Path to Tranquility ~ SAMARA COHEN

Path to Tranquility

SAMARA COHEN

In the darkness, Garden Hill felt like a completely foreign place. I sat up on the dampened grass, attempting to recognize the wooden shed behind me, knowing—without seeing— that the gardening shovels and dirty wheel barrows were stacked inside. The hill sloped downwards beneath my feet, and the fifteen solar panels that stood at the bottom reflected the moonlight off their midnight blue surfaces. Just past the solar panels, the dorm building stood tall, and the artificial yellow that shone through each window lightened up the dark scene. Up on the top of the hill, I lay my head back down on the grass, melting into the soft ground beside my classmates and letting my eyes fall closed. The thousands of white stars that hung far above our heads crept through my eyelids, the crickets sang in unison, and body heat enveloped me in still-dense September air—I felt overwhelmingly surrounded, wrapped in the unspoken silence of my classmates. I lifted my eyelids, almost mechanically, to return my vision to the showing of stars. They were scattered on the dark sky, as if in a pattern. The foreground of larger, brighter stars appeared to have been calculated so exactly enough smaller stars could be scattered in between. I tilted my chin upwards to locate the familiar Big Dipper, as it stood out from the other nameless constellations. Darker, reddened shades of black were painted around the sky in a circle with whiter, concentric circles of sky continued inward. A loud chorus of ringing from Dean’s watch told us that it was curfew, and footsteps started along the gravel, kicking up dust into the darkness as we walked home. ~ The sun gave the hill life again. I walked ahead of my group along the path, and for the first few moments after I reached the top, the bright afternoon sun and ancient green pines were just for me. The patch of golden yellow sunflowers at the bottom of the hill was now visible in the light. They seemed to be facing me, though I knew it was really the sun that gleamed above my head. I turned around to face the weathered shed and recognized the grass outside as where we had laid down the night before, looking up at the now-blue sky. The fresh scent of mulch surrounded the shed, and followed me to the rows of crops, lingering on the bucket in my hand. Further up the hill, behind the shed, stood rows of green. I made my way to the garden’s entrance and began my harvesting. The first broccolini head snapped off perfectly, sounding like rushing water as it landed in my bucket. The rhythmic buzzing of insects reminded me of the nightly crickets. My group caught up with me quickly, and the unspoken rules of the night before were no longer valid. I recognized Dean’s deep voice before I turned around, as he rattled off one of his usual riddles, breaking my moment of isolation. I half-smiled at his childlike giggle that muffled the soothing sound of snapping broccolini stems. Before I knew it, Liam joined in, scouring for any nonsensical answer to Dean’s jokes. I chuckled at the expected stupidity of his answer, but I couldn’t help but feel like my perfect, tranquil time on Garden Hill had been rudely interrupted. I tried to watch the murmuring bees dancing across the vibrant blue sky, relishing in being their only audience. The bees’ peaceful humming, though, only lasted so long before it was drowned out by thundering laughter. We were walking down from Garden Hill before I could even take in

the other rows of green and purple plants that sat upon dark soil or the radiant yellow poplars that had begun to spring up across the valley or the calm chirping of goldfinches. Instead the sour smell of compost baking in the sun wafted into my face, greeting me once I stepped off the path, and I wanted to run away from it, back up the hill. ~ By the time I reached the top of the path again that night, my classmates were already there. Their bodies, lined up in two rows shoulder-to-shoulder, mirrored the lines of crops, which were invisible in the darkness. I was met with the comfortable silence of another starry night, and I found a place in line to sit. The garden and the shed that stood behind me were camouflaged with the blackness, and all there was to see was in front of me. Something sharp stung my shoulder, but I refused to turn my head towards the person next to me. Without the heat from their bodies and the light smell of sweat that drifted through the heavy air, I would have thought I was lying alone. The quiet breathing of my friends beside me was pleasant, warming my heart despite the light breeze. Eventually the singing of crickets must have melted into strumming on a guitar, but the painting of stars was too captivating for me to notice.