The spiritual Indian girl crawls to the top of the cliff and when she stands up she is mesmerized by the clear view of the ocean blue. The wind seems to have picked up when she pulls out her slingshot in the fading sunlight. The minute she places her hand around the handle of her choice of weapon, years of memories flood her mind putting her into a mystical trance of her past experiences. The cowgirl’s subconscious begins to fill her mind of her long lost mother, father, an all the childhood memories living with the earth. Even the story of her history in Alabama with her hickey friend Ernie and Ringo the raccoon presented themselves. She takes deep breaths of the coastal wind and feels strange as Ghost her magical white horse spirit races across her memory. The recollection of the gelding she found in the woods one day running wild and free brought smiles of unconditional love in her heart. The half breed whispers her soft words out of love and respect to her faithful friend, she grins with joy to have cherish-able memories consume her. Instantly the pictures stop to give Celeste a few moments to deal with all the flashbacks. Her head is on overload when a pain knocks on her temples. Picture after picture clicks in and out of Henry’s face with speed. She whispers out “Papa,” with tears in her eyes as she holds her temple to ease the reality of what is happening to her. Instant retrospection of her savior’s face comes out to play as vivid and treasure moments showers themselves upon her spirit until his death. The Indian is reliving all her moments of life alone with Chief her draft horse and the last deed of her giving the equine up to the old witchy woman in the woods. Celeste recognizes the signs of maxing out on pictures of her past, she bellows out in agony too the ocean wind. Her hand is clutched tightly on the handle of her slingshot, while her left hand squeezes her grandmother’s sea shell.
Celeste feels like she is freaking out and tries to gather control with all her might. The cowgirl drops to her knees and shakes out her long golden color of hair in the wind, and tries to get a grip on her emotions as the fragmentary pictures speed clicks to one memory to the next. With loving devotion she remembers her grandfather’s parenthood lessons, and his skills of survival he passed on to her with unconditional patience and love. Mr. Spencer replaces Henry’s face as her childhood private Tudor who took on the task to educate with open opinions and respect for her belief’s in her Indian heritage. Parts of her believe without the scholar she would have fallen prey to bullying in school. She grins with glee the memory of racing in his corvette on her first night out as a lady, and all the marvelous stimulating conversations they had under a bomb fire. Peter’s precious smile takes the place next in line. She reminiscences about the child of light’s tender moment of playing the piano before his death, and then the horrible moment in the woods afterwards. The strange occurrence of hearing spiritual voices inside her head made her want to rip Westin apart after Peter’s death. She blinks her eyes and begins to relive the tender moments of Westin her first lover who brought her into womanhood. His handsome face makes her heart melt to touch him once again. She whispers out a blessing to Westin for a beautiful life with his new family, as she wipes away her sad tears of recall. His face slips away into Damn dog and their happy times together. The final memory of her friend dying in the old lady’s house made her blink her wet eyes back to reality and takes note the beautiful color of sunset. Last but not least Gary’s soulful heart envelops her with beauty beyond her imagination. She knows not why she is being overwhelmed with recognition; but goes with the flow until her anamnesis fades to give freedom in her mind for a new day in the sun. Celeste stands up and begins the process of completing her Scottish grandmother’s request.
The minute she places the sea shell into her slingshot, and draws back the rubber band as far as it can go; she hears her spiritual guides begin to chat in Cherokee. “I am honored grandmother to be the one to send back the shell you found on this beach long ago. May your spirit be one with this shell to be free at heart.” She hears the child like laughter of the “Little People” folklore tale who caused mischief upon her early days of childhood, and smiles. She sends the sea shell soaring through the wind and watches the tiny object disappear into the sea of waves forever more.