Cape Race Lighthouse

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Where I come from is a lighthouse on the eastern coast of Newfoundland. I have lived here for most of my life, just me and my parents. My father was the lighthouse keeper before I took over from him when I finished school. I could not wait for my eighteenth birthday to come when I could practice the skills learned over the years from constantly watching my father who operated the lighthouse since he was sixteen years of age. Cape Race lighthouse is situated on the South-eastern coast of Newfoundland. Little happens here apart from the visitors who flock during summertime and the college students’ annual field trip in early June.

When I took over as lighthouse keeper, I would sleep in a little bunk by the light controls. Work was hard, early mornings and late nights with little sleep, always on call. I l was happy doing what I always wanted. My life was idyllic, I had everything I needed. I was doing what I always wanted to do, with my parents nearby to keep an eye. Though our roles were reversing as the years went by.  Morning was my favourite time, watching the sun rising over the bay, the water glistening, sea gulls hovering by at full speed, always managing to avoid a crash landing through the expansive circular windows.

Spring and Summer were my favourite times of the year when the winds eased, and the seas were calm. Springtime saw the tiny crocuses and bluebells shooting up and baby moose scampering about, their heads barely visible above the fast-growing bog grasses.  In Summer, the place came to life with bog cotton, lupines, blue-bead lilies, cracker berries and wild bergamot. A sweet, aromatic smell enveloped the cape, intoxicating all who visited. Autumn brought a magical hue with colours of warm spice, pumpkin soup, muted woodland, olive greens and burgundy reds. The sunsets were magical, casting a warm golden glow through the house, lighting it up like a witch’s cavern. Winters were tough on the entire island as weather conditions worsened and rain and wind raged against the rocks. Hurricanes regularly hit the coastline and waves twenty meters high would blast against the lighthouse. The annual blizzards and snows came in early December, and would remain thick and hard until early February, shedding a bright luminous glow throughout the cape.

They came to visit in early June, a group of students from the University of New Brunswick, doing field work on the island. They stayed in a hostel nearby and came on board the light house every day to experience the nuances of light house living.  She stood out from the others in the group. She was tall and slim, flirty in an innocent kind of way, tanned and blue eyed with long curly blonde hair tied back revealing her small oval shaped face. Something about her sparked a feeling deep within my being. I flirted back, though not the flirty type, usually keeping my feelings to myself, more reserved.  I was becoming besotted with this girl and looked forward to the group’s daily visits but only to see her sparkling blue eyes and smiling happy face. Oftentimes, she would stay back to help clear up after the day or visit later to see the workings of the lighthouse in the evening light. We would talk and laugh and make silly jokes. We shared a quirky sense of humour finding fun in the most ridiculous of things.  She would tell me her dreams of being an environmental scientist and work towards protecting the environment. I could see she was passionate about this topic. She would take off by ten each night and sprint on up the stony pathway to the hostel as I watched from the lighthouse door, making sure she got back safely.

One morning she didn’t come to the light house with her friends. An air of despondency was palpable amongst the group. Fiona had disappeared. She never returned to the hostel on the previous night, they said. I was horrified to hear this as I had seen her open and close the hostel door.  A search was in place. Nobody came to tell me as they knew I would be busy and did not want to disturb me. The search went on for days and no sighting was made of Fiona. The students were heart broken. The search party trawled the grounds, rocks, and waters around the lighthouse and beyond. There was no sighting of Fiona or anything belonging to her. A strange dark cloud descended over the entire island. The place was never the same again.

They arrested me soon after, though I begged and pleaded my innocence. Jonathan, my lawyer was there to defend me, but to no avail, no matter how often I told them my story.  I was the last person on the island to see Fiona, so I was the prime suspect. The last thing I would have done was to hurt Fiona. Now, where I come from is a dark miserable prison cell, on the North-eastern tip of the island. The cold is bone chilling, the air dank and musty reminding me of a wine vault, I visited way back in my other life.  Looking out through a tiny rectangular glass slit built into the cell wall, I can see the ocean below. It is no longer glistening and blue but dark and grey and unwelcoming. I always wondered how the sea could change colour depending on one’s mood and frame of mind, now it makes sense. Bluebells, moose, wild bergamot, golden sunsets, and luminous light, happiness and laughter are all distant memories. Jonathan visits weekly encouraging me to have faith in him and stay focused on the future. I try my best to go back to the peace and tranquility that I once knew. I wonder if I will  ever return to the idyllic place that I come from. The lighthouse, blue seascapes, ships, and boats, and seagulls hovering by.