The Sea

I read the sea charts my father brought home; snuck them out from his bedroom so he thought he'd lost them. When I was grown and away from there, I filled in what lay beneath the paper. I found someone I had not heard my father mention; someone with a ship and a thirst like mine.

The sea was calm on our first venture. I remember three great spires emerging from the deep gloom; a natural trident forty stories tall. I took forty photos and brought home a paycheck. The next month I returned, with a better camera.

I grew weathered, grey and worn. I inherited the ship that carried me on that first dive. Before he died, my father heard my name mentioned by a colleague; admiration in passing. He left me a voicemail message.

On my last voyage, I went to see the trident once more. The sea was rough. I smiled to see that something grieved my passing.