As the ocean wind blew over the marsh, Brennan began to regret leaving his umbrella at home. He heard no thunder, the sky silent, but felt the familiar sensation of something brewing high above. He had just finished his shift at the bookstore. Despite being the primary business partner, he still found enjoyment in working the register, helping students find their required reading and older women their period novels. He typically rode his bicycle to and from the store, but felt the urge to walk today, to see the Outer Banks scenery.
The year was 1967. Brennan lived in a small cottage in a nearby, less populated corner of town, surrounded by the ocean meadows and sand. He’d grown up in that weathered cottage, with its faded red door frame and marigold garden, holding dear the sweet memories of its cobblestone exterior cool to the touch. As had his mother, as had his great grandmother. His brothers and sisters had long left town, some drawn to rural areas less surrounded by water, and others by the allure of the big city. Brennan was stationary. He felt rooted to the area. The melancholy breeze wouldn’t let him leave quite yet. There was something inexplicably absent–he would wait until it appeared, until he felt fulfilled with his time in the marsh. And so he remained in his cottage by the sea on his family’s land, tending to his bookstore and the people around him. He had just turned 38, celebrated with his fiancée and her family, most of whom also remained in the area. Maybe one day he would move out, see the world. But not now. Not anytime soon.
He’d grown up in that weathered cottage, with its faded red door frame and marigold garden, holding dear the sweet memories of its cobblestone exterior cool to the touch.
A mile or so from his house is where Brennan heard the meowing. Having walked this path, this well worn dirt road, many times before, the odd cat or two was not an unprecedented sight. Yet this meowing was unsettling. Feeling a twinge on the back of his neck, Brennan snapped his head around. Someone was watching him.
He stopped suddenly and looked out into the marshy meadow, its reeds untouched by settlement and cove of clear salt water just beyond, but he could not locate the source of the feline cries. Apart from the wind, the earth was still. “Hello?” he called, but nothing apart from the summer breeze responded. It blew again, ruffling his hair, pulling him closer to the edge of the path and into the tall grasses. Brennan sat for a while, taking in his surroundings until he was sure he was alone. He adjusted his glasses. No way could he simply let this cat suffer, lost and cold in the wilderness of the nautical savannah. No, he’d take him home. He would do what he could to help. As Brennan always does.
Brennan put down his satchel on the side of the road, subconsciously. As he stepped into the marsh and off of the path, something in him stalled. Something in him begged him to just walk home, to put on the tea kettle and pretend he’d never heard the far off sounds of some common cat, some arbitrary, mundane happenstance in the middle of an arbitrary, mundane corner of the island. But he pushed this thought out of his head, slapping himself on the wrist for such a selfish notion. After just a moment’s consideration, Brennan stepped into the reeds.
He wondered where the ocean ended, where the next landmass began. The quiet void in his heart demanded attention. A feeling rose into his throat. Something— something important—was missing.
He followed the feline sounds through the marsh, listening to them slowly growing louder. He began to jog through the tall grass, his pace soon giving way to a full sprint through the marsh. He ran until he was out of breath, his tall, lanky body struggling to take in enough air. Brennan had run so fast he hadn’t had time to realize where exactly he was running. He felt hazy and uncoordinated, quickly searching for some recognizable landmark. Willow trees surrounded him, quietly swaying in the seaside breeze. He noticed he was nearing the edge of a small cliff, and walked toward it, looking out into the seemingly endless dark water. He wondered where the ocean ended, where the next landmass began. The quiet void in his heart demanded attention. A feeling rose into his throat. Something— something important—was missing.
Brennan wondered if anyone out there was staring back in his direction.
Another meow cut his thoughts short.
The cat was suddenly rubbing against his legs, purring, staring at him with bright green eyes. Brennan smiled and squatted and obliged to the cat's demands, scratching him behind the ears. Growing bored, the cat began to briskly trot away. Brennan was drawn to the silver feline, its uncanny similarity to his childhood pet a warm comfort to him. And so he continued at a quick pace, a few lengths behind the cat, noticing for the first time a mist-covered lighthouse in the distance.
Despite its aged appearance and dated presentation, this part of the Outer Banks had never had a lighthouse standing on its shores.
It was around this moment Brennan began to lose his concept of time. How long had he been chasing this cat? Had it been 15 minutes? An hour? Could it be almost midnight? I’m losing my grip, he shook his head, shoving those thoughts loose. But as he approached the base of the lighthouse, Brennan felt uneasy. The silence was thick, as though the world was muted. Air wasn’t naturally this quiet. The wind was picking up, blowing at speeds that should have created noise. The rustling leaves and the crashing ocean and the groaning creaks of the old lighthouse should have demanded attention. And yet the world was still. The only thing worth noting was the glistening sky– glancing up, lights flashed above the heavens coloring the clouds red and purple.
But as he approached the base of the lighthouse, Brennan felt uneasy. The silence was thick, as though the world was muted. Air wasn’t naturally this quiet.
Brennan’s legs continued towards the beacon, and he mistook this for his body’s choice, agreeing to its demands.
As Brennan walked into the base, he expected to find signs of older generations. Ropes and pulleys, life jackets, compasses. The objects of occupation, the proof of life despite being long gone. But to his surprise, the lighthouse was empty. The walls were spotless gray, the base empty, the light from outside shining in slowly dimming. He squinted in the low light of two lonely lanterns mounted to the wall. The cat was nowhere to be found.
Adrenaline poured through his body, and, almost shaking, Brennan turned around, ready to sprint to where he came from. Mere steps from the door, from freedom, from the possibility of simply returning to his everyday life without recollection of any sort of lighthouse in this particular cove, a glow emerged from the top of the steps in the corner of the room. How long had those steps been there? He wondered for only a second before he saw the face of a human emerging from the dark interior of the beacon.
“Brennan,” Sanders smiled. Brennan felt his whole body relax and a smile creep onto his face. He stepped back from the blackened exit, and outside, it began to hail. Electricity crashed in the midnight sky. But inside, the lighthouse was warm. The once frightening room began to take on a familiar feeling.
Mere steps from the door, from freedom, from the possibility of simply returning to his everyday life without recollection of any sort of lighthouse in this particular cove, a glow emerged from the top of the steps in the corner of the room.
Sanders was tall with an athletic build, not looking like he’d aged a day from when Brennan last saw him. He’d played baseball, and was quicker with a line than on the field. Dirty blonde hair and dazzling light green eyes, holding more emotion and kindness than one could sort through at first glance, a kind of depth that Brennan never understood why people couldn’t see immediately. Brennan, at least, had always found it hard to not get lost in those eyes.
“Sanders,” Brennan smiled back at his childhood friend. They had been inseparable from middle school onward, both attending the University of South Carolina. Both studied marine biology and business. Both hid a secret from one regarding the other. Both fearing what others might say if they revealed the true contents of their heart. And, thus, both refusing to let a part of themselves see the light of day, repressing aspects of themselves in a kind of performance that, one day, began to feel like the truth.
“Follow me,” Sanders said with a knowing smile. Brennan rolled his eyes and laughed. Sanders had always been the funny one. The outgoing one. The one who always knew what to say, at the right time. Brennan took slow steps up the stairs, teasing the rushing, fast-paced nature of his long-ago friend. But Sanders only watched, unfazed by Brennan’s movements. He simply waited with all the time in the world. Only a few feet apart, Sanders turned away from Brennan and bounded up the stairs.
“You cheat!” Brennan laughed and chased after him, racing up further into the belly of the beast. Brennan wasn’t counting how many stairs he was climbing, or thinking of how his tea kettle was still waiting for him at home, how his satchel was still on the side of the road, and least of all, where that cat had gone.
Finally, when Brennan was almost out of breath, they reached the landing. “How do you expect a bookstore clerk to keep up with a college athlete,” Brennan said jokingly, trying to catch his breath. “Right, Sanders?” He called. But Sanders, having served his purpose, was nowhere to be found.
“Sanders?” Brennan called quietly, searching the top of the lighthouse, now taking in his surroundings. He slowly walked to the railing, looking out into what seemed infinite. The sea, spreading out into the horizon, is limitless. Where does it end? When does it end?
The light of the fire in the beacon grew brighter. Brennan mistakenly turned to look, the light ever increasing in intensity. Brennan screamed, suddenly blind. He felt the light encapsulate him, its strong, fiery arms wrapped around every part of his body, and he knew it would not let go. In this moment, right before the end, he knew clarity. He saw all. The light illuminated the endless cycle, the trifles we entertain ourselves with, the pointlessness. He turned and saw Plato’s fire, and with it, all its secrets. And with that knowledge, he allowed the light to take him. To drain him. The light, shrouded by the blackness of the cove, finally let go.
He felt the light encapsulate him, its strong, fiery arms wrapped around every part of his body, and he knew it would not let go.
Brennan fell to the floor. He turned his head, and looking through his hand, felt himself fade away. It was at this moment he remembered. He remembered Sanders. How could he have forgotten him? He remembered how Sanders was there one day and the next, gone. No record of his existence. No recollection of his entity. Just a feeling of emptiness, a hole in Brennan’s heart he tried to fill by moving back home to The Outer Banks and opening his bookstore with an old acquaintance. By dating a girl almost as charismatic as Sanders once was. At least now, he realized, he could see Sanders again. The real Sanders, who would laugh and joke that all this was because Brennan was too good-hearted, too kind to let a cat wander by himself in the darkness of the marsh. Yes, Brennan would see Sanders again. And this time, he would not let him go.
With that, Brennan faded into the night. The black lifted, revealing daybreak. The satchel remained by the side of the road. The tea kettle stayed empty. The bookstore sign changed from Brennan and Schultz to simply Schultz. And the lighthouse faded into the background, unnoticed, standing tall as an infinite beacon, presiding over the endless expanse of time.
