My Adore

I watched as the waves argued with the cliffside, slamming against the rocks with a taste of my late mother’s temper. I could feel the wind choosing sides as it pressed my dampened hair to my flushed cheeks. The clouds were a shade of grey that would warn any experienced fisherman of what’s to come, but faintly in the distance, I saw his light. I bit my lip, my stomach mimicking the troubled water. A crack of thunder sounded off over the isle and I rose to my feet.

Suddenly, I was running like I always do, quickly down the small cobblestone pathway my ancestors created decades ago.

As I walked onto the dock, he was already out of his boat and carefully tying it to the wooden post. Nothing about this felt right, but the wind came to a halt as he turned to me. His lips curled up into a smile and I lifted my hand to my chest, making sure my heart was still beating. I could feel each thump quicken as he walked towards me. He had on an olive green cargo jacket hanging open exposing a damp thermal shirt underneath.

“Why can’t I breathe?” I heard myself say aloud. I looked around me as it echoed through the air. I placed my free hand over the other, using the pounding of my heart as security. He placed his hand over mine as he stopped in front of me. His eyes were the color of the moss covered cliffside. His right hand lifted to my cheek, his thumb giving a comforting stroke.

“It’s you.” I breathed. He smiled again, as the sound of birds began and I glanced at the clouds parting above our heads. “You-” I looked at him again. He seemed unaffected by the effect he had on our environment.

“My Adore.” He said softly, “I made it home to you.” He leaned closer to me, squeezing one of my hands while the other moved to the back of my neck to bring our lips together.

“My-” I felt my eyes flutter shut as another crack of thunder sounded through the sky and I felt him disappear from my touch. I felt panic begin to rise in my chest like the waves in front of me. Rain began to pour, pelting me with the sadness my heart was feeling. “No.” I dropped to my knees, the weight of it all too much for my small shoulders to hold on their own. I heard a scream echo through the Isle before I realized it was from my lungs.

“Adair!” I blinked a few times to see my 70 year old grandmother standing over my bed with a concerned look on her face. “Child, this is the third time this week you have had a nightmare.” I sat up slowly, lifting my arms as I noticed the sweat coating my entire body. She was right, this was the third time this week. Little did she know, I had been writing down every dream with him in it over the past three years and fifty three days. Scratch that, fifty four days.

“Sorry. I’m not sure what’s going on.” I grunted, leaning to the left side of my bed, snatching the moss colored notebook off the floor. I flipped to a new page, quickly jotting down the date and a few memorable details.

“I know what’s going on. You’re working too much. That cave you call a bar would give anyone sleeping troubles. What are you doing? Stop that and come eat some eggs.” I slammed the notebook shut as she leaned forward, holding her glasses up to her eyes instead of just putting them on.

“It’s nothing, Grandma, I’m coming.” She waved me off, mumbling as she walked out of my room and down the hall. I fell back onto my pillow, staring at my old cracked ceiling. I could hear her putting water in the kettle for tea and not so quietly singing to herself. I lifted my hand above my head and pressed my palm against the glass window behind me. I did this each morning to gauge the temperature for my walk to work. More often than not, it was more accurate than the morning news.

“Dad’s old leather jacket will do.” I smiled thinking of the worn, heavy material. My mother and I would always say it felt like one of his hugs every time we wore it. The coast surrounding our small fisherman’s town made for a constant chill every morning and night, sometimes it even overstayed its welcome into the mid afternoon. As long as the rain holds off each morning, it’s not too bad.

“The views of the Isle are worth more than a million fish.” Dad would say each time he came home from an excursion, “But, it sure would be nice to be paid for a million fish.” I smiled thinking of his loving grin as I stepped into my bathroom, fully clothed and almost ready to go. I pulled my black fiddler’s cap on my unruly bedhead, letting out a sigh as I stared at myself in the mirror. The tip of my nose was already pink from the morning chill that had crept through the window pane.

I made my way down the hall and into my grandmother’s small old fashioned kitchen. She was standing with her hands on her hips, staring out of the window above the sink. You could see the pier where all the fishermen would dock their boats and the cliffs off to the left, our small town to the right.

“Enjoying the view, Grandma?” I asked, knowing very well she was actually just looking at our chickens in the garden. She jumped a little at the sound of my voice, covering it up with a swift movement to the kettle to pour my tea.

“Looking at Larry. She is laying some eggs out there in the coop, I believe.” She handed me the warm mug, already equipped with an English Breakfast tea bag. I gave her a little nod of thanks before going to the table. “Still can’t believe you named that chicken Larry even after I told you she was a hen.” I smiled with my eyes as I sipped.

“That’s why you love me.” I sat down my mug and spent the next twenty minutes or so quickly eating my breakfast and browsing through the morning paper. News was the same as always. Fishermen coming and going, a big storm expected to hit the coast this weekend, and the town’s grade school was putting on a performance of A Christmas Story as their holiday musical. I finished my tea and tidied the paper before saying bye to Grandma. “I’ll be home when you’re in bed. Don’t wait up.” I kissed her on the cheek and ignored her loving nags as I exited the house.