The lighthouse

Another bucket of water into the sea and yet the water is still climbing up my feet. My red poppies floating behind me, I continue in vain to the dark to find the source of the leak.

“Quickly, plug the leak”, shouted the raspy voiced captain on the top deck.

An old woman who sat above a crate to stay away from the rising water, looked on unimpressed at my attempt to keep the ship from flooding. There were three of us but only me and a man with dark green hat tried to take out more water than was coming. I collected it and he would climb through the gap above and onto to the top deck to through it overboard. With another hand we could at least but up some kind of fight against the water but it was hopeless.

“You kids are absolutely hopeless”, said the Jackie sneeringly.

My frustration hung over me like my grandfather Umar’s big red coat. IT would have been easier to travel with an airship but being that as it may I was still passenger on the boat and yet I’m being treated like a disappointing crew member. I can hear my grandfather’s favourite phrase ringing in my ear.

“Your too soft Ali”, he would say disappointingly.

Despite his clear negative demeanour, at least towards me, he was the only person who would listen to me and even though I knew that his response would always be more disappointment than positive encouragement I always felt better after talking to him. Which was very telling about my options of emotional outlet.

In ten minutes, this boat was definitely going to sink. Fortunately, I get off the next stop and not in no time at all the unmistakable red light from the lighthouse was brushed passed the hole at the bottom of the ship. Rather than plugging the gap I climbed up through the gap and onto the top of the deck and looked onward and saw my grandfather’s lighthouse behind a large cliff. Finally, I was home.

I got off the boat with my red poppies in hand and barely noticed the snarking captain shaking his head. It had been almost four years since I laid eyes on her, The love of my grandfather’s life, Patricia.

She stood cold and alone in the night. She paled in comparison to her majestic youth. Even the red light barely made its presence known through the thick fog that surrounded the island. During my childhood I would see the red light from the island I took the boat from. Time has been kind Patricia, she seemed tired and of course with death of her keeper, who could blame her. She seemed barely visible in this cold night. The small pond I use to jump into every morning looked almost completely frozen.

During the Summer Day she her turquois base would glimmer as the waves splashed on it. The trickle of water would run down its base and almost seem like the water emanated from the lighthouse itself. The pebbles at the bottom of the lighthouse collected the water and shone almost as brightly as the light above. When the sun began to set, the red light complimented the setting sun as if it were its child clinging onto their parents’ leg before they had to leave. I’m great full that I could witness such beauty that would almost wipe away the pain of my childhood. I loved being here, away from my family, away from my mother. My grandfather was the only person I felt didn’t hate me.

If you couldn’t tell by the red light he used for his lighthouse, which even in these parts was odd, Granddad was a bit of maverick.

“Every Artist needs something to make him stand out”, he would say proudly to anyone who criticized his choices.

He would regularly get into fights with people in the town on the mainland. He proudly claimed he killed over a hundred men during the war. Many thought that was distasteful. He didn’t care one bit for they nothing beyond their own eyes. The world was covered with blood and in his view, he thought he should do what he could to reflect that to at least not live a lie and hope the next generation could change course.

He wasn’t everyone’s cup of tea and as I lay the red poppies by his favourite chair besides his beloved Patricia, I thanked the man I knew. The man who always had time for anything I wanted to talk about. Whether it was a weird shell I found one day or strange dream I had the night before. The man who always asked what I wanted to eat and would make it without fail. To my grandfather, the red light in my life.