In the Distance

With white peaks, turbulent waters, and heavy fog – it's tricky to spot through squinted eyes. The USS Supreme, a 1940s WWII battleship, charges forward as eager sailors drape along its steely banisters. Blue and white streamers confirm reunion is possible. The ship on the horizon eventually reaches the mainland. Senior Chief Petty Officer Robert Harris bolts from the ship, muddying his starched uniform. He sees her, reaches to caress her cheek, even grabs her hand. Another gut punch. Another heartbreak. Again, no connection. Beatrice, now 92 and blind, stands at the shore, feels the ocean breeze on her face, and recalls memories of her beloved Bobby. “Someday,” aches her heart.

“It’s a ghost ship,” announces Vera, a townsperson.

“I’ve seen it here and there,” Archie confesses, “… out of the corner of my eye.”

“In my dreams, Lois, … I see it in my dreams,” laments Marlon.

Bicker, bicker, bicker. Endless gossip spreads – like wildfire – around this small seaside community in Queens, New York.

At Fort Tilden State Beach, Tony moves his rook. Walter moves his queen. Both are retired seniors and proud WWII veterans. He checkmates. “Damn you, Walter” slamming his hand down, “Not again.”

Humming Glen Miller, Audrey packs the inside with cherry filling then lays a blanket of freshly rolled dough on top. Her knotty-knuckled fingers pinch the sides, her shaky hand forks the top and into the oven, it goes. Rolling, folding, and cutting soothes her achy arthritic hands. Pie then cake, cake then cinnamon rolls, cinnamon rolls then more pastries – she fails every day but tries and tries again. “These pies and cakes could’ve paid for our upside-down mortgage years ago,” Audrey laments. “Damn, I wish I would’ve started sooner.”

One load, two loads, three loads – washing becomes drying. Monday, always, is roast beef and mash. Two red pills and one blue pill helps her developmentally disabled adult son, Harold. Every day is the same day. For the last sixty-five years.

The oven alarm startles her. Her finished pie cools – aromatic, toasty, and flaky – this one, she’s convinced, brings her closer to pastry goddess status.

At 94, today is endless work while tomorrow is uncontrollable worry.

Grabbing the finished dryer clothes she stumbles, her blood pressure plummets. “Be careful,” her doctor’s warnings ringing in her ears. The ghost ship – in the small laundry room window – centers her doubts. “Oh my,” eyes widening. A celebrity here and there, two or three townspeople and a few small children … she recognizes some faces: Cary Simons, Greg Limen, little Thomas Wells, young Elizabeth Johns, her sister Stella Grant, Daniel Heinz – even her fourth-grade teacher, Miss Adams. She shakes her head as the ship fades little by little back into the fog. In front of her pill organizer, “One, two, three”– she counts her meds again and again.

Battery fading, “I’m home, Dear.” Screaming, “Boy, it sure does smell good in here.”

Walter kisses, “Honey, I won today.”

“The ghost ship is real,” pursing her lips with stern conviction.

“Really, Dear?” scratching his head.

Tucked far away, a hidden private island resides in the cerulean blue waters. Exotic fruits, serpentine vines, and eye-catching flora intoxicate every passerby. Cockatoos, hyacinth parrots, toucans – it is pure perfection. A fresh-faced young man smiles as he stands in his favorite blue tee and new jeans thinking, "I have arrived." His colorful Vespa circles the island, while a love of architecture keeps his eyes on every mansion, every villa, every casita. “I can’t believe it.” Grabbing a juicy peach from a nearby tree, “Delicious.” A celebrity with her seamless body strolls towards the waterfalls, “No way.” Then another, “They’re everywhere.” In the restaurant, next to the pool, playing poker, crooning famous songs, “Wow, is this real?” Not one camera in sight, no insistent paparazzi, no crowds of tourists. Some residents prefer to stay here indefinitely. “Well, I don’t mind the eye candy or staying here forever.” Consistent weather, A-list celebrities, world-class athletes, amazing food, endless beauty, new people everywhere, “How am I so lucky?”

Before dinner, Walter washes his hands and blows a kiss at his favorite picture. In 1945, his ship docked in New York City. He disembarked to find a beautiful woman in the crowds at Times Square on V-J Day, or Victory over Japan Day. He smoothed his sailor uniform, beelined, and kissed her – a striking lady in white. A photographer snapped that exact moment they kissed, and the following day a famous magazine’s front cover story featured them. It was an instant success. “I am the luckiest man alive,” he gushes. Decorated in white, she was a dental assistant, then shortly afterward – his beloved bride. The moment they met was etched indelibly in his heart and forever in America’s history books.

Stomachs grumbling, “Dadddddd.”

“Thank you, Lord, for this food. Amen,” crossing themselves in unison.

“The sunset was striking today, yeah?” Audrey confirms.

“Gee Dear, the roast is delicious,” wiping his mouth.

“Damnit Harold, it’s everywhere,” Walter tidies his son.

Harold wrings his hands, “Where are my favorites?”

“The food on your plate is your favorite, remember Dear?” She slices her meat.

His roast beef orbits his mash. Swallows a bit and “Yum.”

“If you eat more food, Harold, you get dessert. It’s cherry pie tonight.” Audrey confirms.

“Oh my, oh my, oh my,” his hands fluttering.

“I love you Son, but will you please keep this mess off of your clothes?" Slamming the table, "Damnit Harold, I’m 95 and I can’t keep up with you anymore.” Cherries on his plate, his shirt, his chair, the floor. The same thing happened the previous night and the night before and every night for the last sixty-five years.

It’s a fact after all these years – Harold receives the best care his parents can give him. Better than assisted living or any care facility.

“Someday we’ll get this food thing right, Harold.” Walter, forcibly smiles, knowing his diminishing energy is more valuable than his escalating anger.

First the dish collection then the food storage and finally, her favorite – the red button on the dishwasher. Dry clothes become folded bundles before traveling ultimately to their respective homes.

“Harold, it’s bath time.” Blue pajamas, green toothbrush, then meds. “Who’s a big boy, say Ahhh. Two reds and one blue. Now some water, good job, Honey.”

“Let’s tuck you in, Son.” Walter croons to Harold’s favorite Bing Crosby classic and everyone joins in the chorus. “Boy, that Bing was quite the man.”

“Ok Son, time for kisses, then the big light off and nightlight on, ok” Audrey informs. “We’ll keep his door open a bit. Mom and Dad love you. Night, night, Son.”

“I’m spent.” Hearing aid, pajamas, teeth, face then aftershave patted on his gaunt cheeks. He likes to smell good for his girl.

“Be there soon,” Audrey showers to ease her pain. “Two whites, three pinks, one blue, then water.” Toothbrush returned in its holder. Gargle. Nightgown.

“Ah, best feeling ever,” heads resting on their fluffy pillows.

Fingers interlaced, “In Jesus’ name, Amen,” then crossing themselves, a long hug and a meaningful kiss.

Each night in bed he takes her hand, “I am so blessed – to have you, to be loved by you every single day, dear.”

“Walter, sweetheart, I love you too. Always.” She kisses their interlocking hands.

Walter hums another bit of Bing’s song proudly. Audrey loves when he waxes romantic.

Minutes later … loud snoring.

Relaxed, cozy, and pain-free, Audrey’s heavy eyes take her …

A thick fog covers the ocean and obscures a full moon. Before her, the giant ghost ship docks in front of her seaside house. On her porch swing, soft whispers of “Audrey Meredith Myers,” make her rub her ears.

“Miss Adams?” Her fourth-grade teacher was the only one to ever use her full name, even after roll call. “No that can’t be.” Could it? “Wait, Miss … Adams, is that you?”

“Audrey, hey Audrey, over here?” Stella’s arms motioned towards the ship.

“Wait, is that you, really you Stella?” Her glasses mucked with grime. “It’s been seventy-plus years since I last saw you. That damn crash stole you from my life.” She putters. “No, that can’t be you.”

“Paltry, Audrey” sang Stella.

“Stella, Bella?” confirming.

Rising from her swing, “Stella, wait my feet, I can’t move that quick.” With not one bit of pain, she runs towards the ship. In her sister’s embrace, they laugh and cry at the same time. “Oh my God, I’ve missed you so much, Sis.”

“Me too, me too,” grinning. “I can’t believe it.”

“I’m Cary. This is Greg. And Tommy and Liza,” hands extended, smiles beaming and eyes glowing. “We’ve heard so much about you. We admire you for all of your strength and resolve,” confesses Gary. The others nodding in agreement.

Caught up in the reunion, the ghost ship slowly departs from her front doorway. Little by little, it fades into the mist. Its destination? Well, it’s heading for that beautiful hidden private island so many people are trying to locate. And believe it or not, it’s right on schedule.

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