Red Sky in the Morning

  What is need? She pondered as she walked along the narrow path. A thing required, a state of necessity. What did she need? Well, the basics were obvious, food, shelter, water. She knew those were all things her body needed to live, but what about her heart? Her soul? If she even had a soul she thought with a rueful grin.

She imagined for a moment a ghostly version of herself, walking in step with her, wearing the meat and bones like a dress or a suit. She put a hand up to her cheek, imagined what texture the soul would have, would it be wispy, like a spider’s web, all soft and sticky, or would it be made of sterner stuff, as solid as the rest of the world it possessed. She wondered if some souls were made of steel.

               To her left, stood a large yard full of ornate decorations. Elves perched on mushrooms, fairies clung to tree bark and hid among the branches, one single dragon crouched in the green grass, made from pieces of driftwood glued together. She marveled at how just a few pieces of wood could create such a magnificent creature and how they even managed to give it an expression.

She considered what gave her that impression. Was it the tilt of the head? The angle of the long, graceful neck? could it be the slightly drooped wings, or the tail curled protectively around its own body. She wasn’t certain, but the over all effect felt real. She felt the need to reach out, stroke the beast, offer some comfort.

               She shook her head, breaking the spell and moved on. Her rueful grin returned as she chided herself for being childish. Imagine, trying to comfort wood.

               Comfort, she decided could be added to her list of needs. Both to offer and receive, she thought as she walked the long path to the next yard. What about warmth? She asked herself, what about peace? Mentally she added those to her list as well. Then after a moment she added turmoil as well. You need a little turmoil to prod you on your way. To avoid stagnation and boredom, turmoil was the best cure.

               She came to the next yard, full of flowers and fruit trees, a tiny cottage half hidden by a dense thicket of oak trees. This yard felt, wilder, freer. Butterflies flapped their pretty wings amidst the dandelions, the foxgloves, and buttercups. Bees did their fuzzy little dances preferring the forget me nots and the cornflowers.

She watched as a pair of crows preened and cuddled on a branch above her and smiled. Love, companionship, should be added to her list as well. She breathed in the fresh air mixed with pollen and sneezed before moving along. As she approached the end of the path, she thought with some bitterness, that the thing she really didn’t need was any more BS from him.

***

               On the deck of the fishing boat stood a lone figure, swathed in yellow plastic, anchored at the waist, a pair of binoculars glued to his eyes as he surveyed the churning waters around him. The safety vest fit badly but it could not be helped now. A storm was coming, he could see it in the way the sky lit up in all the wrong colors. Red sky in the morning, sailors take warning. For a moment he wondered where he had first heard the expression. lightning flashed in the distance and his heart began to pound. A jack hammer in his chest.

               It was his first trip out to sea, already his nerves were frayed, and he felt sick. He had purchased this boat as an investment. He had always thought that fishing was supposed to be fun, glamourous, exciting. He had read books and watched movies, spent most of his childhood dreaming about this very moment. Now that it had arrived, he found he was terrified.

Clinging to the rail, as the boat slid down waves and climbed up even larger ones, he thought of her. Home, alone, but for the cat and the pond full of coy fish in the back yard. Anger flared for a moment, eclipsing the fear and cold he felt all over.

               She had told him this was going to happen, he remembered. The last fight suddenly fresh in his mind. She wore yellow, he recalled, the dress that always made him think of wildflowers and sunshine. He remembered how she stood in the kitchen, tea pot in hand, eyes wide as he told her that he had bought a boat and that he was a going to be a fisherman.

               “Did you hire a crew? What do you even know about fishing? Have you ever even sailed a ship?” he cringed inwardly thinking back to the way she so casually poked hole after hole in his shiny happy fantasy.

He had been so excited, but by the time he left the house that night, he felt crushed and miserable. He didn’t need that he thought. What he needed was some kindness, a little support. Maybe if she had been just a little more caring, a little more understanding, he might not even be in this mess. Instead, she laughed at him and told him if he wanted to get himself killed who was she to stop him. Thus dismissed, he had left the house, found himself at the peer, ready for his first trip out to sea. If he died, he thought, she probably wouldn’t even miss him.

***

               By the time she got home, the sun was setting, and the sky was an explosion of color. She glanced out her kitchen window, towards the sea and her heart contracted. He had been gone for 2 days now and she felt her emotions bounce between anger and worry. She felt tired and worn, behind her eyes a tempest of pain had begun, and she rubbed at her temples, absently. Storms usually gave her a headache and this one was bad. She thought about him, out there alone on the open water. Idiot, she admonished as she put on the kettle and sat down heavily at the table. The cat, rubbed against her legs and she reached a hand down to stoke its head. It mewed at her, and she got up to feed the tiny beast.

               Lightning flashed outside the window and she looked up in surprise. With in seconds, she heard thunder crash outside and she shuddered slightly. She imagined what it would be like, to brave this storm on open water. She thought of him and her mind tipped towards worry once more.

               “Its not like I need him.” she told the cat conversationally, as she opened the can at the counter.

“ I mean he needs me, that’s obvious, but look, here I am alone, and I’m fine. Just fine.” The cat only stared at her, interested in the food but not too keen on feedback. She sighed and placed the dish on the floor. The cat ate heartily and for a moment she envied the simple creature.

Not for him the trials and tribulations of human interaction. He had instincts, she had emotions. Lucky bastard, she thought affectionately as she refilled his water dish and went to bed.

               The bed was cold, felt too large as she climbed into it. Usually at this time, they would be reading side by side. He, some fishing catalog, or magazine. She, a romance novel, or sci fi magazine. Soon they would turn down the light. She would roll onto her side and he would spoon her.

She would spend a few moments annoyed that not only did he fall asleep at the drop of a hat, but he snored. His nose buried in her hair. As always though, with in minutes, his rhythmic snores would loll her to sleep and she would swim away into a dreamy world of her own.

               She missed him, she admitted to herself grudgingly. Maybe she didn’t need him, but she could at least admit, that she did miss him. With a heavy sigh she reached a hand over to his side of the bed, the emptiness there broke something in her, and for the first time since he had announced his stupid idea, she began to cry.

 ***

               The storm raged around him, but he could do nothing but cling the rail and pray. He had in the end relented and hired two men to run the boat while he himself would do the fishing. He had been annoyed at the time, thinking he could learn as he went, he had read so many books, after all.

Now he was grateful, because, as the boat climbed yet another swell, he found that all the practical knowledge he had acquired had flown from his mind like dandelion fluff in the breeze.

               Her face flashed in his mind and he wished that he could have told her one last time that he loved her. Their parting words had been in anger and he regretted that now, here at the end. He was making his peace, he mused, and felt moisture on his face that had nothing to do with the rain or the sea spray.

               Some one called his name, and as he turned, he felt a sharp pain at the back of his head before darkness closed around him like a fist.

***

               The call came in early in the morning, waking her from a fitful sleep, in which boats had wings and buzzed around giant speckled flowers under a faintly green sky. She answered the call on the third ring.

               It took her about 30 seconds to pull on a pair of jeans, a sweater and find her errant keys. Two minutes after that she was in her car and halfway down the drive, speeding towards the hospital trying to keep the tears from blinding her. He was alive, she kept reminding herself. He was alive.