Before and After - Chapter 6

Full Moon on the Mediterranean

I am a woman now. As a child, I would have been confined to the inner depths of a playroom. Now I can stand fierce as the wind on distant shores. I feel powerful. I know myself. I know beauty, I know love, and I know freedom. I am sorcha. I am free.

I stood at the salty pool, just below the hotel on the cliff. All around me the stars were glimmering brightly. The day had been pleasurable; casual walks through Corfu city, an afternoon of drinks and dinner at the coast, and now I was settling in for my fifth night in Corfu, Greece.

I couldn’t believe how lucky I was. Only 16 and I was able to travel to the ancient cities of Greece. When the ad for the spiritual quest had shown up in the bulletin at church, and my mom had suggested I go, I had thought she was kidding. I was an atheist, and so was she. What good would I do on a spiritual retreat with the Christian missionaries from the United States?

But, she pushed. I wasn’t upset to be encouraged to go to Greece. Even at 16 I knew that opportunities like that are few and far between. I was grateful for my parent’s help, and accepted the plane tickets and trip fare gladly. I would fly through England to Greece, stop in Albania to do some missionary work, and then fly back to England. There I would spend three days with my family in London before coming back home. It was a dream vacation.

It was hot that night, although this seemed reasonable as it was a Grecian summer evening. The sun had set not a minute before on the horizon, and the religious missionaries I had met were jumping into the salt-water pool in order to cool off.
About ten feet from where I stood was a long, rickety wooden staircase that led to the Hotel’s beach on the Mediterranean. I considered this for a moment, before turning to my group of friends.

“Hey, why don’t we all go in the sea? Why swim in a pool when the Mediterranean Sea is at your feet!?” I laughed.

My Korean friend, whose English name was Sarah, giggled. “Nah. We’re already here. It is long walk down,” and turned back to the pool. I already had my bathing suit on, and I could grab a towel when I came back up. It would be refreshing and releasing. I turned towards the steps.

“Alright, well you can all be lame and swim in a pool. I’ll be down at the beach for a little while,” and I took the stairs down.

About halfway down the stairs, every night, you could see the moon sitting above the island to the right. I stood there in my blue and silvery bikini and let my hair blow freely. The breeze moved about my long, thick hair, pushing it away from my face.

“Ah, this is lovely. Why wouldn’t you come down here?” and I laughed again, and continued downwards.

At the bottom of the staircase, which descended along the length of the cliff, was a small sandy beach which led to an open sea swimming spot. Two chubby, younger men ran by, yelling at one another. Besides that the beach was quiet and peaceful. I watched them run out to a wharf and turn around, their silhouettes distinct against the blue skyline.

I stepped into the salty water, which settled around my ankles. It was colder than I had expected it, and I was anxious to get my belly below the water line. I did a quick dip in the water, dropping below the surface for a moment. I pulled my hair and head out of the sea, letting the water slide down my arms and back again. I felt so peaceful and alive. For a moment I believed in mermaids again, and wished I was one.

I crouched there in the sea for a few moments, inhaling the freshness of the Mediterranean Sea. This would be something I would tell my children one day.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the two men who had been running stop on the shore behind me. The skinnier one turned away from the sea towards his friend and shouted something. He turned back towards the ocean and pulled off his swim shorts, and walked into the sea towards me.

I screamed, loudly and ran for the stairs. How stupid! I thought. You KNOW the Grecian men. They are terrible. The man who had stayed on the shore now chased after me, kicking sand out from behind his feet.

I screamed again. Someone hear me! I ran up the stairs, taking two steps at a time. Adrenaline pulsed through my body, and the fear pushed me faster than ever before. Halfway up the stairs I met a group of the missionaries I was traveling with. I almost tripped into my friend, Kristan from Wales.

“Whoa! Are you alright?” he asked, taking his hands to my shoulders to stop me.

I pointed behind me, and gasped, out of breath, “There are two men down there. They tried to … to…” and I bolted the rest of the way up. I heard behind me my friends yelling cusses in every language from Gaelic to Chinese at the men who had followed me up the stairs.

I stopped at the top of the stairs and sat on a marble bench there. I had lost a flip-flop and an earring in the chase. A moment later, the missionaries were back at the top of the stairs. Each of them questioned me. “Are you alright?” asked one. “Did they touch you?” asked another. I could hardly pick apart my friend’s voices.

“Yes, yes, yes. I’m fine,” I said, pulling myself up to a standing position. Kristan came over and wrapped his arm over my shoulder. “Let’s get you back inside,” he said, and directed the entire group towards the hotel. I followed, glad to be away from the scene.

That was a close one, I thought.