Adrian

The old tales of rushing seas await those who venture out with an open mind but be careful not to awaken the sea, as only those with a true heart can calm it.

As a young boy, my mom would tell me a story every night about the seas of Adrian. I loved how she talked about the sea as if it were alive, describing its waves as a heartbeat. I thought to myself, one day, I want to venture out and see those waves under the moon’s glow. Growing up, my mother was always sick off and on. She was always in the hospital at least once a month. I never knew my dad, and my mother never told me about him. Even when I brought it up, she would change the topic. I lived with her in an old run-down trailer, as my mom couldn’t work. There were no other kids near where I lived, so I had to make my own stories and friends in my mind. My most loved story is a new version of Adrian. I would pretend I was the main character and that I had the power to talk to the water.

I was so happy with my mom until I was about fourteen years old. My mother got way too sick, and I couldn’t take care of her, so she went to a home where she had people take care of her. As for me, since I didn’t have my dad in my life, I stayed in that trailer by myself. Since my mother moved out, the trailer didn’t belong to her anymore, which meant I hid there. I would visit my mom about once a week to tell her stories I made.

I could tell she was getting worse until one day I went there, and her nurses were talking in low voices. I asked to see my mom, and they said she wasn’t able to speak to me. I thought nothing of it, as sometimes she would be asleep or in a meeting with a nurse. This went on for weeks until I sneaked in and saw she wasn’t in her room. I asked the nurses, and they said she moved but wouldn’t tell me where to. I walked to the main door; one nurse tapped my arm and pulled me aside. I remembered she was the same nurse who always loved my mom. She told me that my mom had passed, and since I was so young and didn’t have any other family, everyone thought not to say anything to me. That was when my whole world changed. I started to fade, staying out all night and dropping out of life.

One day cleaning up the old trailer, I found one of the floorboards was loose. Leaning down, I pried it open to find a small book; opening the book and sitting down, I started to read it. It was about the seas of Adrian. I teared up, remembering how my mom would read to me every night. I looked through it until I found an old photo of my mom next to a man. Turning it over, I saw a small note on the back -- “To my love, Adrian, I’ll come back soon.”

Maybe that man was my dad, as he looked like me, but Adrian was about the ocean, not a person. I read the whole book, and, in the end, I was shocked to know this story wasn’t one my mom made up; it was my mom’s life with my dad, the dad I thought was dead. However, the most recent entry was when my mom had me, and I was five. There were coordinates on the last page. I pulled up a map, and, after an hour, I circled what seemed to be a small island in the middle of nowhere. Packing up, I set out to find the sea of Adrian, which I thought would lead me to my dad if he was still alive.

It took years under hot sun, freezing rain, and icy winds to finally see the blue waters that led on forever. Checking my map, hoping to see if I was in the right place, I set up camp as the sun went down. By now, I was eighteen and used to being on my own. Falling asleep reading my mom’s book, I thought maybe if my dad was alive, perhaps he would tell me why he left. Waking up to the blinding sun, I packed up my bag and tried to find a way down. I saw a narrow path that I had to climb down to get to the water. Climbing down the sharp rocks, I cut my sore hands, but I made my way to the sea.

At last, with my feet on the cold sand, I stepped ever closer to the moonlight waters. The waves seemed to call for me, long for me, as if my mom’s book in my bag told the ocean that I was not a threat. As if the sea could read my mind, it opened up to me and showed a small rowboat to the right of me. Following what seemed to be a path of stones for me, I climbed into the boat as the water rose and pulled me into the sea.

Cold waters surrounded me as the waves pulled me farther from land. Not knowing where I was going, I kept my eyes open, watching the rocky cliffs fade. Hours later, the boat knocked against a small island, jolting me awake. I sat up and looked around at where I was. All I could see was the cold blue ocean for miles and one island in the middle of nowhere. Unsure what to do next, the sea seemed to read my mind. It moved the boat to the side of the sand so I could get off. Half asleep, I stepped off the vessel and looked at the trees around me. The boat then started to leave the island, but I took a deep breath and walked into the trees. Walking around the island, taking it all in, I followed what seemed to be a path fading more, plunging into the darkness, feeling the ocean breeze brush up against my bare skin.

Tracking down the sand, hearing the birds chirping above me, hearing the animals, seeing how beautiful the island is, taking everything in around me feels almost magical. Walking down what seems to be a thin trail, I trip over something and stumble, grabbing onto a low branch to catch myself. Looking back, I see it was a fishing box, then a cooler, then more of what looked like a campsite. I walk around and notice what looks like an old fire, putting my hand above it to see if someone used it recently. I feel that it’s warm and, not knowing who is on this island with me, I grab out a hunting knife and carefully walk around the camp to see if any personal items could tell me who is here. I spin around at hearing a twig snap and see a small rabbit. Laughing at myself, I relax, only to listen to a man’s voice.

“Yo kid, who the hell are you?” The voice comes from behind me. I jump and fall over, turning around to see a man, maybe in his forties.

I hold out my knife and stand up.

“I could ask you the same thing,” I say, as he moves closer, going over to the cooler like I’m not a threat.

“I live here, and as for who I am, that’s my business.” He puts a fresh fish he must have caught in the cooler. Acting like I don’t have a knife in my hand, he looks at me and laughs. “Are you brave enough to kill an old man?” He starts working on the fire.

“Well, all I know is that I get on this boat, and the water seems to float me to this dump magically, so I am about as lost as ever,” I say to the guy. As if something clicked into place, he drops everything and walks closer,

“Hold up, and you said the water took you here?” He looks around the camp then at me.

“Yeah, on a boat out of nowhere. Look--” I say, but he cuts me off.

“I have no reason to kill you, so why don’t you put that knife down and help me light this fire?” He gets up and walks off to get more sticks than expecting a bonfire to be lit when he gets back.

“Oh, and don’t burn down my home while I’m gone, kid!” he yells out to me, walking down the trail.

I grumble to myself, pull out matches, fire the fire, and get the fish out of the cooler. I cut it with my knife and put it over the fire on a small tray.