Mark C. Wade

A line of yellow cut across the sea, perfectly dividing the small lobster boats into two groupings. I liked to imagine the north and south sides as competing for their spoils.

​

Thin lines jutted out of the boats in spider webs, as if drawn by a fine calligraphic pen. The harbor was calm, and the stillness gave the effect of a painting.

​

Morning fog hung about the air. The hazy distortion made the world heavy and slow.

​

I took a deep breath in. Salt and freshness hit my lungs with the cold of ice. It felt crisp and renewing. I closed my eyes for a moment to brace myself.

​

When I opened them, everything had shifted subtly. Things changed faster in the wee moments of dawn than the bright endless day.

​

It was something ordinary people never noticed. They’d never had a reason to.

​

The burnt red on the horizon faded to orange. A hill broke through the mist in dark greens on the left shore. The boats were still mere shadows of themselves. Clarity would come fast with the daylight.

​

The thought hung like a burden on my soul. I wanted the blurred mist and dimness to last forever.

I took it all in one last time, a vast canvas of nature.

​

Sometimes the beauty of the world shook me so hard it hurt. But it would all end in minutes as the morning truly dawned and the bustle of the tourist town awoke.

​

That was Maine in a slogan. Everyone wanted to visit, but no one wanted to stay.

​

Early spring did that. People would shop and eat their lobster rolls and hang out at the beach. After a week, they’d go home.

​

But not yet.

​

I had a few minutes left to myself before all that happened. These moments of peace made me feel normal.

​

I turned to walk along the dock back home only to be reminded of how I’d never be normal again.

​

I hobbled slowly, watching the ground with a cautious eye. The uneven knots and warped boards of the dock threatened to trip me.

​

I suddenly wished I’d brought my cane. No one realized how much they relied on the senses of their feet, even through shoes, to properly step and maintain balance.

​

My false leg provided none of those senses.

​

I stopped and looked up.

​

The morning’s blue hues returned. A dark aspect descended over the world despite the brightening light.

​

Water lapped upon the shore in a steady rhythm. None of it touched me, yet I felt like I was drowning.

​

The familiar feeling was almost welcome. How easy it would be to just not exist, floating to shore, returning to the sea. The back and forth motion, forever.