to the warm sand.

Walter threw a hand up over his shoulder as he made his way inland, then paused and peered back at her. “Eliza.” She held her breath. “Get home safe.”

She watched him until he disappeared, a speck in the distance. Her walk back to the boats was silent, save for the crashing waves. Eliza knelt and picked up the little piece of metal again, and the world went dark.

✴✴✴

“Are you okay, Eliza? You’ve been staring at the water for a while.”

Eliza turned slowly, blinking at her mother as her vision cleared. 

“I’m fine, Mom.” She peered over at the boats, now worn and old. “Hey, could we talk to Nana tonight?”

Her mother blinked. “Really? I’m sure she would love that. I—oh, Derek! Stop dipping the baby in the water! I just got him dry!” She sighed, shoulders dropped. It looked just like Walter’s sigh. “I’ll be right back, sweetheart.”

“Okay.” 

As her mother retreated, Eliza gazed down at the not-rock in her hand. She scraped away at the hardened sea salt until she could make out what it laid below. There, etched into a decades-old dog tag, read Walter Harrison.