by Virginia Boudreau

I stand at the cottage window cradling my favorite mug, fragrant steam rises; I inhale deeply. A painted greeting card rests on the sill, draws my gaze. Beyond the glass, a crescent moon fades, and a pearly band of whispered pink glows on the horizon. I hear only the gulls waiting for small fish to silver the clear water. It shushes over stones gathered by the tide. The rhythmic gurgle, the suck and pull of this gentle surf lulls me. It takes me back to a different coastline, more rugged and wild than this.

***

It is late, the last of a golden summer evening, and bittersweet. Tomorrow I will be returning to university in a town three hours away. It is miles from the sea and coastal vistas like the one displayed for my beau and me. The stars have taken center stage and the sky is paved with them. Our heads twist in awe as we count the constellations glowing over the whitecaps; it is a night made for romance.

We are sitting in the bucket seats of a ’78 crystal blue Camaro. It belongs to the young man beside me. I am convinced he is my soulmate. My pulse skips when he touches my arm and suggests walking to the point where we’ll have a better view of the lighthouse. I am filled with anticipation and somehow know I’ll always remember this day.

The wind is light and cool as we amble along the jagged path. We reach the end and stand there watching the waves curl before they burst into foam. I’m hoping he’ll finally kiss me. He hasn’t yet, but a deep affinity has grown since we met in May. We’ve discovered shared interests and outlooks that have created a solid trust. I’m fervently hoping it is more, that tonight I’ll learn my fondest wish has been realized.

It’s too dark to discern more than the outline of his face. I wish I could see his eyes; they are navy blue, warm and expressive, but I can’t. I’m surprised to hear the tremor in his voice, usually so smooth and confident. He takes my hand and I notice his own is trembling. This moves me and I feel like a marionette suspended in limbo, all wires and strings pulled taut. He continues looking straight ahead.

“You know how special I think you are.” I nod and wait. He sighs and the forlorn sound comes from a deep place. Sudden dread blooms in my chest, black and insidious as algae; it almost takes my breath.

“I think I might be gay.” His words hang and pulse like the stars overhead.

I turn toward him, hold him close and put my head on his shoulder. “It will be alright.” We stay like that for a long time, saying nothing. I feel the emotion behind this revelation, know he’s filled with regret and a profound sadness. My heart knows that he too, longs for a different ending to our story. He shares the myriad truths and fears he’s kept concealed, even from himself, until this moment. All the while, the distant beacon pitches fleeting swathes of yellow light across the water. I silently give thanks for those flashes: bright as hope, steadfast as faith. We stroll, arms entwined, along the dark trail back to the car. I like to think we gave each other courage that August night so long ago.

***

This morning, I sip my coffee and contemplate the beach, the pale gray sands I cannot yet clearly see. I’m aware of the miniscule, inevitable, infinite shifts constantly taking place beneath the surface of it all, changing the landscape bit by tiny bit. I know when the sun is completely up, the sea will be no more than the striations of color it chooses to present this coming day.

I’m humbled by a grace that continually reminds me of how very deep all our lives run, the need for acceptance, the distance we’ve come and have yet to go. I am filled with gratitude for the man who allowed me to see this, and for the abiding friendship that’s endured. I watch gulls flurry in the lightening sky as my finger traces his signature on the card.