Prose Francine - The Turning

To Emilia and Malena

Im afraid this is going to sound crazy. But a very strange thing just happened.

A huge seagull had been flying alongside the ferry ever since we left the dock. The seagull was escorting us, or really, escorting me, flying as fast as it had to, in order to stay right beside me, just beyond the railing. If I moved down the deck, it moved.

The morning was damp and misty, unusually cold for June. There were only a few passengers on deck, and they were wearing rain slickers with hoods that hid their faces and screened out this weird relationship I was having with this bird.

It was so close I could have touched it, but I knew I wouldnt, and the bird knew it, too. I watched it for a few minutes, swooping on the updrafts and circling down again. Then I turned and watched the shoreline disappear, until I could no longer see my dad waving or my dads truck. I looked out at the sea, into the chilly wet fog through which I kept trying to glimpse the islands, even though I knew they were too far away.

It was just at that moment that the bird turned its head and screamed.

I know: Screaming is what seagulls do. Its normal.

This one was screeching right in my ear. Anyone would have jumpedjumped right out of his skin. And yet it wasnt the noise or the loudness that startled me.

What made it creepy and scary was that the bird was screaming at me. Not at the boat but at me it followed me as we moved. How nuts is that?

Okay, here comes the really crazy part. The screech was almost human. Youre going to have to believe me, Sophie, when I tell you that I could understand what the bird was saying.

It screamed, Jack! Dont do this! Turn around! Go home! Leave leave leave Its cry got softer and sadder as the bird veered away and flew off into the distance.

I told myself, Okay, dude. This is pretty cracked. The seagull is speaking English and calling you by name. You should go belowdecks for a while and chill and be around other people. What makes the whole thing even more confusing is that Id been feeling okay. Maybe a little nervousanyone would beabout leaving home for two months to go live on a tiny island in the middle of nowhere. But its true what we kept telling each other, Sophie: two months isnt all that long. By August, Ill have earned at least part of the money I need to go to college. The same college as you. So when high school is over next year, we can both go, assuming we both get in. And somehow I feel sure we will. Two months is a long time to be away from you, but well be together again before the summer is over.

So I was kind of enjoying the ferry ride, the damp cool of the fog on my face, the salty sting of the sea. I was glad just to have a job, because this summer, as everyone knows, there are no summer jobs. Anywhere. This one was going to pay really well, and it sounded easy, though maybe a little boring. I wasnt feeling especially paranoid or anxious. So doesnt it seem strange to you that I imagined a seagull yelling at me to jump off the ferry and swim back to shore?

Boarding the ferry, I hadnt paid much attention to the other passengers. Id been too busy struggling with my luggage. At the very last minute Id thrown in more sneakers and boots than Ill probably ever need. My dad and I had wrestled with my duffel bag, and it had been a drama, finding a place to put it on the boat where no one would trip over it and it would be safe.

By the time wed stowed it all away, the ferry whistle was blowing and my dad was saying I could still change my mind and come home. He said it made him uncomfortable, my going away to an island where there were no phones or internet or TV, so that wed have to write letters, old-school, starting with Dear instead of Hi! And ending with love or sincerely instead of Xs and Os.

I knew my dad felt guilty, because I had to get a job. The pizza place where I worked last summer went out of business. Lately my dad has hardly been getting any work, though he used to make good money building porches and additions, and renovating the kitchens and bathrooms of rich peoples summer homes. But now, with the economic downturn, a lot of his former customers are deciding they could live with the kitchens and bathrooms they already had. And no one is building new houses, at least not in our town. If I want to go to college, which you know I do, Im going to have to earn some of the money myself. I think its made my dad feel like he failed, even though its not his fault that half the country is out of work.

I told my dad that two months would pass in no time and that my job sounded like fun. There were supposed to be plenty of books in the house where I would be staying, so I could read all kinds of stuff I hadnt had time for in school. I was bringing my laptop, with this portable printer hed got methe old-school kind you plug in to the computerso I could write him plenty of letters. I could improve my writing skills, which would be helpful in college. I didnt feel I had to tell him Id brought along my favorite video games, in case I got sick of reading and writing letters, which I knew I would.

The ferry whistle blew again. My dad and I hugged good-bye. And as the ship pulled away from the dock, I ran up on deck so he could see me waving. I was sad for a moment, but then the sadness passed, and I started to enjoy the ride. I dont know why I had that fantasyor whatever it wasabout the seagull.

I hadnt slept well the night before. Maybe I was just tired. I decided to go downstairs, which was set up like a big, friendly, warm caf. Id get a coffee with three sugars, chill out, and text you from the phone Id brought along, even though I knew I wouldnt be able to use it on the island.

It turned out I couldnt text you. The message didnt go through. We were already too far from land. Really, it doesnt make sense. You can text from halfway around the world. Probably from the moon. But the minute we sailed toward the islands, we entered a major dead zone. I felt like Id left the modern world behind and time-traveled back into the past. To tell you the truth, I was starting to feel a little stranded, marooned on the desert (I knew it wasnt a desert) island I hadnt even got to. I couldnt say I wasnt warned that, as far as modern technology is concerned, I could be spending the summer in the Neanderthal era. I just hadnt expected to leave the twenty-first century so soon.

Fortunately, Id kept my laptop with me instead of packing it away in my duffel bag. I turned on my computer and started writing you this letter. I figured I might as well get a head start, get in practice for the summer. Last night, you kept reminding me that Id promised to write you every day, though the boat that picks up and delivers the mail to the island comes only three times a week. I said Id write a letter every night and save them, and send them to you in batches.

I got so involved in trying to tell you about the seagull that I sort of forgot where I was. When I looked up, an elderly couple was standing beside my table, asking if the empty seats were taken.

I told you I hadnt noticed the other passengers. But Id noticed them, mainly because the guy was blind, and his wife held his arm and was constantly telling him, Theres a step here, turn right, dont hit your head on the doorway. It was the wife who asked if they could sit with me. I couldnt exactly say no. The husbands milky eyes stared straight ahead, didnt blink, and saw nothing.

As I shut my laptop, the wife said she hoped they hadnt interrupted me. Id seemed so intent on what I was doing. What had I been writing?