Lighthouse Nights

9

wisps of fog emerged from the lake like specters rising from graves. they wove between the catwalk arches, slid and twirled across the cement, and toyed with the anglers’ plaid collars before slipping quietly into the streets of grand harbor.

the weekend heat lasted just long enough to make children run on tiptoes across the sand, but not long enough to warm the lake to a swimmable degree. the unusually cool water brought the salmon and smallmouth bass to the pier as well as wrinkled hands teaching little hands how to hold a rod. 

gabe’s grandfather grew up on the great lakes; never taught him to fish, but often complained about the dwindling population of perch in the area. his last memory of the old man was watching him cook the bony catch on dad’s stainless-steel grill. 

gabe sat in his usual spot beneath the square lighthouse at the tip of the pier. a thousand questions flooded his brain but provided no logical answers. the only thing he knew for certain was that the phone call with sarah unlocked something new and filthy; like flashing his ID at a sex shop on his eighteenth birthday and perusing the pastel merchandise. the thought of this butterfly driving three hours to perform a horrifying ritual bestowed an unfamiliar confidence in his stride and a newfound air of credibility in his demeanor. when a brunette cartwheeled on the walkway and her skirt billowed open (so close that he could smell the tanning lotion on her thigh), he was ABOVE it.

a fisherman sat on an upside-down bucket at the open corner of the pier. gabe brought his knees to his chest and watched the man hammer a spike through the head of a flopping bottom feeder and into a blood-stained block of wood. the man caught gabe staring, nodded, then traded the hammer for a pliers, pinched the fish’s skin, and peeled it off.

when the time came to actually perform the deed, gabe wouldn’t let sarah go through with it. he would use their time together to show her that life is worth living (though he was beginning to doubt that too.) if she was attractive, maybe she’d spend the night in his bed.

gabe knew it was HER through two-hundred feet of thickening cloud. he knew it was her because she stepped with the graceful poise of a dark angel through banal rows of fishermen, youth-group rollerblading parties and pregnant women chatting on the corrugated ledge. her facial features were hazy from this distance, but gabe was already entranced by her wonderland aura.

heads turned in the girl’s wake, scrutinizing her appearance with the wrath of mid-west sensitivity; “is this halloween?” “where’s her mother?” “slut!” 

as butterfly approached with her head down, gabe stood and wiped sweaty palms on his jeans.

sarah looked up. she noticed him immediately. she swept a rogue strand of hair behind her ear and forced a heavy smile. beneath the piercings and makeup, she was beautiful... and gabe wondered why such a beautiful girl would want to end her life.

“cute town,” she said and smoothed her skirt down the back of her legs before posing herself on his ledge.

gabe sat down beside her but watched the fisherman fillet meat from bone. “i’m sorry about emma. sexboy told me what happened.”

“she got anxious. i knocked on her door and her mom answered sobbing. i’ve never been so embarrassed.”

“did you see her?”

“no.”

“how did she do it?”

sarah didn’t respond, but unstrapped her fancy backpack and leaned against the lighthouse.

“you said you brought pills?” gabe asked.

“that’s about all i brought.”

“do we do it tonight?”