***
Arriving at my uncle’s place is such a hectic occasion. Being a bachelor, Al never really had a notion of preparing the house or acting like a host, so our gatherings were usually a bit unconventional.
My cousins Tony and Matt were sitting lazily on the couch playing video games while Al fired up the BBQ in the backyard. The kitchen was an absolute mess.
My uncle and his sons didn’t live on any ordinary property. No, they inhabited a magnificent plot of oceanside land south of the tourist hamlet of Cannon Beach. It used to be a dairy farm that belonged to Al’s ex-wife, but she left it (and her kids) to him when she ran off with a pilot to Brazil or someplace. The cows are long since gone, and the land presently consisted of barren fields of tall, ruthless grass and a huge barn that used to enthrall me when I was kid (I love cows) but now just gave me the creeps.
Not as much, though, as the structure on the opposite side of the hundred-acre property—the lighthouse. The back yard was essentially a long sweeping lawn with pockets of ruddy sand dunes and rocks running into the wild ocean. To the left of the beach and up a small cliff (and out of view of the house) sat the dilapidated lighthouse. I wasn’t exactly sure whose responsibility it was before, but it was now part of Uncle Albert’s sprawling mass. From what I did know, it had been out of commission for maybe fifty years and Al had no interest in taking care of it. It sat there forgotten and lightless, a darkhouse overlooking the sea.
I had actually never been inside the lighthouse. My curiosity and morbid fascination had been no match for the strict warnings of my family, but I know Tony and Matt had broken in a few times with their friends.
I had a sudden inclination to see if Matt and Tony would be up for exploring it later. I felt drawn to it more than usual, as if visiting the lighthouse would put my present “situation” into perspective.
That would have to wait. As usual, my mother, Ada and I went to work helping Uncle Al and the boys put together a somewhat functional BBQ, cleaning up the kitchen and setting the outdoor table for the feast.
It really was unusually gorgeous out. I was actually a bit disappointed, if you can believe it. The sunshine was remarkable, but the lack of wind meant the wild ocean, which I usually felt cleansed my mind of all its crap, was tame and subdued, the waves lapping gently at the distant shore. And my favorite phenomenon—the mist—was nowhere to be found.
Their place was situated right before the Pacific Coast Highway climbed up to loftier heights and it was at this junction that the Pacific Ocean hurled giant platforms of mist and fog toward the coast, trapping them on either side of the property. To watch these fog beasts roll in was one of the things I liked best about visiting my cousins. There was something so other-worldly about these masses of fog and the way they slowly inched towards the land, coming forward with each rhythmic crash of the rolling waves to hover just above the surface like a continent-wide mothership.
When the barbecuing was done, the boys came out to join us. What is there to say about Matt and Tony? First of all, they aren’t identical twins, but you would hardly know that from the way they acted. They were inseparable, joined at the hip, which I once overhead my mom telling dad “was a little strange at their age.”
True, they were nineteen and well past the “cutesy twin stage,” but they had always been a bit younger than their years. Not only in appearance, as both of them were roughly the same height and had the same roly-poly build with round eyes and a flat nose, but mentally as well. That said, I was hard pressed to find any nineteen-year-old boys who didn’t behave like they were twelve.
They approached me with beers in their hands and sloppy smiles on their faces. Underage drinking was never an issue in their household, though at times it probably should have been. The boys had always been a problem, but it was only over the past couple of years that they started getting into real trouble. Tony had a DUI last year and his driver’s license was consequently taken away. Matt was arrested for breaking into a community pool earlier this year (Tony was there too, but he ran off before the cops got him) and both had been busted for marijuana possession numerous times. I wasn’t sure how Al was coping with all of this, but judging from the recent acceleration of grey hair on his head, it was probably taking its toll.
“Yo, cuz,” Matt said, and gave me a quick hug. Tony just gave me a hard slap on the back. Though they were an odd duo, I couldn’t help but feel a lot of affection toward my cousins.
“How’s it going, guys? Keeping out of trouble?” I winked at them.
“Trying to,” Matt said. He shot a tepid look at his dad, then shrugged nonchalantly at me. “A couple of our friends are coming out tonight to have a bonfire on the beach.”
“I’ve got a gas can all ready to go,” Tony piped up.
Oh, great. Gasoline, booze, and my cousins—what could possibly go wrong? But the idea of having a bonfire with a bunch of young guys did sound more exciting to me than the night that usually unfolded at my uncle’s place: Trying to play Scrabble with the family without someone (usually me or my dad) flipping the board over in anger.
The rest of the day went along without incident. After everything was set up for the evening, I went on my usual exploration of the grounds with my SLR camera.
After I had roamed the fields, my leggings wet with last night’s dew that clung to the high, brown grass, I skirted alongside the beautifully broken down fence that divided their property and the neighboring cheese farm. I removed my sweater and tied it around my waist; the sunshine was blissfully warm.
The air was filled with the gentle sounds of the waves, with birds that flittered above my head and the occasional “moo” of faraway cattle. Behind me were the rolling hills of pine that soared up the nearby cliffs and undulated inland. In front of me was a cattle guard, which my Docs navigated with ease, and beyond that, the spotty dunes and its hardy foliage.
I climbed to the top of a small dune and looked over to my left. There I glimpsed the lighthouse, with its rounded head of cracked paint sticking out over a rusted red roof. The lighthouse wasn’t your typical straight up and down phallic-looking thing. Instead it was built into a two-story building, rising out of it like a bell tower (I fancied this one looked rather like the Mission in Hitchcock’s Vertigo). The building was boarded up and the lighthouse lacked a functioning light, but it still felt alive to me, like it was merely sleeping.
I was staring at the lighthouse when the breeze picked up. It came in off the coast, sweeping wet and salty air over my arms. I shivered and slipped my sweater back on. As I was doing so, I peeked out of one of the holes in the front. I saw a movement by the lighthouse door, like someone had walked in front of it.
I froze. Then quickly pulled down my sweater and looked again.
There was no one there.
Shivers ran down my spine and I was about to start for the lighthouse when I heard my mother calling for me, her voice faint in the deepening wind. I debated a moment, then decided perhaps the great indoors with laughter, family and a glass of wine might be the better option. I watched the lighthouse for a few more minutes until the lack of movement squashed my curiosity and headed back to the house.
***
It was about ten p.m. when our parents finally retired to their rooms. Ada and I were watching a ‘50s B-movie (None of Them Knew They Were Robots) but the minute they said good night, we were up with our box of wine and heading for the beach.
Matt and Tony were already there, as were several of their friends. Because a fence didn’t protect the beach area, it was easy for them to drive their dirty 4x4s off the highway and onto the sand.
The wind had picked up as the night went on, and I was grateful for the warm jacket and scarf I had packed. The night sky was still clear with millions of stars sprinkled across the smooth slate above, though off in the distance the hazy, grey mass of mist could be seen. It wasn’t getting any closer; it was just hovering. Waiting offshore.
The bonfire was going full-blast thanks to generous helpings of Tony’s gas can, which I eventually confiscated and kept far away from us on the other side of a dune.
It was a cozy scene. I was huddled on a long piece of driftwood beside the twins and some of their friends. On the log opposite the fire were a few more people, plus Ada.
I was keeping a very close eye on her. She had been sneaking sips of wine and beer all night. Now, I was definitely not one to talk—at her age I was doing far worse—but as far as I knew, I wasn’t sure if Ada was much of a drinker. In fact, I had never seen her drunk before and she obviously was now. She was drinking Old English out of a paper-bagged 40 oz (because that was cool?) bottle and alternating between cuddling up to and slobbering over a greasy dude called Whiz. That made me a bit nervous.
Whiz was probably the least eligible out of all of Matt and Tony’s friends. For one, I already knew he had a girlfriend. He was talking about her earlier and, as you can imagine, he wasn’t singing her praises. If that wasn’t enough, I had heard Al once say that the twins hadn’t started getting into trouble until they met Whiz. His name, by the way, was totally lost on me. He seemed to have half the IQ of someone from Jersey Shore.
And, as always, the fact that Ada seemed to be having a great time rubbed me the wrong way. This time it was over the fact that I didn’t have a guy to slobber over. Not that I would ever touch Whiz or any of Matt and Tony’s friends in a million years….well, OK, that wasn’t exactly true. There was a cute guy on the other side of the fire that I should have been all over if only I wasn’t a complete moron around guys. He was just my type, too: tall and broad-shouldered with light eyes and wavy chestnut hair that sparkled all pretty in the fire’s glow.
But despite the fact that we were exchanging flirtatious glances across the fire (at least mine were flirtatious; he probably just had smoke in his eyes), I was miles away from actually doing anything about it. Years of having your appearance poked at tended to make you quite insecure with the opposite sex.
I sighed and looked over at the dark waves crashing on the shore. I knew I was a little bit drunk from the “goonbag” wine but sitting around the fire and drinking with a bunch of teenagers was starting to feel stifling. I wanted to get up and explore. I wanted to check out the lighthouse.
I contemplated asking the twins or Ada and her new boytoy if they wanted to come along but one glance around the fire told me that these youngsters were better off staying close to the house. The last thing Uncle Al needed was a bunch of drunks heading off to the lighthouse in the middle of the night. They’d probably burn the whole thing down.
I got off the log and dusted off my butt. I leaned into Matt, trying not to draw attention to myself, and told him that I was going for a walk and would see them later.
“Don’t do anything stupid,” he warned. I would have loved to ask what he of all people considered stupid but I didn’t. Instead I whispered to him to keep an eye on Ada. Thankfully, it seemed like something he could do.
I walked away from the fire and toward the ocean until the light from the flames was too weak to see by. I took out my iPhone and put it on the flashlight feature. It was a pretty pathetic beam of white light but it helped me make my way down the beach and over pieces of rogue driftwood. The lighthouse was visible in the wavering moonlight, waiting for me.