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Show Fair Forever 5 "Awhile back," he answers. "I came out early of a morning and she pulled up, strong and sure. She was singing the whole way like a bird out of its cage. She sat there in your little skiff and waited. The sun was in her hair and her eyes were fixed on the water, staring at the sea like she was expecting someone. We talked for a while and I fished for a bit, and then I looked up and that little girl was rowing to beat the band, heading straight for the lighthouse. 'Where are you heading?' I hollered. 'To the lighthouse,' she answered. 'The lighthouse?' I asked. 'Yup,' she said, 'to the lighthouse.' Dang if she didn't keep right on rowing. Just like an old salt." I look north to the lighthouse. It's small from a distance. You can barely see that it's as tall as a rocket with black and white bands. "Amanda liked to row," I say and then I explain again, "I taught her how." Waves rock our boats gently and I turn to the old man. "I'm planning to row to the lighthouse myself," I announce, and my words float over the water, hollow and thin, a promise made in haste. The old fellow is troubled. You can tell by his eyes. "A long row," he says, frowning, then biting his lip. He looks north to the horizon, measuring the expanse, pausing, thinking. "Dangerous breakwater. Tricky currents. Nothing but ocean if you're pulled past the cape." I rum away. Don't reply. Some things, a person simply has to do. The smallest of waves lap the side of my skiff, keeping time with my heart. "Does your mom know?" the man asks. |