The Golden Bubble

The Golden Bubble is Chapter 6 of How I Met My Echo On Big Wolf Cliff

The girls tip-toe over the soft spots, leaping from stone to stone. The air is thick with the scent of churning water. Though warm, a mist swirls around them, as if they’re swimming through the air. Liz half expects a trout to slip past—not the greenish-brown lake trout piled deep in the basin below Big Wolf Cliff, but a rainbow trout. As they near the rushing water, rainbows arch across the sky where sunlight streaks through the dense mist, blanketing the sky in soft, warm colors.

Their feet disappear as the mist becomes cottony clouds below them.

“I wonder if this is how Heaven feels?” Liz asks.

“I do not know Heaven.”

“No? Do you believe in God?”

“God?”

“The Creator of the world?”

“The world was created so long ago. Why would I know anything about that?”

“Well, God didn’t just make the world and then disappear.”

“No?”

“He is always with us.”

“Oh, okay. I know him then. I did not know his name was God.”

“You know Him?”

“Sure, how can you feel the life in the woods without wondering who cares for it? I don’t. The woods sustain me with their goodness; I give nothing but my love. It shows its love by gifting me sustenance and peace.”

They stop next to a towering poplar. Jenny takes Liz’s hand. “Sit down with me, Lizzy. I come here when life feels too hard, or the world far too big.”

They sink together onto a soft mount of damp moss—the cloud of mist engulfs them. There is nothing but whiteness. Liz pushes back into the strength of the tree. She doesn’t feel comforted—she feels trapped. Jenny squeezes her hand and her warmth settles her nerves.

“Close your eyes.”

“Okay,” Liz replies, sucking in a long, jagged breath.

“Once you settle, tell me what you feel.”

Liz sits very still, calming her breath and the urge to flee from this cocoon of air.

What’s that? Minuscule prickles creep across her skin. She exhales sharply, and they dance on her chin.

“Resist the urge to open your eyes.”

Liz squeezes them tighter, and the sensation shifts—tiny bubbles pop across her skin. Inhaling the damp air, the bubbles burst, releasing fresh fir and juniper. Her nose clears, her lungs fill, and her gut awakens, alive and energized. The stir sparks from every pore, charging the air around her, lifting her hair like a halo.

It’s hard to sit still with so much energy swirling around her. The microscopic dancers grow, rolling over her like a gentle massage, expanding with each cycle. She grips Jenny’s hand tightly as the bubbles press in. She doesn’t feel alive anymore—only trapped. Jenny squeezes back gently, but it doesn’t help. Liz gulps down a huge bubble. It doesn’t pop; instead, it sinks. She gags, her hand shoots to her throat, and her eyes snap open. The fog has changed to a golden light. The bubble inside her dissipates and bits of electricity ignite again within her. She feels light.

Jenny’s long eyelashes flutter open. She smiles at Liz and slides her free hand along the membrane surrounding them. They are no longer on the ground but above the stream in a huge, golden bubble.