Sun Castles:
Chapter One

She is floating. Her body drifting aimlessly as the wind hits the salty water on her skin. She closes her eyes and her long brown hair is splayed decoratively across the water like floating brown tendrils of delicate reeds. The sky is an endless blue without the burden of clouds and the sun shines its warmth down onto the earth. Joey floats in idyllic peace, her mind wandering, her body tingling with sensation and yet also utterly relaxed.

“Boo!”

From out of the ocean a body emerges, shouting at her, before grabbing her ankles and turning Joey over, face first into the water.

“Shit Pacey!” Joey screams as her head pops out of the water. “I’m gonna kill you Witter!”

The tall, muscular brown haired boy grins unrepentantly and with long, deliberate strokes swims swiftly to the safety of the beach. Furiously Joey swims after him, stopping once in a while to shout curses at the boy. Finally her feet touch the shore and she can see the distinct figure of the fifteen-year-old Pacey Witter sprawled across the sandy beach, the sun browning his already tanned body. Besides Pacey is their other childhood companion Dawson Leery.

Dawson’s blonde hair shines like a golden halo as he lies neatly on the beach. His body is less muscular, less developed compared to Pacey’s and the soft flab of his arms is indicative of a boy who has never really known hard work. Nor does his skin have the same brown tan as Pacey’s but enjoys a pale whiteness of a boy that often shuns the sun. Dawson lies on the sand concentrating intently on fiddling with his video camera, filming shots and attempting to perfect angles; besides him is a thick book containing the biography of Steven Speilberg and the making of Jaws and ET.

“You’re so dead, Pacey Witter!” Joey screeches as she marches up to her two childhood companions.

“Oooh! I’m shaking!” Pacey retorts as Joey leaps forward crashing into Pacey, her claws out and ready to scratch. “Ouch! Joey, that hurt!” Pacey complains as Joey’s nails dig deep into his arm. They tumble around in the sand, fighting and struggling for dominance. Some grains of sand fly about as they roll and sand sprays onto Dawson’s camera.

“Cut it out you two! Can’t you play nice for a while? I’m trying to film some scenes and you got sand on my camera!”

Both Pacey and Joey part only to automatically accuse the other.

“It was all Pacey’s fault!”

“C’mon D man, you know it was all the Ice Queen’s fault!”

“Oh shut up, Jailbait! And stop trying to shift the blame onto me!”

“Guys! Guys!” Dawson interrupts. “I don’t care whose fault it is! I just want some quiet. Joey just stop rising to take the bait. Let it go. Can’t you just shake hands and be friends with him?”

Joey huffs in disgust at Dawson’s words while Pacey grins triumphantly and proffers his hand. She stares at the offered hand before shaking it firmly, albeit reluctantly, before rolling her eyes and sticking her tongue out at Pacey when Dawson turns his back. They sit in silence for a while, the sun shining down upon them. Joey sulks while Pacey sighs in boredom. Dawson, however, is immersed in a world of his own.

Finally Joey gets up and walks towards Dawson with a bottle of suntan lotion in hand. “It’s getting hot and I can feel my back burning could you…?” She tries to suggest.

“Huh? What?” Dawson stares at the bottle of lotion. “Sorry Joey. I can’t help you. I’m busy perfecting this shot. Besides the grease from the lotion would only ruin the camera. Why don’t you get Pacey to help you?”

Pacey watches in amusement, smirking when Dawson rejects Joey. He then begins to shake his head adamantly when he hears Dawson suggestion. “Nuh uh. No way am I touching the Ice Queen.”

“I wouldn’t want you to touch me anyway, Jailbait. I might catch something.” Joey retorts and retreats back to her side of the beach.

As time passes the heat intensifies and Joey’s skin begins to tingle. She glances at Dawson who has walked to the far end of the desolate beach and then at Pacey who is lying, eyes closed, nearby. Reluctantly she moves over to Pacey and, kneeling over his body, gently shakes him.

He opens one eye and moves his right hand over his forehead to block out the sun. “What do you want Jo?”

“Do you think you…” Joey begins shyly, gesturing at the suntan lotion by her feet.

Pacey continues to stare at her with one eye, indifferent.

Joey shuffles her feet and finally seeing no response mutters, “Never mind.”

Before she can retreat Pacey’s hand reaches out and touches her on the arm. “You’ll have to lie down.”

She nods and grabs her towel, spreads it across the sand and carefully lies flat on her stomach. With trepidation he didn’t expect to feel Pacey’s hands squeeze the bottle and fill his palm with a blob of creamy lotion. Tentatively at first his hands spread the lotion across Joey’s back. At first Joey is tense but her muscles soon relax at Pacey’s gentle touch. He grows in confidence, his movements no longer as jerky or awkward, and his fingers massage her shoulders. Joey holds her hair in a bundle as a gesture for Pacey to smear lotion across her neck. His knees inch upwards and Pacey leans forward as his fingers touch the soft skin on Joey’s neck. Lightly he rubs in a circular motion and his heartbeat quickens as Joey lets out a small sigh.

With trembling hands Pacey again picks up the bottle and squeezes more suntan lotion onto his palm. His hands roam over her skin; under her bikini straps; over her bikini straps; down her spine. Fingers slip and slide and glide with the lotion until they reach the dip of Joey’s back. Pacey’s breathing is fast and soft and quiet and it is a hot, hot day.

“Joey?” Pacey calls. “Joey? Joey? Earth to Joey?”

Joey blinks her eyes open and the world is darkened thanks to the pair of shades she wears. There is the hum of chatter, a small din in its own right, surrounding her. She blinks once more and peers at the owner of the voice who has been trying to attract her attention.

“What do you want Jim?” Joey mutters half in a grumble, half still in a sleep induced trance.

“Karen and I are headin’ in. This heat is more than we can bloody take. We’re gonna go back to our flat, on the air-con and enjoy some ice-cold VBs. You interested in joinin’ us?”

Joey shakes her head. “Nah, I think I’m going to stay here for a little longer.”

“Fine. Just watch y’ self. Don’t want to end up a bloody lobster.”

Joey smiles and nods and waves off her friends before closing her eyes. She tries to recapture the magic of the past, the feeling of Pacey’s phantom hands caressing the back of her skin but to no avail. Restlessly she shifts across her towel trying to find something reminiscent of her past comfort but the heat is relentless and unbearable. The heat refuses to allow any comfort and the crowd’s only solace is the cold waters of Brighton beach or to retreat indoors to the air-conditioning and fans.

It is the kind of intense heat where the sun burns you and the air is stale, sucking moisture from the oceans, the lakes, the rivers, the plants, the grass and you. The grass on the pavements, near the road, is brown; no luscious green but dead or dying. The sky is an endless blue with a blaring fiery sun in the center that dries the earth, bakes it until it is overdone. Occasionally there is a wind, not the cool relieving breeze that is often idealized and envisioned but rather an arid wind that blows heat and leaves your body dried and parched and flushed. Dehydration. With the wind comes the smell of salty sea, and sand that flies into your face, hitting you; your body is beaten by tiny grains as the wind lashes against your legs, your arms, your back. It is a world full of warm colors - red, brown, yellow and orange – with only the sky and the ocean providing the blue.

She remembers on the plane, as she stared down at the land she was approaching, the lack of greenness. The pilot had announced that the expected top was 95 Fahrenheit. It had been early morning around 9am and the temperature, outside, had already climbed to 86 Fahrenheit. They call this land a sun-burnt country, burnt is a correct assessment. The pilot had warned that “today was a day of total fire ban”. Then in a friendly manner the pilot had welcomed them to Melbourne, Australia. Now a few years later and it is another such day, only this time the temperature is expected to reach around 99 Fahrenheit.

There isn’t much to say about Melbourne. It is often considered a good place to retire. The city itself is built in an organized manner. A kind of rectangular, mathematical format. Even the street names have a certain format to them; Collins Street, Little Collins Street, Bourke Street, Little Bourke Street, Lonsdale Street, Little Lonsdale Street and so on. The Yarra River essentially divides the business side of Melbourne (the city) from the residential areas. On one side of the Yarra, once a sparkling blue span of water but now reduced to a muddy brown, is Flinders Street Station. A gorgeous historic building that serves as a train station and lights up in a decorative manner when the sun goes down. There is also the Melbourne Aquarium painted blue and green and aqua which when first opened suffered from legionnaire’s disease due to problems with the air-conditioning. On the other side of the Yarra is the Crown Casino. When it first opened the Crown Casino gained notoriety because it was attracting clientele, parents who, for whatever reason, could not afford or chose not to use baby-sitters, locked their children in the car whilst they gambled. Several young children died as a result.

Two things about Melbourne that are very green are its trams and its gardens. Melbourne, the city, has various gardens throughout the area giving the city a shady, lush feel.

Outside the city moving further and further away in either direction, through the suburbs, the environment is considerably different. There is less green here and more brown and yellow. Owners desperately attempt to water their gardens but everything still has a wilted look about it. There is a drought and water shortage. The lakes are at half capacity and there is cause for concern. The national broadcaster, the ABC, constantly debates the possibility of water rationing or loss of electrical supply among other things. The heat affects everyone.

When she came to Melbourne it was to retire. At twenty-seven Joey is ready to retire from life. She had rejected a nice promotion to junior partner in her firm, in the USA, and opted to move down under instead. She bought a nice apartment in one of Melbourne’s south-south-eastern suburbs, Brighton, and began creating a home and a new life for herself. She got to know a few of her neighbors and several other people on her street but they aren’t friends, they are just people who live in the same area that she might say ‘hello’ to. The only neighbors Joey has really made friends with are a couple, Jim and Karen, who live three numbers down from her.

Every day Joey takes a train down to the city and gets off at Flinders Street Station. Then she hops on a tram, if she is feeling lazy, or walks to her office building. Work is still intense and demanding but she enjoys her job and her colleagues are nice. She has many acquaintances and one or two friends. Life can get lonely at times but it is also less complicated and confusing. More peaceful.

It has taken awhile to adjust to her new life but she is getting there. Although her accent is still predominant she feels that perhaps it is losing its edge or perhaps that she is losing her edge. She still spells things like ‘color’ incorrectly, at least according to the Australians. The word processor comes in handy although anything written by hand is spelt the correct or incorrect way, depending on how you look at it. However Joey Potter is getting used to the Australian way of life.

Jim and Karen have gotten her interested in football (Aussie Rules).

“Y’ can’t live in Melbourne and not watch footy!” Jim had gasped. “I’ll take y’ to a game.”

They went one weekend, a Saturday afternoon, watched as North Melbourne (Kangaroos) thrashed the interstate team.

“Heh!” Jim had gloated. “Teach ‘em damn Perthies a lesson. Carey sure knows how to kick some Eagle butt!”

She had nodded somewhat bemused. All she had known was to cheer whenever the team in blue and white kicked a goal and boo when the other team kicked a goal. However the atmosphere was exhilarating and she found herself caught up in the frenzy. By the time they had left the Colonial Stadium and were standing, half shivering in the cold, on Spencer Street Station her voice was hoarse from screaming and her face flushed with excitement and victory. Jim hadn’t managed to convert her to an avid footy fan but Joey enjoys watching the game every so often. She doesn’t mind which team wins as long as it is a Victorian team. Over the years she has developed a loyalty to her adopted state.

Sometimes she wonders what it would have been like to grow up in Melbourne, Australia. Sometimes she imagines it, imagines so vividly that she lives it. Sometimes it sweeps through her mind until her head is filled with images that could very possibly replace old memories. Sometimes she is Joey Potter of Melbourne, Australia and nothing else, nothing more. Sometimes there is no past, no future, only the present – the tangible here and now. Sometimes it is enough and she can pretend she is happy. Sometimes.

This isn’t one of the times.

Her mind is still too caught up in the vivid imaginings of deeply buried memories that can never be buried deep enough. She can still envision the gentle fumblings of a fifteen-year-old Pacey Witter and the secret pleasure of a fifteen-year-old Joey Potter, an almost thirty-year-old Joey Potter.

Joey’s sunglasses rest on the tip of her nose blocking out the harsh rays of the sun. Her eyelids flutter shut and once again she is encompassed in darkness and heat. Always the heat.

“You look like you could use some suntan lotion. Wouldn’t want your skin to get burned.” A low, deep male voice states casually.

Slowly and deliberately Joey opens her eyes. Her hand takes hold of the edge of her shades and she pushes the sunglasses upwards so they perch on the top of her head. The sun is bright and glaring, casting a black shadowy outline on the figure that stands before her. Joey cocks her head and for the first time in nine years her eyes rest upon Pacey Witter.