Sea of Tranquility by Lesley Choyce Page A

my grandfather told me the day he died. I’m named for him, you see, and he was named for his grandfather.”
    â€œWhat do you mean, it’s all an accident.”
    â€œEverything good and everything bad. All an accident. This snow coming down. Missus Lantz back there trying to air the school out. The melting boots. The fact we live on an island like this. All an accident.”
    Such a goofy look on a young man’s face.
    â€œAnd you think that’s a good thing, do you? You don’t think God has a plan for us?” Sylvie had been told by neighbour women over and over, neighbour women out trimming cabbages or drying cod on wooden slats in the sun or collecting summer savoury from their gardens, the words had been oft repeated.“’Tis all part of God’s great plan.”
    â€œGod was the one responsible for making everything accidental. It’s a big game for him, I guess. Wondering what accidental thing will happen next.”
    Sylvie knew that this boy liked to talk strangely at times, but his words made her head and heart feel light, like a pair of swooping herons, she was so out of kilter. Her with burning boots turning to deep religion and philosophy in the schoolyard snow.
    Somebody was throwing a snowball straight at David’s head, but it missed. A second was thrown. That lout Inglis, always bad intent. Another thrown and missed. David pretended not to see, but Sylvie stuck her tongue out at Coors Inglis. Another snowball, this time thrown harder and with worse aspirations, at Sylvie. David turned, put himself in the way, took it hard on the cheek. Looked over at Inglis, gave him a look but did not go after him.
    â€œSylvie, don’t ever cut your hair.”
    â€œMy hair? I wasn’t going to cut it.”
    â€œGreat. You have wonderful hair.”
    â€œIt’s only brown.”
    â€œBrown hair is the prettiest.”
    Sylvie had known the boy had feelings for her but those feelings had always been in check. Her own emotions had always been in check, too, the way it was supposed to be. Why did this absurd little compliment make her feel so powerfully changed? “I won’t cut it,” she said. “I’ll let it grow long like summer vines.”
    â€œThank you,” he said, and now, for the first time, he touched the cold wet spot on his cheek where the snowball had connected with his face. Sylvie could not stop herself from touching the spot as well. Her eyes went woozy and she had to take a deep breath, then pulled her hand away quickly as she saw Missus Lantz come out to ring a bell, calling everyone back in.
    â€œMy grandfather wasn’t a hundred percent right about the accidents, Sylvie.”
    â€œOh, how’s that?’
    â€œYou. You were no accident. You were meant to be.”
    That was the last year of school for both of them. They could have gone to the mainland for an extra year or even two if theyliked, but they did not. Nor did any of the other students from the island school, for the mainland was considered to be a sorry, inferior place. Sixteen gave way to seventeen for Sylvie and for David. The year was 1934. Far away on the mainland of Canada, the Dionne family in Quebec had quintuplets, five girls and they all lived. In Germany, a new leader, a
führer
, was sworn in. This man named Hitler would order the construction of concentration camps in Germany for Jews and Gypsies. Off the coast of Nova Scotia the fishing was good, but the prices were less than they should be.
    In June of 1934, young David Young married Sylvie Down. Sylvie liked him more than any other boy on the island but she did not know if it was what she truly wanted to do. Her mother said
she
liked David and so did her father. That was not advice or parental pressure. Sylvie’s father spoke thus:“Comes from a good family. Good stock. Father’s a reputable man. Respectable family. Can’t see the harm.” Understatement was