Fire Starter

“But, I l-love you!” I cried, my voice breaking.

He shook his head. I was tired and felt like I needed to go lay down on the beach and just pretend to become one of local shells—-dried out and buried over time.

“You don’t know what you want, Celesta,” He says softly. “I’m sorry.”

And with that, we are through.

He leaves the beach, touching my hand one last time.

I wished to hold him. I wished to kiss him. I wished for this to be a bad dream.

But it was not.

I’m only sixteen and my life is over.

My boyfriend, Dennis, broke up with me.

It’s my lonely summer of 1999.

I’m bursting with tears on the beach, sitting with my hands digging angrily in the gravely sand.

I want to set the whole beach on fire—-so, I get out my lighter. The sand refuses the flames. It’s his lighter. My ex-boyfriend’s. It was a beautiful, camo designed lighter that had a strange green lighted flame. Perfect for any weather. The only thing I had left from him—-I’ll use it for something to help my pain.

The sand does not catch fire as much as I try. I bury the lighter in the sand and try to forget Dennis’ face. Angular, masculine, strong—-sweet brown eyes. His smile—now a hard, thin frown.

I decide to instead go for a swim. My anger is fired up inside me. The salty water mixes with my tears. I decide to find a shark—to dominate it, and swim with it. I always wanted to swim with a shark. I do not like dolphins. I think they are arrogant. Sharks are humble and they are strong—-yet, they don’t let anyone push them around.

Like me.

I will find the strength to save myself from my own grief by letting go of my fear of loneliness. I do not need anyone.

My father might be looking for me now as it is getting darker outside, but I sink purposefully into the gray-blue-white depths.

I swim and swim until I need to come up for air.

I did not see a shark yet.

Damn.

I swim further and further.

I don’t think about how I’ll return. I wish I would turn into a mermaid—then I would be free.

The water is coming at me in all directions, and it feels like the water had it in for me. It jabs and slams and pulls me, as though the cutting edge of something worse than a knife is slicing against my whole body.

I see something ahead.

I am hoping it’s a shark. I’m exhausted.

I swim over there, my body tiring and my heart tumbling out into my throat.

It’s a boat!

I swim toward the wooden edge.

And I see an old man.

He is weary and tired.

“Ah, lass, what are you doing so far out here?” He asks, his voice trembling in the cold sea air.

“Sharks! Where are they?”

He looked at me oddly. “What?”

I was out of breath.

He helped me unto the boat.

I caught my breath and said clearly, “I wanna swim with a shark.”

“That is a fool thing to want. You don’t know what you want,” he said.

My eyes widened and then narrowed, and I huffed. That was what Dennis had just said to me!

“Yes, I do!” I stomped. The boat tipped and moved and swayed, titling to the flighty whim of my angry, wet foot.

He laughed. “And a temper to boot. What’s your name, young lass?”

“Celesta. Yours?” I took in a deep breath.

“Call me Ishmael.”

I almost laughed a little. “Ishmael? Like the book?”

He wasn’t paying any attention. He was looking out on the horizon. He had long, gray, white hair.

“Celesta, what do ye want with sharks? They don’t want anything to do with you.” He said it, back turned to me.

“How do you know?”

He looked at me. “Because it happened to someone I know. He was looking for something that didn’t want him neither.”

There was a heavy silence in the air.

It hit us both—-and I heard the quiet settling in like a slithering snake. You only get a slight feeling of something crawling through, sneaking in with a slight hissing sound—-until—-

“Why did you really come out here?” He asked.

“I tried to set the beach on fire. I tried to find a shark, instead. The sand wouldn’t set on fire.”

“Ah. Another fool thing. Sand already has been oxidized to the highest level—-it isn’t combustible.”

I frowned. “Okay.”

He looked at me closer. “You have been crying.”

I shook my head.

“You want to help me navigate, lass—-you have become quite silent.”

“I don’t know how to.”

He laughed gently. “I’m lost anyway. Lost on the sea. Lost on my way.”

“On your way where?”

He sat down. “Lost. Like you are.”

“But where are you going?”

He sighed. “I was going to go home, but I don’t see the point. After everything I’ve seen, it’s been good to wander and not have to justify my existence by an adventure.”

I became interested in the adventure part. “What happened?”

“I met a man who was obsessed to find a monster. But, once he did, he didn’t realize that the… the obsession had overtaken his whole life and it took him under. He had lost himself because of it. And I had followed this man to the very bowls of Hell itself because I hadn’t found myself yet, either.”

I yawned.

He laughed. “You’re so young. You’ll see. Life is trial and error. But, we never learn from the good in our life—-the pain gives us the real lessons.”

“I don’t care about pain or lessons. I just want to be free,” I said.

“Yet, you wish to set the world on fire, do ye, lass?”

I stayed silent at that.

“I’ve been trying to figure out the meaning of my life for years,” Ishmael said, his voice cracking. He got up. “I thought it was pain. I believed it made me stronger. It made me feel human. But… now I’m not sure. I used to think finding the meaning of life was an exciting journey—-much like the adventures I’ve had in my youth.”

I frowned. “Isn’t it?”

“It isn’t. Not to me. What about you?”

“My life is over,” I said.

“Why’s that?”

“Because…” The words that were about to follow, ‘because my boyfriend broke up with me,’ sounded so ridiculous—-so I bit my tongue. Dennis and I had only been dating for six months—-six months in sixteen years. I was starting to truly look at Ishmael now, and hear his words. Really hear him. They were sinking into my brain. Into my heart.

“Because?” He asked.

“My life isn’t over,” I sighed. “I just feel sad.”

“You came out here to not feel sad.”

I nodded. I felt the tears pierce through my eyes.

“You do know that holding it in—-trying to fake being happy, will not really make the pain go away?” And all of a sudden, as soon as he said that, he looked like he had made a very important realization. He lifted his head slightly, looking up at the sky, inhaling and exhaling with a strange look in his eyes. “And hiding away from everything and everyone… will not stop life. Will not stop my life.”

I was surprised, but I didn’t know what to say.

“This morning I was feeling like life was meaningless. That I was nothing. That… everything was… nothing,” Ishmael said with a stray tear running down his cheek. I went over to him in the boat, and put my hand on his shoulder. “I lost it all. I lost my partner. My friend. My family. But….”

Our eyes met.

He had strong, steady gray eyes.

“Life isn’t about me. It’s about you. It’s about others. It’s about how you take your pain—-” I started to say, drawing a deep breath, “Ishmael, you helped me see it. You are right. Life isn’t like a big adventure you seek out. It isn’t like a huge thing. It’s this.” I pointed between the both of us.

Suddenly, Ishmael’s eyes grew big and wide.

“Celesta, look!” He yelled softly. “A shark!”

But I did not look.

I held his hand.

“Ishmael, let’s go home.”

And we did. He found home again.

And I, with my father, found peace.