They Called Her Myth

I told Jack I couldn’t swim.

Said it more than once as he undid the mooring lines and eased the boat out into the harbor. Told him I had sunk like a rock in the school’s swimming pool one summer. Looked up from the bottom, and saw legs kicking, several faces peering down at me in amusement. The last of the bubbles reaching the surface as I wondered what would happen to me.

Would I be rescued? Would I be remembered, as my parents eulogized the passing of their son? A bright lad, with a frightful fear of water. Should never have been in the pool. Would never have been in school in July if he hadn’t failed math.

The cool sea air was bracing, I had to admit. Seagulls overhead circling the boat, hopeful for some scraps. Bad timing, I thought, as the boat crested a small series of waves made by a trawler coming into port.

Just the two of us, the boat, the gulls, and a blue sky that went on forever. The heading was north by northwest toward the Isle of Muir.

Captain Jack sat down next to me, and I looked at him then at the wheel now unattended.

“It’s on autopilot, not to worry.”

“Okay.”

“So, what happened?”

“Pardon?”

“You were at the bottom of the pool. The bubbles drifting to the surface, and your lungs out of air. Other students laughing and pointing down at you from above. Sounded pretty dire. Did you make it?”

“No.”

Jack had a hearty laugh. Free of restraint. An air about it that said, I think it’s funny, and I needn’t have a reason. “Aye, I can see that.”

The Isle of Muir was 15 miles west of the town of Ayr, Scotland. Small compared to the Isle of Arran and shrouded in mystery and myth. A lovely place my grandfather took me to not long before he died. Before the Merry Lass met the mighty sea and lost the challenge.

They never found them either. Never brought him home to be with the rest of the family. He’s still out there somewhere, along with a piece of me that I had used often to get through the day. Two years is a long time to be incomplete.

Jack reached over and checked the vest I was wearing, making sure it was tight and secure. “You know how to use these things, right?”

I held the two pulls in either hand and answered. “Tug hard at the same time and the jacket inflates. Like those on the airplanes.”

“Aye, that’s right. Not that you’ll need to do that, mind. We’re in safe waters.”

I nodded as he returned to the wheel, then slowly stood up and staggered over to the side. The water was calm. The sky blue and inviting and off the starboard side, about thirty meters from where I stood were several dolphins playing.

Diving, surfacing with a splash, then diving again. I wish I was a dolphin. Fearless and unhurried. No schoolwork. No more bad dreams. No more summer school.

The Isle of Muir was rock strewn and breathtaking. Sea birds in all shapes and sizes called it home. Flew overhead in greeting as we moored the boat alongside the pier. Grass lined the hills sloping toward us on the leeward side. It was a splendid bit of nature.

Several gulls standing abreast watched us, amused, I think. At least by me as I tripped not three feet off the pier and tumbled.

“Careful. Don’t want to carry you home to your parents.”

“No,” I replied and dusted myself off. The three gulls still watching me, unafraid.

Jack was a family friend. A mate of my dads going back to their days in Glasgow. Neighbors. Then schoolmates. Almost brothers they said. Growing up, growing old together. My dad stayed in the city for college and work. Jack drifted into the Navy, then back home, never far from the sea.

I climbed to the top of the small rise and looked eastward. The Isle itself could fit neatly into Glasgow with a little room to spare. What it lacked in size it made up for in myths and legends. The small folly still standing in the middle of it, built by someone with too much time and money on their hands, reminded me of times past.

King Arthur is what originally came to mind when my grandfather first brought me here. That’s what I thought and felt when I first walked the ruins. The rusted metal of the old gate. The stones quarried from a small cliff that faced the sea, now covered in algae and guano.

I found myself walking there on my own, Jack still behind on the crest of the hill looking down. Drawn I guess by the memories of my first time there. The sandwiches my grandad brought. The tales he told me, deadly serious, then laughing at the look on my face.

“Have to watch what you believe, Angus. Easy to be misled.”

“So, none of it’s true?”

“Cannae say that lad, you just never know what’s real because it happened and what’s just a story told over and over again until it sounds real.”

“So, someone may have seen one, way back?”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

The folly looked older than when I had last been there. Two years isn’t a long time for islands and the sea. But for a boy from Glasgow who’d lost a grandfather and a brother, it was a lifetime. Someone else’s lifetime it seemed. It didn’t feel like mine anymore.

I sat on a rock outcropping and watched the gulls above flying and playing; free to do what made them happy.

I didn’t hear Jack coming up behind me. His footsteps lost in the wind and constant chattering of the birds. He sat down next to me, opening a small satchel he’d brought with him.

From it he pulled out a small thermos and two wrapped sandwiches, handing me one, we ate and drank in silence.

The warm sweet tea and taste of the ham and cheese sandwich sent me back in time. To the Merry Lass bringing us out here. My grandad’s laughter and playful banter. His talk of magic and mermaids and creatures that lived off the isles. A quiet peaceful life filled with whatever they wanted. Unlike ours, I had thought. Always something planned. Always something needing to be done.

The tears came easily enough, along with the memories.

“I miss them,” I said fighting to say the words and keep the tears from overtaking me.

Captain Jack’s arms settled around me, squeezing my shoulder, saying with his presence what he couldn’t say with words.

I sipped the tea. Ate the rest of the sandwich and after a while stood up.

“Just going for a walk.”

“Aye lad, go ahead, I’ll be right here.”

I walked toward the windward side of the isle, the birds following me. Flying near, their wings catching the wind, almost hovering next to me, making sure I was okay.

The sea was calm but windswept. Streaks of white and green and blue filled the space before me. The land slopped toward the sea, slowly at first, then more steeply. I followed the line of the coast, carefully making my way down. Comforted by the gulls that kept me company.

I thought of my brother and his ready smile. Our rides through Glasgow on the back of his motorcycle. Me holding tight, his leather jacket wide open, the wind blowing past us, time stopping just for a while.

I thought of my grandad and his beard, the rough edges of his cap, as old as he was. His rough hands, the warmth in his voice, and I began to cry again.

It welled up inside of me with such force and determination that I wailed up at the wind, crying out their names, demanding to know why. Why both at once?

Buffeted by the wind I almost stumbled and fell into the waves crashing below, but a hand caught me and pulled me back. A hand strong and yet gentle.

I fell back onto a rock, stunned at first. Eyes filled with tears and sea spray, looking up, expecting to see Jack standing there - but he wasn’t.

She watched me intently and with such great concern in her eyes that I was stunned into silence. I thought for sure that this creature, this woman, was nothing more than sorrow and pain mixed with the sounds and smells of the sea.

I tried to look away but couldn’t. Closed my eyes believing that when they opened again, she would be gone. Just a bit of imagination and sadness that would soon pass.

But she was still there sitting or standing or leaning, ever so close. Her hand still wrapped around my arm so gently I hadn’t noticed it was still there.

My mind raced, what do you say to a mermaid?

“Are you …”

She waited, her eyes holding me in her gaze. Me wanting to disappear within them.

“Are you a mermaid?”

She smiled. Released her grip on my arm and with fingers surprisingly warm, she stroked the side of my face and touched a tear on my cheek.

What she said or didn’t say, I don’t know because I didn’t see her lips move and didn’t hear any sounds but the wind, but I knew.

You are sad.

I nodded.

And you miss them.

“Yes.”

Her hand remained on my face and words filled my mind. Words about love and death and the yearning to take time and rip it apart. To breathe in fire and burn away the pain that wouldn’t stop coming. In dreams, on walks in the woods. While riding a bike and listening to songs we would listen to together.

About missing someone so intensely that the mind threatens to shut itself down altogether. To stop taking in sounds and smells, stop listening to people telling you how sorry they are. How the pain will subside, and how they will live on in your heart - when none of it makes the aching go away.

How long we remained like this, I don’t know. But the words kept coming and the ache grew and grew until it didn’t. Until my heart slowed and the throbbing within stopped and the terror of forgetting their faces and the sounds of their voices was no longer there.

She smiled at me and I felt alive for the first time in two years. I breathed in fully for the first time since news arrived that the Merry Lass was missing at sea - no survivors found.

“I love you,” I blurted before I could think of what I was saying.

She laughed, softly and gently and reached over and kissed my cheek.

I felt electricity rush through my body. My head growing light, my mind falling asleep as the sounds of wind and waves began to fade.

“Lad! Angus, are you alright?”

My eyes blinked open and saw the worried face of Captain Jack staring down at me.

“Aye,” I said. “Though I’m not really sure.”

“You look, I don’t know lad. Different. Are you sure you’re, okay?”

I stood up and looked around. Peering over the edge into the waves. Looking to either side, behind the rocks, everywhere, just to be sure. I nodded.

“Let’s go home.”

Jack stood before the wheel as we headed back to Ayr. Looking back at me every few minutes. Unsure of what to think. Uncertain what was putting the grin on my face. But happy it was there.

Had I seen her? Was she real or just the grief powering imaginations I needed to see? To feel in order to let things go.

I heard my grandfather’s voice again as we sat near the folly two years ago. “Cannae say that lad, you just never know what’s real because it happened and what’s just a story told over and over again until it sounds real.”

As we neared the harbor, I could see several parasails just outside the harbor. Small parachutes catching the wind and carrying the riders higher and higher. Lifting them from the waves and gently bringing them back again.

That’s how I felt. At last free of the weight that had kept me down for so long. Not free of the memories, they would always be with me.

What the lady had given me was peace. I touched the spot where she had kissed me and looked up to see Jack watching me.

I smiled. I was good.