Friday 1 November 2024

Time is a Healer by Philippa Rae, hot chocolate

Stevie loved his Great Grandad Albert very much.  At first, he could not understand what was wrong. He just thought his Grandpops was getting forgetful now that he was elderly.  Then one evening, his mum sat him down on the sofa and told him.

“I’m sorry,” she said blinking back the tears. “I know you love Albert just as I do.  But think what a long life he has had.  He’s even outlived my father.”

Stevie nodded.  He had never known his granddad but Grandpops had been a constant in his life since he was a baby. 

His mother insisted that the two of them move in with Albert.  Stevie’s parents were divorced though on good terms.  And, other than an aunt who lived miles away, Stevie and his mum did not have much in the way of family.

There was an unspoken understanding between Stevie and Grandpops.  Stevie could not bear to mention the word Alzheimer’s to him, and in return, Grandpops did not mention it either.  Albert had always been proudly active all his life, and it was upsetting to watch him struggle.

“I want you to have my grandmother’s engagement ring,” he kept saying to Stevie’s mum.

“I am not sure what ring he means,” said his mum to Stevie later. “I know he still likes to wear his pocket watch. It was given to him when he retired from his job on the railways.  

"Albert is ninety-six years old now and so much is in the distant history. Albert’s grandmother, which is your  great, great, great grandmother would have been born around in the 1850s, over 170 years ago.”

On Saturday, Stevie and Grandpops sat out in the garden talking.

“I do so want you to meet Ethel,” he said. He pointed to his watch. “She lives in Withermore Road. It’s only just round the corner. We can get to her by three and be back in time for tea.”

Stevie nodded and smiled.

“Who is Ethel?” he asked his mother later.

“She was Albert’s childhood sweetheart,” said his mother. “I believe they both grew up in this area.”

“Albert has lived here all his life?” said Stevie.

“Most of it in this very house,” said his mother. “When he was a young man he went off and did his own thing but when his parents passed away they left him, as their only son, the house.  He stayed here with Margaret when they brought up their family. You know she was your great-grandmother.”

“So what happened to Ethel then?” said Stevie curiously.

“It was very sad but she was killed in an air raid,” replied his mother.  "Albert was only a couple of years older than you are now.  He never talked about it much but his mother, told Margaret when Albert was being difficult. Now his mind is frail he is obviously thinking of Ethel.  I know that it took him a long time to get over her death. That was why as soon as he had his sixteenth birthday he went away.  The family always said for some time after, he gave Margaret a hard time of it.”

“Yes,” said Stevie. “When we use to come to visit Grandpops, he told me about the blackouts during the war and how everyone had to stay in the underground shelter.”

“Yes, eighty years ago was a very different time to now,” said his mother. “But Grandpops eventually married Margaret so the old saying time is a healer is right. He did love her and he was a good dad to my dad.  

Let us get some old films out.  I’m sure Albert would like that.”

Stevie went into the living room.  Albert was looking out of the window.

“Goodness, its six o’clock already.” Albert touched his watch. “I was supposed to meet Ethel at seven.”

That night Stevie went upstairs to bed. He was going to see his friend Darren tomorrow. He was tired and fell asleep without changing into his pajamas.

When he awoke, he found himself outside in their garden.  At first, he felt disoriented and was unsure where he was. Then he realized he was in their back garden.  It just looked different.  There was no high wooden fence, only wire, and instead of the concrete patio, the ground was smothered with large white daisies.

Two teenagers appeared at the door. The young man seemed vaguely familiar though Stevie could not place him.

“Albert, it’s beautiful.” The girl held up a gold ring. It was decorated with blue sapphires and small white diamonds.

“It was my grandma’s,” said Albert. “When she gave it to me, she told me to give it to the girl of my dreams.”

“And am I Ethel that girl of your dreams?” Ethel grinned.

Albert picked her up and swung her round.  Both laughing with the freshness of youth.

Stevie waved but they looked straight through him.  The pair ran back into the house.  Stevie followed them into the dining room. A large pot of tea stood on the table. A china plate piled high with chicken paste sandwiches. Stevie touched on the wall but his hand disappeared into the old-fashioned floral paper. The furniture looked like it came from a charity shop.

“Mum, we are here for tea.” Albert put some milk into a cup.

“I used up all our rations,” she grumbled. “So you’d better enjoy it.”

“Can I have something to eat?” Stevie’s hand reached for a sandwich.  However, it stayed on the plate, his hand just cut thorough it, just grasping into thin air.

No one took any notice, as if he was not even there.  Stevie studied Albert.  Life had turned his mop of dark hair into the snow white it now was, and the once smooth skin was weathered with lines. From the boy in front of him, Stevie could trace the features of the elderly man that Albert had become.

 Stevie put his hand up and down in front of Ethel’s face.  They cannot see me, he thought. Is this a dream?  Or are they ghosts?

On the table was a newspaper. The headlines were about fighting that was going on. The photograph showed an old aircraft.  In small print in the corner was the date - 20th February. Nothing odd about that – it was the 20th February but the year was 1943.

“Maybe it is me that is a ghost – a ghost from the future.” Stevie pondered.

 Suddenly everything faded and Stevie was sitting at the table with his mum and Grandpops, eating his breakfast.

“You don’t usually read the newspaper,” his mum motioned to the Sunday paper by him.

“Err, I wanted to see what’s on the TV tonight,” said Stevie hurriedly. He was puzzled. His hand shook when he picked up a slice of toast to dip into his boiled egg. The brown teapot and pile of sandwiches had gone.

“You kids and pop music,” groaned his mum good-naturedly. “I can’t think what Grandpops Albert thinks about today’s charts!”

“I like Frank Sinatra,” replied Albert. “I collect all his records.”

“This afternoon, I’m going to play football with Darren,” said Stevie.

Darren lived in the block of flats two streets away from him.  There was a playground area and large expanse of grass where children could play. When he got back, he needed a bath.

“Hello Grandpops Albert!” Stevie poked his head into the living room. “I’m back.”

“I’ll just get the washing in before I start tea,” said his mother.

“But of course Ethel,” said Grandpops. “You like our daisies; I grow them for you so why don’t you pick some to decorate this room.”

“He’s not unhappy.”  Stevie’s mother peeled the potatoes, whilst Stevie got out the cutlery.  “He has lived a long and happy life.  His mind is now just tired and frail.”

“He keeps thinking you are Ethel?” said Stevie. “Maybe he’s trying to tell you something.”

The three of them spent the evening playing cards and watching an old black and white film.  Stevie had decided to forego his favourite programme. He could view it later.   There would always be pop stars but there was only one Grandpops Albert.

That night Stevie went up to bed.  When he woke, he found himself inside a café.  The young Albert and Ethel were at the table surrounded by their friends.

Albert pointed to the menu. “Hopefully the fighting will have finished when we get married, and then we can have proper food at our wedding.  Mum always says that the Silver Café was the best around before the war.”

“Whooo!” said one lad. “Are you getting married?”

“Not yet, Bobby,” replied Albert. “We have to wait until we’re sixteen next year. Remember I am a year younger than most of you.”

“But you’re wearing a ring already?” said Bobby. 

“Gorgeous isn’t it.” Ethel stretched out her hand to show them her prize.

“Where did you get such a ring at your age?” Will remarked. “I couldn’t afford that, and I work in the shop.”

“It was my grandmother’s engagement ring,” said Albert. “She said I was to give it to the girl I truly loved.”

“Say cheese!” Will clicked his camera.

Caught in the flashlight, everyone started giggling. Then the laughter disappeared and there was a hissing sound. Stevie was back at his house with Ethel and Albert.

“But I don’t want us to move away when we are sixteen,” cried Ethel. “We are still young and I want to be near my Mum.”

“But I want to go up north where I can get a job in the ship yards,” said Albert.

“No wonder me mam says you can be stupid at times,” seethed Ethel. “If you had any sense you would stay here and carry on with your education and get a trade behind you.  Mam says that would set us up for when we are married.”

“Why doesn’t your mam tell that to your brother?” retorted Albert. “He is a good for nothing layabout.”

“Why Albert?” Ethel blinked back the tears in her eyes. “I don’t think I want you at all.” She took her ring off, hastily dropping it on the table. Then she ran out of the house.  Albert followed her. The door banged behind him. The vibrations of the slam caused the engagement ring to fall off the end of the table.  The ring disappeared through a small gap in the wooden floorboards.

Albert was hurrying after Ethel when the siren went. It was a warning for the air raid.  Enemy planes must be on their way.

“Come back here,” puffed Albert but Ethel was already turning the corner into Withermore Street. Albert stopped, and then ran back home. His mother was pulling the blackout curtains down.

“Let’s go into the cellar,” she said as they heard the first bomb drop.

“It sounds very close.” Albert squeezed his mother’s hand.

It seemed like an eternity before the all clear bell sounded. Shaken, Albert and his mother emerged from the cellar.   Within a few minutes, there was a knock on the door.  It was Albert’s friend George.

“Albert, I came round as soon as I could,” gasped George.   “I am sorry but Withermore Road has been hit. You need to get down there.”

The door banged shut. Albert raced down the road.  Even though he was only wearing a thin shirt, he did not feel the cold.  As soon as he turned the corner, he saw debris over the street.  Some of the houses had suffered direct hits including Ethel’s.  The home guard was trying to find people in the wreckage.  Albert waited and waited but there was no sign of Ethel.

“I’m sorry Albert, love,” His mother had come to find him. “But I am afraid it looks like Ethel and her family are not coming back.”

“Nooooooo!” shouted Albert. “Nooooooooo!”

 

Albert stayed curled up in the chair for days. He barely ate a thing. A few weeks later, he remembered that Ethel had returned his grandmother’s ring. However, he could not find it anywhere in the living room.

“The ring has fallen between the floor boards,” Stevie tried to tell Albert. However, Albert could not hear him. Stevie tried to pick up a pencil and write him a note but his hand just sliced through the implement like it was air.

 

When Stevie turned around, he was back in the kitchen. His mother was putting a pan on the stove.  Stevie went into the living room to wait for his hot chocolate. Albert had gone to bed early. He looked at the blue rugs on the floor. His mum had bought them, when they had gone away to the coast last year.  Underneath the rugs, the wooden floorboards had been restored with paint and gloss.

With a rush of excitement, Stevie realized that the small gap in the floorboards was still there.  He flashed his torch down there, and poked around with a fork. He could smell the dust. It touched something. Stevie could see it was a ring, though it was covered in grime.  He managed to hook it onto the fork and lever it up.

“To think it’s been down there for nearly eighty years,” Stevie thought.

“What are you doing?” His mother came in with a tray.

“Err, I dropped fifty pence and I moved the carpet to look for it but accidentally knocked the coin down the gap. I spotted this ring down there. Do you think it is the ring that Grandpops talks about?

“We can find out how old the ring is by its hallmark.” She handed Stevie his drink. “At least that will give us some idea. We won’t show it to Albert in case it upsets him. I’ll take it into the jewellers and see if they can decipher its age.”

 

A few days later when Stevie got in from school his mother was sitting at the table and crying. “I am sorry but Grandpops has gone. I found him in his chair this morning. I wanted to wait for you to get back from school.”

 “I would like you to have this.” His mum pushed Albert’s retirement pocket watch across the table towards him. “It’s what he would have wanted.”

Stevie opened the silver case. On one side was the watch’s mechanics, all in perfect working order. One the other was a photo of Albert and Margaret.

“When was that picture taken?”  Stevie gently peeled the photograph out and turned over the back.  “1956. Wait, there’s another picture underneath.”

Stevie recognized it instantly.  It showed the young Albert and Ethel surrounded by their friends at The Silver café. Ethel’s hand was outstretched showing off her engagement ring.

“Well, I never,” said Stevie’s Mum. “That must be Ethel and look, there is that ring on her finger.”

About the author 

Philippa has written four print books, and had short stories and poems in magazines and anthologies. She has written many assemblies for SPCK Publishing. Philippa enjoys creativity in all its form from the written word to charity promotions and performance. 

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Thursday 31 October 2024

The Visit by Clare Martin, a gin and tonic, for old times' sake

It’s the leaving that’s hard.

Arriving’s okay. Warmth, loud music from the TV lounge, the twittering of caged birds and murmured conversation. A lingering smell of gravy, a hint of polish. The sharp undertone of bleach

Quiet and heavy – a blanket that warms, comforts and restricts.

I’m greeted with a smile and a cheerful hello from everyone I pass, as a carer takes me through. We exchange quick, elliptical remarks, filling me in on today’s state of play.

And then she’s there, at the end of the corridor – smile wavering, eyes spurting hot tears of mingled relief and happiness.

‘Oooh hoo!’, her fingers waggle at me.

We hug – my arms trying to encompass every bit of her, conveying love, reassurance, and so-happy-to-see-you.

On a good day, I swiftly turn tears to a watery chuckle with a bit of nonsensical chatter. A silly song. Something and nothing.

On a bad day, we stand swaying together awhile, me murmuring consolation into her soft, flyaway hair until she’s ready to have her arm tucked into mine and take a gentle stroll around the unit.

Correction. Her home.

We find a place to sit and talk – me willing myself to relax, sit back in my chair, and chat about the weather, the birds, the flowers, the children.

All the while, my inner self is perched on the edge of my seat, eyes scanning her face, straining to catch every last drop of her words, willing there to be meaning beneath the rote phrases. To see in her eyes some sense of self, some fleeting wisp of memory.

Those eyes. Still bright blue.

How piercing they were when she detected me in wrong-doing. How warm and loving when my actions filled her with pride.

Now behind the gaze lies blankness, as though she is staring into somewhere misty and far off. A puzzle she cannot untangle.

Time passes – more nonsense, interspersed with quick checks of her physical state. And always, always, trying to make her laugh.

It’s the leaving that’s hard. It kills a little bit of me, every time.

Towards the end of the afternoon, I make ‘got to leave soon’ noises. My gut twists as I talk of journey times, weather, hours of daylight left, where the kids are and how I have to get home to them soon.

Does she - always the carer, the organiser, the worrier – understand? Or do my words mean nothing?

I’m preparing myself for departure.

I stand and we link arms again and stroll along the corridors, admiring the pictures on the wall, talking to the budgies, greeting the people we pass.

‘Got to go now, Mum.’

Another all-embracing hug – trying to give through my whole body, my mind, my heart, anything to arm her for the coming days.

The bad days, the confused days, the past-is-here-and-now days, the pain-filled memory days.

I slide slowly towards the front door.

Look back.

There she stands, rudderless, adrift in a sea of warmth and kind, compassionate care. Yet still adrift - blue eyes un-focusing in a look of loss and leaving.

About the author 

 Clare Martin is a writer with a background in radio journalism. Based in Sussex, England, she specialises in flash fiction and short stories. Writing about what lies under the surface of ordinary life, she draws inspiration from overheard conversations and the tales we tell ourselves. 
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Wednesday 30 October 2024

Billy’s Dilemma by Philippa Rae, lemonade

 Billy walked out of the school gates. He felt light and full to the point of bursting at his good news.  

 

“I am over here,” his mum waved from the window of her little blue mini. Billy felt a rush of joyful emotion as he spotted her.

 

This morning in assembly, Billy had been surprised when the headmaster, Mr Dringle had announced that he had been awarded a special prize for his successes in the school tests.   He had come top in five out of seven subjects and second in the other two.  Proudly he had opened the winner’s envelope to discover a gift card to spend at Harlington’s Department Store.

 

 All day long, he had bubbled with excitement at the thought of telling his Mum. It seemed to take forever for the hands of the clock to slowly tick round to half past three and end of day school bell.

 

As Billy drew nearer to the car all the good feelings of earlier, begin to dissolve as he saw her strained face thorough the glass.  A hot flame of resentment shot through him.  What was wrong now?  However, of course he knew what was wrong.  It was always the same when he wanted to tell her something.  When he wanted her to be interested in him there always seemed to be something else to distract her.  And that something was usually his brother Terry.  In fact, his mum’s attention was always focused on Terry.  He remembered a time when it had been himself that had been the centre of her world.  But as soon as Terry was born and his disability diagnosed everything had changed.

 

"I am very sorry but your son has Cerebral Palsy," the doctor had explained to Mum.

 

Billy opened the car door but his excitement had already melted away. He had grown accustomed to the pressures that his brother’s disability brought on their family. 

 

Some days his parents' apparent lack of interest felt like just a dull ache for him that he could deal with.  He could would push it to the back of his mind and seek solace in his friends and school.  Other times he wanted to scream.  A long deafening scream to vent out his frustration.

 

His mum never took her worries out on him and was always calm towards him. However, more frequently than not she seemed distant, as if she may as well have not been there with a heaviness weighing on her mind. Sometimes Billy thought that it might have been better had she been angry with him, out letting her emotion rather than this indifference.   

 

On good days, the three of them would go out on trips.  However, it usually seemed to be a succession of getting Timmy in and out of his chair.  The never ending of unbuckling and buckling up of his seat belt.  There would be laughs but his mother always hovered protectively about Terry.    On bad days, his parents barely even seemed to notice Billy as they rushed about tending to Terry.  Then Billy was sent to stay with his grandmother.

 

Inside Billy felt a deep turmoil, which would rage and subside depending on the day.  Guiltily he always tried to push these thoughts from his mind but they seem to nag away at him.  His brother was a gentle spirit who adored his older brother.  He was always smiling and trying to grab onto Billy’s hand.  Billy felt torn between the love for his brother and sometimes wishing his brother was far away.

 

He climbed into the car.  His mother’s tear face silenced his news.

“Billy, Terry is in hospital.  He fell out his chair and hit his head on the ground. Your dad is with him now.”

 

Billy’s cheeks flushed pink at the feelings that he had been harbouring against his little brother.  How many times had he wondered how life might be without Terry? Now this might actually become a reality. 

 

The drive to the hospital seemed to take an eternity.  Billy sat in silence – he could feel his prize in his pocket but the joy of receiving it had long been forgotten. 

 

When they arrived at the hospital, they went straight to the children’s wing.   As they walked down the corridor and through the doors of the ward, they saw Billy’s dad.  A tear glistened on his face.

 

“It’s Terry,” said his dad. “He’s going to be alright.”

 

The surge of relief and lifting of guilt from Billy’s shoulders came as a total surprise to him.  The overwhelming happiness that Terry was going to be okay far outweighed any prize.

 

"Now how was your day at school?" said his Mum.

 

"It will wait, Mum," replied Billy as he held his brother's hand. “But do you think when you drive home we could go into Harlington’s?  I would like to buy a present for Terry.”

About the author

Philippa has written four print books, one audio story and had short stories and poems in magazines and anthologies. I have written many assemblies for SPCK Publishing. Philippa enjoys creativity in all its form from the written word to charity promotions and performance. 

Did you enjoy the story? Would you like to shout us a coffee? Half of what you pay goes to the writers and half towards supporting the project (web site maintenance, preparing the next Best of book etc.)

Tuesday 29 October 2024

The Siren’s Ruse by Michael M. Pacheco, virgin pina colada

Some people can hold their breath underwater for a long time. Finn can stay under longer than anyone else. He discovered this ability when he left his mother’s womb.

Later in life, he learned his single mom was on an ocean cruise when an alarm sounded. The ship had struck an iceberg in the open ocean and was sinking fast. Voices screamed in terror when the panic set in. None of those voices, however, sounded familiar.

His mother was in her ninth month of pregnancy and he was ready to come out. The ship took on water quickly and everyone on board would soon perish, everyone that is, except Finn.

The ship slowly descended and Finn felt a sudden cooling of his surroundings. His mother’s body slipped into the icy waters. At first, he detected her shiver and overwhelming fear, but then, within minutes of feeling the coolness, a wave of calm washed over them. A bright light appeared above Finn’s head as his mother used her muscles to push him toward it. Feeling no resistance, he came out of her and felt a sudden change in the environment. He continued breathing in fluids, but rather than amniotic fluid, he inhaled cold seawater. His little heart thumped in his chest.

His mother’s calm voice said, “Inhale, exhale.”

The words came at him over and over. He didn’t hear actual spoken words, but he understood the message, and he obeyed. Taking in saltwater and exhaling it, relaxed him.

Just then, a big fish with sharp teeth came at him and he flinched with what must’ve been a natural reaction and raised his little hands in defense. But, instead of biting Finn, the fish chomped on a cord that attached him to his mother. His body quivered as the fish severed the tether. The reddish-pink water around the child swirled as the fish swam away.

He caught only a glimpse of his mother’s serene countenance before she descended into the ocean darkness.

“Forgive me!” she cried in some form of telepathic manner.

 Finn was saddened, certain he’d never see her again. He flapped his arms and kicked his legs, and the action propelled his body forward. The motion felt good and liberating. This movement wasn’t the same as moving inside the walls of his mother’s tummy. The sensation awakened a certain curiosity within him, so he started exploring the sea.

The cold seawater was a welcome embrace for him; he hadn’t felt so alive when he was in his mother’s womb. The heavy swell of the waves, the undulating rhythm of the ocean, and the salty taste on his lips were sensations he’d never experienced. He was in a world of his own, free from the constraints of his mother’s body, and he relished the feeling of being alive.

Finn explored his newfound aquatic realm, swaying with the ebbs and flows of the tide, and taking in the awe-inspiring sights. Schools of silvery fish swarmed around him, their scales glistening in the sunlight. Colorful coral reefs spread out beneath him, their intricate shapes and textures a vivid contrast to the waves above. He felt a rush of adrenaline, realizing he was the only human being in this surreal environment.

As he navigated the depths, he was met with a host of new experiences. He mingled with creatures of all shapes and sizes. Some he recognized from his mother’s tales about the ocean, and some he couldn’t identify. And yet, he felt a strange kinship with these creatures, who moved with him gracefully through the currents. He shivered as he passed by a giant octopus, its massive tentacles reaching out to him as if to offer a greeting. Finn marveled at the beauty of the jellyfish, their tentacles undulating in the water like a field of gentle, floating flowers.

But his underwater journey wasn’t filled merely with amazement and wonder; he also encountered moments of fear. A large shark startled him, its menacing silhouette moving through the water at a frightening speed. Finn jerked back when a giant squid emerged from the depths, its huge, glowing eyes watching him pass by.

The mystery of the ocean held a strange fascination for him, and he soon found himself drawn to its depths. He dove farther and farther down, into a world of shadows and intrigue. Here, he discovered a whole new set of creatures, from strange, alien-looking fish with luminescent scales to beds of giant clams that stretched as far as the eye could see. As he explored this alien landscape, he felt a strange calm, as if the ocean connected him to a greater power.

When Finn made his way back toward the surface, he felt a sudden pull from the depths. he resisted at first but eventually surrendered to the powerful force. The ocean current somehow brought him back to the surface, where a team of grown people pulled him out of the water. He couldn’t talk but they were astonished he survived the ship’s demise. They’d never seen anyone breathe underwater. They marveled at his courage and resilience, his ability to survive in such a hostile environment.

One of the rescuers, a woman, held him up by his ankles and spanked his bottom. He wanted to bite her the way the big fish had bitten his cord, but alas, he had no teeth, so he cried. Apparently, his crying was the desired effect because all the men gave her a round of applause. The air burned Finn’s throat and dried out his lungs as the rescuers wrapped him in a blanket and took him to safety. They’re the ones who named him Finn.

In the years that followed, Finn discovered he retained an extraordinary gift - the ability to swim and breathe underwater as effortlessly as any fish. Yet this unique talent set him apart from others, making it difficult for him to forge meaningful connections on land. Despite his longing for companionship, he remained a solitary figure, yearning for a sense of belonging and carrying a deep sense of loss for his mother.

Finned married the first girl who seemed to understand him and his love for the sea. Two weeks later, he joined the Marine Corps. But his offshore outings took him from her for longer and longer periods of time. When the shine had worn off their marriage, he cut the ties.

On a perfect spring morning with flat seas and clear blue skies, then-private Finn made a terrible mistake when he left his wife. He held her hands, a receding wave sweeping sand out from under his bare feet. “I joined the Navy ... I do love you, but the sea is my lady,” he’d said ignorantly. That was forty years ago, but he remembered the event and his deep regret as if it happened only yesterday.

Today, one-star retired general Finn relaxed in a beach chair near the old dock of Marina Vallarta, comparing the sea’s calm and the striking sky to the ones in his memory. On the water, the sun danced in diamonds. He was still a man of logic and reason, but he felt different these days. He’d spent his entire life serving in the Marines, making tough decisions and leading his troops with precision. But now life was slower, more serene.

Soon after he was promoted from full-bird colonel to his first star, he retired and realized he wasn’t the kind of person to sit around the house and spend endless hours surfing the net. Within two weeks, he hired a small fishing crew. Yesterday, he’d brought his men to this port to relax after a week at sea, harvesting shrimp and red snapper. Their haul had been abundant, but tiring. They were, after all, the real fishermen. He just enjoyed being El Jefe. His men had earned the time off and he needed a respite, now that he was in his late sixties.

He glanced toward the jetty where his boat bobbed and strained impatiently against its mooring. On the beach, he spotted a Mexican couple by the shoreline walking toward him. A double set of footprints in the damp sand trailed them back to the rocky foreshore. He caught a faint whiff of a pleasant fragrance, no doubt emanating from the señorita.

            Turning back to the lapping waves, he thought, that lucky guy should be me. But on this day, he would not rendezvous with any paramour. After his divorce, female companions were more like weekend flings than real relationships. Nothing lasted more than a couple of days and nights. Sometimes he missed the intimacy and quiet moments associated with being a couple. His adoptive parents weren’t alive anymore and he’d never remarried.

            Was it too late? Could he still find true love? At times he felt like the only man amongst his younger peers with a paralyzing fear; time was running out for him.

As he ruminated about his four decades in the Marines, a dark shadow passed over him as though a cloudburst was about to happen. He turned his head and saw the couple, hand in hand, strolling behind him. They smiled politely but said nothing.

Finn smiled back.

For a moment, the area around him went strangely quiet. It was as if he’d been transported to a different place. There was a soft splash, and a majestic woman rose from the water like a scuba diver rising to the surface, but she wore no such gear. The upper part of her shiny swimsuit sparkled as she treaded the calm water. Her smooth and ivory skin glistened as the moisture trickled off her hair and down her shoulders, over her prominent breasts.

Their eyes met. She gazed at him.

He stared back and felt immediate curiosity about the way her alluring eyes were now downcast and the corners of her mouth curled up.

General Finn was sure he was dreaming. With her long flowing hair and shimmering scales of her suit, the woman seemed too fantastical to be real.

With a slender gracefully extended arm, she waved at him. Then her soft and gentle voice broke the silence. “Come join me,” she said. “The water’s fine.”

His heartbeat quickened.

“I’m sure it is,” he said, “but I don’t swim much anymore.”

“But I’ve seen you out on your boat.”

“That’s right,” the general said. “I was on the boat, not in the water.”

Where had she seen him?

“We’ve only been here a coupla days. Where’d you see me?” he asked.

She spun her body around in the water like a child who enjoys dizzying herself. When she stopped, she swung her body in such a way that he caught a glimpse of a fishtail.

At that moment, Finn believed she was not human, but a living, breathing creature nonetheless.

She tilted her head. “I’ve seen you in lots of places, the Marietas Islands and over by Yelapa, other places too.”

General Finn’s interest was piqued. Why had this lady been at all those places and at the same time as him? Maybe he was being “pranked.” Some of his fellow retirees were quite capable of pulling well-planned stunts like this.

The woman in the water splashed teasingly toward the general. “Come on, You’re not too old to swim again.”

He chuckled, “Nah, I don’t have a fancy tail like you.” He hoped this would draw her out of her ruse or “being in character.”

It didn’t work.

“Most people don’t, but that’s what makes me special. Come on in,” she said waving him toward her.

The ambient air was now in the nineties and the humidity was high. He was still in the zone of silence. A dip in the water would be nice.

He rose, limbered up, then walked knee-deep into the water. The sea was warm, but still cooler than the tropical air. “You’re right,” he said, “It feels good.”

“Come closer,” she said, patting her chest above her heart. She extended her fingers as if to emphasize the drama of her gesture.

He waded in, closing the distance between them. As he neared her, he noticed her skin was flawless and the shiny scales were not a swimsuit but part of her skin.

He thought about placing his hand on hers to be assured she was real. “What’s your name?”

She gave him a demure smile. “Ariel.”

He laughed. “You mean like the Little Mermaid?”

She puffed out her chest. “Do I look little to you?”

He didn’t answer but caught himself staring at her smooth, tanned tummy and hoping for a glimpse of more of her skin. He decided he liked everything about this woman.

She reached out and took him by the hand.

A ticklish tingle ran through him. He liked the feeling and didn’t resist her lead.

“I want to show you something,” she said. “It has something to do with your special swimming skills.”

How did she know about that?

Ariel dipped her head into the water and her tail flipped into the air like a dolphin diving deep.

He held onto her hand. Behind him, the splash of her tail ended the eerie silence. Within seconds the water turned into a murky yet, enchanting bliss. The tropical warmth against his skin reminded him of his mother’s embrace. It was whole and complete as when he suckled on her breast as an infant.

And as if she had read his mind, Ariel somehow communicated to him. “I’ll take care of you, don’t worry.”

She must be telepathic. Can I trust her? he thought.

“Always,” she said.

They descended slowly until the dark abyss became a brightly lit space. He looked around, startled by the mythic beauty of the world around him, the rainbow-colored fish, the swaying kelp and starfish on the ocean floor.

As she glanced back at him, he saw an expression on her face reflecting his own feelings of longing and yearning of the truest kind.

“Semper fi, Jefe,” she said. She led him through a tunnel to a spacious chamber.

Finn was shocked when he saw his mother’s body entombed within a shimmering crystal. Overwhelmed with emotion and longing for closure, he listened as Ariel gave him a message from his mother.

“She wanted your forgiveness.”

“Forgiveness for what?”

“For not saving you from drowning. She didn’t believe me when I told her you survived,” Mariel said. “So we preserved her and brought her here… for you.”

Finn stared at his mother. “Can she hear me?”

“Place your hand on the crystal and speak from your heart. She’ll hear you.”

Touched by this revelation, Finn finally began to understand the depth of his mother's love and the true meaning of family. He edged close to the crystal and placed his right hand on it. “I forgive you, Mother … I love you so much. I always have and I always will.”

As soon as he mouthed the words, the crystal glowed brightly, and then in an instant, it vanished.

Ariel swam to him and gave him a warm embrace.

Together with Ariel by his side and his mother's spirit guiding him from beyond, Finn was now able to navigate the depths of emotion and finally find peace within himself. He’d found his home.

Finn heard someone call his name, but it wasn’t Ariel.

On the beach, an EMT scanned the water. He looked at the Mexican couple. “I don’t see anybody. Are you sure he went down in this specific area?”

The man answered, “As sure as God is our witness.”

About the author 

  Michael M. Pacheco is a writer living in the Sonoran Desert of Arizona. He received his BA from Gonzaga University and earned his Juris Doctorate at Willamette University College of Law. 

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