The Color of the Sea

Even for those of us who love the solitude, being alone too much can change a person. It can shift the way we see the world. The way we see ourselves. It can make us believe in a magic that doesn’t exist.

It is difficult to believe that the year is 2025 from where I am. A small island in the North Atlantic ocean with a couple of goats, John and Paul, and my cat, Mrs. Danvers. Mrs. Danvers and I manage the lighthouse, making sure the boats don’t crash in the night. But no one ever stops here. This isn’t a port. Everyone just passes us by. It’s exactly what I wanted after my husband passed away ten years ago. I wanted to be alone. Disconnected from a world I felt had forgotten me first. And this island gave me refuge. I have to get on my boat and spend an hour commuting to the next island for groceries and company. Though in all honesty, I haven’t really wanted company for a long time, so I find myself collecting what I need and leaving. In my small cottage, there’s a landline phone that sometimes works. And a cell phone that never works. It feels like I am in a dimension unto myself. Like I exist on the edge of the world.

Only at times, at certain moments, do I admit to myself how much I miss human contact. Skin on skin. I dream about my husband’s hands. His eyes the color of the sea. And maybe it’s why I chose to be here. So, I can stare out onto the coast for as long as I like, and it’s almost as if I’m looking at him.

It is the middle of the night. The light is flashing across the ocean. Me and Mrs. Danvers sit in our usual spot gazing out over the water. I am thinking about nothing in particular. I am simply watching the white light go on. And off. And I am existing. And then a boat in the distance jolts me from my reverie. It is a small sailboat. Unusual for this area and time of night. I watch as it continues to get closer and closer. I can hear its engine getting louder and louder as it approaches. And I watch as it stops near my dock. I watch as the person gets out. Looks around. Looks up towards the top of the lighthouse where me and Mrs. Danvers are sitting.

“Helloo!! Are you there?” the person shouts.

Mrs. Danvers looks at me as if to ask, Are we here?

I lean out the window.

The person waves at me.

“Helllooo!”

I stare at the person. I can’t tell what they look like underneath their big coat and bright yellow baseball hat.

“Helloo?” they say, a question this time.

I wave.

“Can you come down?” they ask.

I stare back in response.

Mrs. Danvers looks at me as if to say, this person could be a serial killer. A murderer of lighthouse keepers.

“What do you want?” I ask. Well. Almost ask. I haven’t used my voice in so long that it is scratchy. Quieter than I expected.

“What do you want?” I try again. Louder this time. Or as loud as I can anyway.

“I’m from the Navy,” they say, “I’m here to collect data on all the islands in the nearby area. Make sure they’re up to code.”

I look at Mrs. Danvers who seems to shrug. It sounds legit.

I put my pepper spray in my pocket just in case. Mrs. Danvers nods her approval.

“I’ll be right down,” I yell out the window. The person gives me a thumbs up.

As I descend the staircase, I try to catch a glimpse of them through the windows.

I can’t see much of their face because of the hat.

Their profile flashes in the darkness under the soft glow of the tower lights.

Long face.

Sharp cheekbones.

Sexually ambiguous with a short haircut. 5’4 height. Not heavyset. Not thin.

I pause when I get to the bottom, my hand on the doorknob that will lead me to the outside. That will lead me to this stranger.

Suddenly, I’m nervous.

Human contact is such a rarity that I’m not sure I’ll be any good at it.

What if this person thinks I’m weird? What if they report that weirdness to their supervisors? Will I get booted off the island? Will they tell them that I’ve been away from civilization for too long and that I should probably be forced back into it?

“Are you there?” they call from behind the door.

Mrs. Danvers looks at me as if to ask, Are we here? Should we go back upstairs?

I take a deep breath and open the door.

They stand in darkness.

“Well, hello,” they say.

“Hello,” I respond.

And then there is a pause.

I hold Mrs. Danvers close and step out into the night.

I step closer until I can finally see their face.

It is a beautiful face.

“I’m Dina,” they say, “You must be Pearl.”

I nod.

“Pearl,” I agree.

“This is Mrs. Danvers,” I say holding up my cat.

Dina raises their eyebrows and I realize it must seem strange. To immediately introduce one’s cat. But Mrs. Danvers has been my only companion for a decade. It would be rude not to introduce her.

“Nice to meet you,” Dina says to Mrs. Danvers.

Mrs. Danvers looks at me as if to say, I appreciate being acknowledged.

“So,” I say, “You’re here to collect data?”

“That’s right,” Dina says, pulling out some papers from their back pocket.

She hands them over to me.

They look official with a Navy insignia at the top but I don’t really know what I’m reading. I got hired to be a lighthouse keeper because I wanted to be alone, not because I understood the jargon of the sea.

I hand them back and tell Dina, “Well, do what you gotta do then.”

I start to retreat back into the lighthouse when they stop me with a, “Now? You expect me to start now? In the dark?”

I turn around and look at them.

“I was supposed to get here earlier,” Dina says, “But I got held up at my last location. I won’t be able to do what I need to do until the morning. I can’t do it in the dark.”

“Oh,” I say, “Well, then I’ll see you in the morning. I assume you’ll sleep in your boat?”

Dina looks surprised for a moment but then nods.

“Yea,” they say, “I’ll sleep in my boat.”

Me and Mrs. Danvers nod and we go back into the lighthouse.

I climb back up to the top. To the safety of my lookout.

Mrs. Danvers looks at me as if to say, Why weren’t you more friendly?

I lean out the window and look down.

Dina is looking up at me.

I quickly pull myself back and put my hand on my chest. My heart is racing.

I stare at Mrs. Danvers who just smirks at me.

I continue to stare out the window, but not leaning over. Not looking down. I don’t need to know where Dina is looking. If they’re back in their boat. What they’re doing at this very second. I don’t need to know.

I keep myself sitting at my desk, looking out at the night sky. The lighthouse illuminating the darkness.

I think about Dina’s face.

I wonder what color their eyes are. It was too dark to tell.

At some point, I drift off to sleep.

When I open my eyes Mrs. Danvers’ paw is laying on my nose. I brush it off and blink against the sunlight hitting me square in the face. I shut off the lighthouse power.

I think about Dina, wondering if they were a figment of my imagination.

I slowly lean out the window and see their boat at the dock. But no sign of Dina themselves. They must still be asleep.

Mrs. Danvers looks at me as if to say, You should probably clean up. Brush your teeth at least.

I scoop up Mrs. Danvers and race down the stairs.

I slowly open the door to the outside. I look around and see no one.

I rush to my cottage and throw open the door.

I race to the bathroom and brush my teeth. Wash my face.

I comb out my hair.

I stare at my pale face in the mirror.

I rummage through my small chest of drawers and stare at the little makeup I have. Makeup I haven’t used in ten years. Makeup I probably should have left behind since I never use it (I’m so grateful I didn’t leave it behind). I pull out some blush.

Mrs. Danvers looks at me as if to say, Too much. Maybe just some concealer.

I nod in agreement and dab some concealer on my face.

Not bad. Not great. But not bad.

There is a knock on my door and the sound of it opening.

I look at Mrs. Danvers.

“Hello?” Dina’s voice rings out.

I go out of the bathroom and into the living room.

Dina looks at me.

“Hey,” they say.

“Good morning,” I respond.

Mrs. Danvers meows at my feet.

Dina looks down at her and smiles, “Good morning, Mrs. Danvers.”

Mrs. Danvers looks at me as if to say, Can we keep Dina?

“Nice cottage,” Dina says looking around.

“Thanks,” I say, “It’s small. But it’s cozy. And it’s ours.”

“Ours?” Dina asks.

And I blush. They think I meant ‘ours.’ As in Dina and me.

I point to Mrs. Danvers and repeat, “Ours.”

It is Dina’s turn to blush.

“Right,” they say, “I just wanted to say good morning. I’m going to go collect my data and then I’ll be off.”

They turn and start to walk away and I feel the words, “Breakfast first?” come out of my mouth.

They turn back around and smile at me, “Breakfast sounds good,” they say.

They take off their yellow hat, and I can feel the air leave my lungs as I finally see the color of their eyes.

A deep gray.

The color of the sea.

The same color of my husband’s eyes.

“Are you ok?” Dina asks.

I nod.

I turn and make my way to the kitchen. I lean against the door handle for balance.

Mrs. Danvers looks at me as if to say, Don’t screw this up for us.

I take a carton of eggs out of the fridge and turn to look at Dina, “Eggs?” I ask.

Dina smiles, “Eggs sound good.”

I tell myself that I am capable of forming complete sentences. I am capable of having an adult conversation. I am still a human of the world.

As I whip the eggs I turn to Dina and ask, “How long have you been in the Navy?”

“10 years,” they respond, petting Mrs. Danvers who is purring up a storm.

“She’s excited for the company,” I say, “We hardly ever see people.”

Dina nods, “It’s a lonely life, I know. What made you want to do it?”

I continue to stir the eggs. I turn away from Dina and focus on pouring the eggs into a pan. Taking out the salt.

“Do you like mushrooms?” I ask.

“Yea,” Dina says from behind me.

I take out some mushrooms, wash them.

As I wash them, I find the words.

“My husband died ten years ago,” I say.

I can feel the intake of Dina’s breath behind me. I can feel the air begin to thicken.

Death makes everyone uncomfortable.

“I wanted to be alone,” I say, “I…I didn’t have very many friends. No family really. Joshua. My husband. He was it. And then he was gone and I…I wanted to be in a place where I didn’t have to pretend.”

I let the words land, fill the tiny cottage.

It’s the most honest I’ve ever been.

It’s the most I’ve spoken in years.

There is a silence as I chop the mushrooms. Toss them in the eggs. Sprinkle some garlic powder. As I stir it all together, Dina says from behind me, “I’m in the position I’m in because I work by myself too…After my partner died ten years ago, I didn’t really want to be around people either.”

As we eat, I let Dina talk to me about their partner, Tanya.

Dina lets me talk about Joshua.

We talk about the little things we’ve missed. How being alone is such a blessing.

Neither of us admit that sometimes it’s a curse. Neither of us talk about the cons of solitude.

And the whole time, I stare into their eyes making myself understand that this isn’t Joshua. It’s Dina. And it’s only a coincidence that their eyes are exactly the same.

We finish our meal and I follow Dina back to the lighthouse, Mrs. Danvers in my arms.

I watch as they inspect the structure, make sure all the switches and chords are in the right place. I don’t really know what they’re doing, but it’s clear that they do.

“All clear, here, Pearl,” Dina says, “You got yourself a fine lighthouse.”

“Thanks,” I say.

There is a pause as we look at each other.

Mrs. Danvers nudges my arm with her head, but I ignore it. I’m too afraid to see what my cat has to say.

“Well,” Dina says, “It was nice to meet you. Guess I’ll see you around.”

“Yea,” I say, “You too.”

Dina puts out their hand.

I take it.

And lose myself in the contact.

The feel of skin on skin.

The feel of someone else.

It’s indescribable.

And when Dina starts to take their hand away, I keep holding it.

I don’t want this moment to end.

Dina looks at me, eyebrows raised in question.

“Stay for dinner?” I ask.

Dina smiles and nods, “Dinner sounds good.”

Dina follows me as I conduct my daily ritual of feeding the goats, John and Paul.

“If you had two more would you name them after the other Beatles?” they ask me.

“No,” I say, “Because I don’t remember their names. And was it four or five members?”

“Don’t know,” Dina admits and we share a giggle.

We walk around the island.

I show Dina my domain, every inch of the place I have called home.

And we stand on a giant rock, overlooking the water’s edge and I’m looking at the color of the ocean thinking about the color of Joshua’s eyes. Of Dina’s eyes. And the words bubble up from somewhere deep within and I turn to Dina and say,

“It can be lonely, can’t it? Almost, too lonely sometimes.” I reach out and graze their arm.

And just as quickly, I pull my arm back, wrapping both arms around Mrs. Danvers.

I stare straight ahead so I don’t have to look at Dina.

I was too brazen. Too much, too fast.

And then I feel them touch my arm.

I stare into my husband’s eyes.

“It can be lonely,” Dina agrees, “It can be very lonely.”

We go back to my cottage.

Dina takes off their coat and bright yellow hat, placing both on the couch.

I take their hand and lead them into my bedroom.

We take our time, each having not touched another body in so long.

I learn what they like.

They learn what I like.

And when we are exhausted, we both drift off to sleep almost at the same time.

When I open my eyes, Mrs. Danvers is staring at me.

For the first time, I’m not sure what she’s trying to say.

Dina isn’t next to me.

I get up.

“Dina?”

I am greeted by silence.

I put on some clothes and walk the tiny length of my cottage.

No Dina.

Their coat is gone, but the bright yellow hat is still on the couch.

I go out to the dock.

Their boat is gone.

While Dina didn’t strike me as a one and done type of person, perhaps it’s better this way.

I walk back to the cottage.

I stare at the bright yellow hat.

I pick up the phone and call the nearest Naval office.

“Hello,” the person on the other end says.

“Hello,” I say, “This is Pearl Watkins, keeper number 0560.”

“Hello, Peal,” the person says, “How can I help you? Everything ok out there?”

“Everything is fine,” I say, “I just, it probably doesn’t matter but Dina, uh…” I realize I don’t know Dina’s last name, “Dina,” I continue anyway, “The person you sent to retrieve the data, left their hat.”

“Oh, ok,” the person on the other line says, “I’ll relay the information.”

I say thank you and hang up.

I hold the hat in my hands.

I bring it to my nose, to see if maybe their scent is on it and catch a whiff of the ocean.

The phone rings.

I answer it.

“Hey is this Pearl Wakins?” the voice asks.

“It is,” I say.

“Hi Pearl, this is Steve over at the naval office and I got the message about a Dina coming out your way to take lighthouse data?”

“Yes,” I say.

“Yea, uh, we didn’t send anyone. And I know you didn't provide a last name, but there’s no one on my team named Dina.”

I look at the bright yellow hat in my hands.

“No Dina?” I ask, squeezing the hat between my fingers.

“No Dina,” Steve says.

I say thank you and hang up.

I stare out my window and look at the sea.

I can feel the hat in my hands, but when I look down again, it isn’t there.

Of course it isn’t there.

Mrs. Danvers looks at me as if to say, Are you surprised?