As her body formed, a dress of white adorned her tiny frame. This garment –
covered with white and pink petals – went to just below her knees. Around her
waist, she wore a sage green belt, and her bare feet had dark green painted on each of her toenails. Laughing, her deep emerald cat eyes widened as her wavy
yellow locks grew out. The shoulder-length hair was messy and wild yet looked
perfect on her.
“Thank you,” she said, as she kissed my younger version on the cheek before
settling beside her cup.
With a burst of speed, the yellow ball swirled all around Young Marina until
it turned into a small blue bird. Zipping by Daisy, the bird nipped the tea biscuit
out of her hands just as she was going to take a bite.
Daisy shrieked, “Breeze, stop showing off!”
With a dramatic landing, the blue bird quickly changed, as the others had.
She had pure white hair that was streaked with blues, greens, and gold. Her shoulder-length hair was fashioned in a long angled-cut style, where it was longer in the front than the back.
Her deep blue eyes glared at Daisy, and her pink lips turned into a pout. “If
Bay had not shown off with her ridiculous splash, I would not have had to fly around to dry off.”
Smoothing her long blue dress, the fabric changed color with each run of her
hand. When she was finally done fixing herself, the dress was no longer a deep
navy blue, but rather, a peacock variety of colors shimmered throughout the fabric. I expected her to grow a fan of feathers, but instead, she settled by a teacup and pouted.
I watched on as they each took turns showing off for Young Marina, who
delighted in everything they did. I felt so comfortable. I had an intense longing
to join them, though I refrained from doing so.
“Caterpillar. Where are you?” The fun was interrupted by the loud male
voice calling for me.
The tea party guests instantly disappeared. Young Marina straightened herself up
and turned toward the man. I could see four marble sized balls flying high up in
the tree.
Caterpillar was the nickname my father had given me. He would say that as I
grew, I would change from a young worm into a powerful butterfly that would
be respected and adored. A lump formed in my throat. I had grieved the loss of
him for so long that the pain had finally subsided.
“There you are,” my father, Elliot Stone, called.
My heart raced. I wasn't ready to see him again. I couldn't lose my father twice. It's a memory, I chided myself.
The choice was made for me when my father walked through me. His light
blond hair glistened, and his ordinally sun-kissed skin was a deep tan. I stared at
his ruggedly handsome face, not sure how to feel. He had died when I was ten,
but I often thought of what life would have been like if he had not.
Another ghost from my past was before me.
“Hi, Daddy,” Young Marina said as she ran to greet him. He picked her up
and swung her around. “Did you come to join my tea party?”
