Where the sea and the setting sun meet

I was twelve years old and afraid. From where I stood the sailboat was magnificent, made all the more so by the exaltations of the crowd that came to watch her set sail. I slowly made my way to where she was anchored, not wanting to be watched but performing to the crowd's expectations regardless. It was nearing dusk, yet the warmth of the sun promised her a sweet journey.

The only good thing about being ahead of the crowd was that they could not see my face. My eyes rested on the single-masted sailboat. She truly was breathtaking. The hull was made of wood, an expression of the traditional construction of sailboats that spoke of buoyant resilience extracted from humble earthy beginnings. On closer inspection, I could see the narrowness between the wooden planks and knew that both the caulking used to seal her and, the experiences of past journeys that swelled the wood, made her hull watertight. I was happy fibreglass did not conceal her beauty.

I looked skywards and noticed both of her sails were unfurled, the single mast in the centre of the boat embracing them protectively until it was time to feel the expanse of their power as they played with the wind. From where I stood, she graciously rose tall with elegance and staggering strength. I reached for her and pressed the palm of my hand against the hull to feel the beat of her heart. I craned my head and squinted at her masthead, wanting to see all of her from top to bottom in one sweeping look.

I then heard a faint, familiar voice in the distance. It was her builder, the man that also gave her a sailor's compass that had once moved to the winds of purpose and which now rested on her next destination. He waved to me when I saw him standing alone on a sand dune, his smile warming my heart and beckoning me to his side. As I walked over to him, I heard the silence of the crowd and knew their eyes were on me.

He did not say anything to me when I first stood next to him. He simply placed an arm around my shoulder as though he could sense my sadness. I thought he would feel the same but when I looked at him, I noticed how love for his sailboat wrinkled his eyes and straightened his back. I took comfort in that but still, I worried about her.

“Here we go!” the man said with a smile as he squeezed my shoulder.

I frowned, somewhat confused by what was happening. The crowd grew louder and as the sailboat raised her anchor and slowly manoeuvred her way from where she once rested, they erupted into cheers and songs of adoration. When the blue seas opened before her, I saw her white sails unfold and lift as the wind greeted them both with playful tugs.

The man still rested his arm around me as I stood and squinted to see her. The crowd hushed and it was not long before they left their adoration on the shore and departed for destinations of their own. I heard some whisper that her absence from the port would be felt while others said more loudly that it would be insufferable. This confused me some more for I imagined her journey would see her return... one day.

"Where is she going?" I asked the man who gave her the compass, wondering what faraway lands would hold her captive so that she would not be able to return.

The man did not answer. Anger bit at me and I wanted to scream to her to come back and not go but knew she was too far gone to hear me.

"You are mistaken," he quietly spoke as though he had heard my thoughts. "She is not gone. She is in here."

He knelt so that he was level to my gaze and tapped my heart with a gentle finger. I was old enough to feel threatened and anger licked at these sores, so they began to fester into wounds. You lied to me, I thought and knew that if I had known the truth, I would have told her to stay and she would have fought harder to not go. I looked for her again and saw she was but a white spot on the darkening horizon, sailing to where the setting sun would kiss the sea a goodnight.

And then I heard it... the distant sound of cheering.

"What is that?" I asked the man. "Who are they?" I looked around but no one was to be seen. I strained to see the sailboat on the horizon, but the stars did not reflect her white sails the way the sun had. My body began to shake as I heard the distant sound of cheering and adoration once more.

"Wake up honey," the man behind the soothing voice spoke. "She's gone... your mumma has passed."

I rubbed my eyes and stretched. It was a dream...

"Dad?" I asked as he sat at the foot of my bed. Grief pained his face so that he looked older than his forty years.

"My Emma is gone Libby," dad said as reached for my foot. "She died just an hour ago. Fucken cancer..."

I blinked hard to get my bearings. His distant voice disoriented me more than what it was telling me did. I knew his message would reach me soon enough as it was expected, so I closed my eyes to listen to the cheering again. It was not as loud as when I dreamt but was still an echo that filled the empty space. I heard dad she's passed... my Emma is gone. I heard the cheer she is coming... she is close. I opened my eyes and saw dad sitting in his grief. I closed my eyes and saw hands outstretched in jubilation, welcoming the sailboat with open arms. Then I saw the sailboat, none the duller for the journey just taken. As she sliced through the shallow waters of the blue sea at the dawn of this new day, nearing the shore as the growing crowd waxed lyrical, I noticed the beauty of her hull and saw her name. As I did, I heard the crowd cheer once more she is here... our Emma is home!

“And that is dying...”

I exhaled and opened my eyes. Dawn had set me to sail in unknown waters without the safety of my mothers' love and guidance. Dad could not be comforted in his despair while the 12-year-old me did not know what to do. But then I felt an arm around my shoulder and knew the sailboat's builder had also placed a compass in the palm of my hand, its' needle moving to the winds of a purpose I was to discover with every journey I was to take. I rose and stood tall even though I was still very much afraid. The wounds still festered and anger kept gnawing at my soul. However, I chose to inhale and with the compass in hand and my sails unfurled, raised my anchor, and slowly manoeuvred my way into the light of this unnamed day.

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