Brumehaven

A gentle hum of laboring machinery floated in the brisk afternoon air. The briny smell of cold New England seawater doused my nostrils. Not exactly the most palatable choice of fragrance, but it was one I wore with quiet contentment. It was the last week of October, and I was happily perched upon the top floor of the Brumehaven ferry. Much like any common introvert, I gravitated towards a seat in the back corner, perfectly spaced away from the already sparse crowd of fellow riders. I liked riding this ferry; the crisp, almost harsh air felt refreshing on my face, with my hands neatly burrowed deep within the soft pockets of my oversized puffer jacket. I let a soft smile grow across my face as I took a deep breath, which filled my lungs with air so fresh and intoxicating I could almost get drunk off of it.

Not many people particularly liked riding this ferry to and from the mainland unless they had to. To be fair, there weren’t many people that rode this ferry in general. Brumehaven was a small town of roughly 1,100 that stood stoic and grim on an isle off the coast of Massachusetts. One of those “everyone knows everyone” kind of towns. I was one of the lucky few to be born and raised here, though I was never one to be too geographically allegiant. My trips to the mainland were usually for two reasons: I needed something that I couldn’t get on our little rock, or I just needed something to do that wasn’t just putzing about on said little rock. Luckily, today’s mini odyssey came with purpose.

I spent much of the ride staring towards the back of the heads of each passenger, imagining their purpose for the trip, theorizing and daydreaming. We were a small few, and mostly kept to ourselves, but we were already too familiar with each other. See, the thing with Brumehaven is that you either love it, or you just leave. I was part of the non-existent group of people with a love-hate kind of relationship with it. Sure, it was quiet, cozy, and a tight-knit community. But I also felt like there was more to this world than this damn place. Like it was always out of my grasp, or maybe I was just too afraid to take it. Today was when I decided to take it.

Two nights ago, in the midst of a brutal storm that was coming up on its third day, a letter slipped into my letterbox. I specify nights because, as you probably know, mailmen usually deliver during the day. So this little piece of paper obviously raised some eyebrows immediately. It looked rather ordinary, to my uncertain disappointment, aside from the elegant writing on it. It appeared to be written so gracefully and carefully, with long and acrobatic swoops and swishes in its calligraphy. My name nimbly traced along the middle in a deep red ink: Fern Mondragón. My address was also written just below in smaller but equally beautiful handwriting. Not the strangest detail in the world of course, but it was odd to address it to “Fern” rather than my full name, Fernando. Only friends and family really called me Fern, and I’m pretty sure I’d recognize the handwriting of whoever wrote this. So either this was something my friend had really practiced and couldn’t send in a text, or someone really did their research on me. On top of that, the envelope was sealed with one of those fancy wax seals they used in medieval times, using the same shade of red as the ink the letter had been addressed in. The seal, however, was something I didn’t recognize. It was a rabbit, but with almost… vines or something, twisting and knurling around it. It was strange to say the least, but it was just a letter. Tired from the day though, I had promptly plopped it onto a dusty side table by the entrance, where it sent up a small plume of lint and skin cells.

It wasn’t until yesterday morning I decided to open it. To keep things short, it was a letter from an old friend, Reina Everett. She was recounting our old days together in high school, and that she was returning from getting her PhD in something too complicated for me to remember. She was staying a few days by the port on the mainland before riding back to Brumehaven, at the only motel there, the Oceanview Inn. The letter was actually dated a few days ago, which I chalked up to our slow postal system, and Reina wrote that she would’ve already been here by the time I opened the letter. Reina kept describing old memories together, our adventures skipping class to grab a bagel, stretching before track, and all the movies we’d watched together. She recalled the stupid snort I did before I laughed, and how I would only sneeze three times in a row. All the little moments we shared. Almost like something an old flame would describe while on their deathbed. I remember smiling to myself while reading the letter, and almost being excited to see her again by the time I finished it. Only there was one problem; I had no idea who she was.

Like I said before, Brumehaven was a small town. My graduating class was about fifty kids, so it’s not exactly easy to forget a face. I’d certainly remember someone like this “Reina”, especially if we supposedly spent all this time together. I also wasn’t exactly popular in school either; sure I had friends, and I wasn’t a dork by any means, but I kept to my little musketeer group of three: Levi, Jaye, and myself. We’d known each other since kindergarten—everyone did—and were a pretty well-established trio. It had been several years though since high school ended, so it could’ve been possible there was a quiet kid that slowly faded from my mind, but the chances of me completely forgetting someone as close as Reina claimed to be were practically zero. Still, I decided to give Jaye a quick call. It was probably one of the weirder calls I’d had, and the main reason I hopped on this boat in the first place.

“Fern, what can I do for ya?” Jaye said joyfully as she answered.

“Hey Jaye, how are you and Levi?” I replied. Levi and Jaye had started dating in senior year, and quickly moved in together afterwards. They’d been happily married since.

“Ah, the ol’ ball and chain? Yeah, we’re getting divorced. I mean, so much has happened between last week and today that we just decided to not tell you,” Jaye said sarcastically, before continuing, “Kidding, sort of. No, I am kidding though. We’re doing fine. What’s up?”

I chuckled for a moment. Jaye was always sarcastic and quippy, and Levi always committed hard to her bits.

“You ever hear of a Reina Everett? Basically just got a love letter from her, sounds like she can’t get her mind off me! But… I kind of hate to be such a player, but I literally have no idea who she was. She says she was in our class I guess? Ring any bells?”

I waited for a beat. It sounded like the gears were turning in Jaye’s head, until she replied, “Yeah… never heard of her. Like, you just bagged so many chicks that I just can’t keep track of ’em all. Yes, Fern, of course I remember her. Kind of a douche move for you to forget her.”

I waited an even longer beat, anticipating Jaye’s sarcasm and eventual reveal that she was just messing with me. After an eternal three-second silence, I piped up.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Oh, come on, dude. Weeeeak joke. You’re fucking with me. You guys were inseparable! Levi and I were damn sure you guys were gonna run away into the sunset or something.”

“You are fucking with me!” I snipped back. Part of me was enjoying our little volley, but the confusion and concern in me grew more. Who the hell is this Reina? This has to be some sort of joke her and Levi cooked up, I thought to myself.

“Listen man, I don’t have time for this. Some of us got jobs to get to!” Jaye exclaimed.

“Alright, alright. Tell Levi I said hey,” I surrendered.

“Yeah, will do. And hey, just write her back! Oh, or send a pigeon if she’s into that! Seriously, who writes a letter? Stamp prices gotta be through the roof in this economy,” she taunted. I could almost hear her smiling. “We gotta get going though. We’ll see you soon. Love you, Ferny!”

Though it was nice to hear from Jaye, my brain was still huffing and puffing over this whole Reina situation. It did genuinely seem like Jaye knew who she was; maybe I was suffering from some freakishly early form of dementia? So, determined to unmask Jaye’s joke, I decided I needed to pay Oceanview Inn a little visit. To be honest, though, I was a bit unsettled myself. Still, the devil’s advocate in my head painted a less comfortable picture: a stranger walked right up to my house in the middle of the night, to my door, and dropped off a letter, written with oddly specific details that only people with a magnifying glass and too much time could have noticed. I needed to calm my own nerves. It was probably nothing, but I love a good reason to hop on the ferry to the mainland. But alas, it was Friday morning, I had a job, and I had rent to pay; I decided hijinks and escapades would need to wait until tomorrow.