A Fisherman's Wife

A Fisherman’s Wife

The hem of her night dress rippled in the cool wind as her calves became peppered with bumps. She crossed her arms over her chest, occasionally unfolding them to blow her steaming breath into her small, cold palm. She was not unaccustomed to the feeling of soft wood beneath her bare feet and her long, blonde hair being swept around her by the wind. The pungent smell of the ocean became a welcome sensation. The disappointment of an unchanging horizon did not sting as it had before. But, of course, there was still a sting. There would always be a sting. As she stood on that dock, keeping a wither eye on the stretch of ocean before her, she prayed that today would be the day.

                Her mind did not wander to her children, they had been put to bed and watching over them was their grandmother. Her husband’s mother. She sat in a chair close to the fire, swaddled in a quilt, exhausted by the chaos of tucking four children into four separate beds. Occasionally her mind would drift to her son and she would smile at fond memories.

                Three of the children were already fast asleep, while the fourth and oldest had taken out a novel from below his bed and began to read it. This was his tenth time reading it, as it was now his absolute favorite. On his last birthday, his father had given it to him and promised that if he read it all the way through, he would buy him another one. By his bed, he kept a notepad where he drew a tally every time he finished the book. Now he waited for his father to return and he would proudly display his little pad of tally-marks as he tells him the plot to his book.

                As the wife of a fisherman, she knew life would not be an easy one. As she stood before him in white, with a tear in her eye, she had already known that missing her husband more than seeing her husband would become her life. But through all of the heartache she would not have traded any man for the one she was missing. While it may have sounded easier at times, she would rather wait for the love of her life than be doted on by an imposter.

                She felt her eyes grow weary, her internal clock told her it was time to return to her life. She would wake up early in the morning and smile for her children. She would cheer on her youngest as he attempted to walk through the room; she would allow her only girl to give her a makeover; she would help her two eldest with their homework; she would return to motherhood. The sting of another night alone twisted like a knife in her stomach. She blinked away tears and sighed. She grabbed her shoes, slipped them on, and began watching the cool water below through the cracks between the planks. Slowly, she looked back at the horizon one last time and stopped.

                She fell to her knees as she watched the small object at the horizon very slowly become easier to see. The large fishing boat seemed to inch toward the dock as her tears of disappointment became tears of joy and the pain in her stomach became excitement. After waiting every night for this moment, she found herself overcome with waves of emotions. She jumped up and down, waving her hands, hoping that her husband might see her from the boat. She stopped and smiled, all of the sadness she had felt vanished and a contentment melted over her. For as long as he could stay, she would be the happiest woman alive. Whenever he was called back for the next round, she would remember the feeling she had right this moment. She would remember the bliss of seeing that boat on the horizon as she waits on the dock.