Wandering
Wandering. Lost. I have no idea where I am. Where am I? Not cold yet neither am I warm. Simply comfortable – I think.
Today is rough. I hate when it gets rough. Tossed about like a mere toy, crashed upon by the torrential swells. I hate it when it gets rough. Maybe, just maybe if I scoot a little to the left. Maybe it will work.
Hopefully…it’s been far too long since I’ve last spotted land.
I hate the dark.
I miss the sun.
Hopefully—I am so tired of wandering. How long now? What year is it?
Sunlight. Is that land? Finally.
*
“Mum! Lookit! Look at what I found!” The young boy grabbed it by the neck. Scurrying, he tried to meet up with his mother. She stopped and smiled at the concentration on his face. He’s getting so big, she thought, a bit saddened that her little boy was on his way to becoming a young man. She bent down as he came closer.
“What did you find?” She asked.
He shrugged, “I don’t know. Isn’t it neat?”
She nodded and gingerly took the bottle from her son. “It looks like it has a message inside.”
“Oh! Cool! Can we get it out? Please, please, please?” He whined, tugging on her dress.
“Oh alright. Come along then; let’s go back to the house.” She held out her hand, waiting until the boy grabbed it before heading back up the steps toward their house.
Once inside, the mother set the bottle down onto the table before going to get her husband. Their son was already ahead of her. Within seconds, the father was opening the bottle. He grabbed the tongs and slowly pulled out a yellowed message.
“Whatsit say?” The boy begged to know.
His father handed the wife the message before picking up his son. “Your mum will read it.” He nodded for his wife to begin.
The message read:
“Good Afternoon!
“I assume you are supposed to say: congratulations! So…congratulations! I am presuming that you have found my old wine bottle with this message inside and are reading it. I do not know what people normally write on “messages in the bottle,” but I am taking a wild guess that it is something slightly mushy. However, I didn’t want to do anything of the sort.
“I am now going to explain why I will be asking you to complete this task. I wish that everyone who touches this bottle—or another bottle if this one breaks—to write a little about themselves and after the seventh time, contact me so I can see how my bottle faired.
“I have always wondered where the sea goes. Does it simply go to the land, or does it take mysterious journeys every time, dodging in and out of perilous situations? Does it hide remarkable creatures that it does not want the above world to know about? I know that the sea cannot be tamed, but I want to believe that it cannot stay completely unruled either. It is a contradiction—an anomaly.
“Now, a little about myself: I am 21 years old in the year 1937. I survived the Depression, if a little less round and a little more cynical. I grew up with a loving mother, doting father, and three younger sisters. Father was somewhat sad that he had no sons. But he need not to have worried; all my sisters save the youngest, who is a mere teen, have married well. I am married to a good man, even if he does not have a lick of imagination and would never dream about the sea. It is too improper, he would say.
“My name is Margaret Ann Williams, though everyone calls me Meg. I mentioned my age (though a woman is to never tell her age) but I have not mentioned that I am pregnant with my first child. I am scared. I want to survive this with the same joie de vivre that I survived the Depression and losing my job (I was a teacher at the school until I married).
“I live in Fernandina Beach, Florida. I absolutely adore walking along the beach with my dog Spunky. I can hardly wait to watch my toddler running around with Spunky in the late afternoons.
“But I am dreaming and writing far too much. What I am asking of you is this: write down who you are, what you have survived, your hopes and dreams, and hopefully, one day the seventh will return this to me.”
Meg
The mother looked up at her family. “We are the seventh,” she stated. And showed them the others’ handwriting and stories they had written.
*
Sunlight. It feels marvelous, warming me up, making me realize that I had been cold. I smiled to myself as the lady read. It had been so long ago when Mistress Meg first placed the wine bottle in the ocean. I miss hearing her laugh, her eyes dreamy as she wished upon the sea. She would walk along with that detestable dog Spunky. I knew her fears and her sorrows. I felt her tears.
I noticed then the little boy squirming in his father’s arms. He squiggled down, grabbed a stick and handed it to his mother, telling of the things he wanted her to write. She smiled and nodded, writing on another sheet of paper so she wouldn’t mess up the message. I remembered the others then, writing their hearts’ desires, their fears, their trials and joys. They took the Mistress’s message and request to heart.
*
“Mum, what does the rest say?” The boy asked.
“I am not sure. I’ve not read it yet.”
“Why not?” He asked, beginning to pout.
“Because they are private.” The mother put her pen down thoughtfully. “I am not sure that I should read them.”
“I don’t think it would hurt anyone, Molly.” Her husband joined forces with the son. Molly looked thoughtfully at them. “After all, it has been years since anyone wrote.” She continued to debate before finally acquiescing.
She led them to the porch. After settling in, she cleared her throat and began to read.
**
“What a marvelous idea! I am saddened only by the fact that I am the first. After all, how then could I read others if there is no others but Meg’s before mine? Ah, well, it was not to be.
“My name is Fiona Galbraith and I am 20 and to the disappointment of my mother, I am not married. It has not taken long for the message to reach a different part of the earth. Scarcely four years have passed and the world seems to have changed completely. I want to contact Meg and ask how her toddler is doing. I want to believe that everything is going fine; yet we are in the middle of the war.
I live in the Isle of Skye, off of Scotland. The war that has torn through Europe has touched us briefly, but it is more touched the young men who have been sent to help fight. Fight! Whatever have we done to be punished in losing our own men? I am thankful at the moment that I have neither a husband nor a beau that is gone.
Like, Meg, I love to walk along the seashore. The Isle is almost like its own island and has a wonderful ambiance to it. Yet, unlike Meg, I also love walking through the mountains and the trees. That is where I dream. That is where I write in secret. I have not told anyone about this bottle. I am sure they would think it to be petty.
But, I believe that one day, we will all hear about the miraculous bottle that has survived and visited the world. And, Meg, I am sure that the sea travels a perilous and extraordinary journey every time.”
Fi
**
“Well, my name is Kevin Dailey and I guess I am the second person to find this bottle. I am 26 years old in the year of 1964. We are out of World War II and boy am I thankful! However, I guess you could say that we are in a “cold war” with the USSR. I like “The Beatles,” which are only the greatest band ever.
And at the moment, I live in Monterey, California. But I have plans to get out and travel the world.”
Kevin George Dailey
P.S. Keep the signature. Maybe one day I’ll be famous.
***
“I could not believe it! The United States has landed on the moon! And this is all on the same day that I found this old bottle on the beach. How cool is that? Wow!
My name is Patricia Manetsch and I am 13 years old. I live in New Orleans, Louisiana. I am part French and the rest, I guess, American! Well, we call it Cajun down in the ‘leans. I absolutely love school, but only because we get out early every day and I get to go hang out with friends. Oh, right, it is 1969. Can you believe only 5 years have passed and it has gone from California to Louisiana?!
I love to read, read, read! And I enjoy writing and singing. But my favorite thing of all is going to see my grandmother and hear her talk about France and when she came over. She tells the greatest stories. Not at all like Lisa’s grandmother. All she does is complain.
But this isn’t what that lady Meg wants in this. I guess, I suppose that what I could say is that I wish and hope that when I am old enough, I can sing on Broadway! I know all the plays. I am hoping that Maman will let me take more dance lessons soon so I can practice. Maybe one day I will be famous like that Kevin guy asked for. Oh, and Meg, I had to get another bottle. But I did find one similar to yours. It should be waterproof. I want a dog too! Maybe one like Spunky. He sounds fun. Good luck to everyone!”
Patricia Ann Manetsch
P.S. Meg! We have the same middle name! That is cool. Peace.
****
“This is stupid. I promise if one tries to find and kill me, I will seek retribution.”
Friedrich Zimmermann, Hamburg, Germany 4th person in 1975.
*****
“Friedrich Zimmermann, it is not stupid! It is a glorious, innovative idea that I, for one, am thrilled that the bottle has chosen me to be its next writer. Zut, zut, I know.
I am Esmerelda Ilona Aleta Putelengro. I am a gypsy born in Russia 27 years ago to this date and I am proud of the fact. At the moment in March of 1982, my grandparents and I are traveling from yet another port in the lower Sweden. Finally they have decided to go to a warmer climate. We are off to Italy! I cannot wait to see Venice. I’ve learned a new dance since the last time we went (which has been over 7 years). I wonder if that gypsy man is still wandering around. I was too young last time to go with him when he asked, but if he is till there and asks again, I may go…
But of course he won’t be there. After all, he is a gypsy! Yet, I am going to hope that me writing this message, it will somehow be waiting on him. And then he will know that I will be there soon. Do you think it will? Please try, message. Try as hard as you can to meet up with my love.
Just to help you have favorable winds towards the Portugal isle, I will do a dance and chant for you. May the sea gods give you favorable winds! Blessed be.”
Esme
******
“Unbelievable. Even I normally have no problem believe the paranormal. You have some skills, darling.
My name is Zale Rye Baryor and like Esme, I am a gypsy. I was born in Italia and that is where I will remain until my Esme arrives. It is June of 1982. May all others who have searched for their loved ones, find. Blessed be those who touched these messages. May Dooriya protect thee.
Blessed be.”
Rye
*
Molly slowly looked up, setting down the fragile journal that had survived fifty years in the salt-water. She was surprised over how much time had passed since she began to read. It was now dark, and their son was curled up asleep on his father’s lap. She smiled at her husband. “Philip, may we find Meg?”
“I think we must.” He looked down at their son. “Michael wouldn’t be able to take it otherwise.” He stood up, smoothing picking up their young son. “I’ll put him to bed. It is your turn to write in it now.” Molly nodded, kissing Michael goodnight, watching how her husband treated him. Slowly, she picked up her pen and began to write.
*
“Mum!” Michael called, running into the kitchen. Weeks had passed since he had found the astonishing messages that had survived in the sea.
“Yes, Michael?” She looked up from her letter.
“It came! The news about that lady. Remember?”
“Of course I remember.” She held out her hand for the mail. In it was a letter from the private investigator they had hired to find Meg. She hastily opened it and reading it, she quickly gathered her son and keys before heading off to find Phillip. They met him at his worksite, prodding him to hurrying along. Once he read the letter, he too grabbed his things and left. The family hurried home, packing randomly as they went, wanting to hurry but knowing things would still have to wait until the next day. It was already late.
They jumped into their car, speeding along the interstate, listening to the Beatles and once Michael fell asleep, classical. Phillip pulled into a motel lot and paid for a room. It wasn’t long after Molly and Phillip had gotten to sleep when Michael woke them up, too excited to stay asleep long. They dressed carefully for the first meeting with Meg. They headed to her house on the sea and when they arrived, they could only stare in awe at the magnificent sight.
“Mum,” Michael asked, “do you think she’ll remember?”
“We can only hope,” Molly told her young son.
*
Knock, Knock. The wooded handle resounded loudly against their ears as they waited nervously. A maid answered the door. “Yes? May I help you?”
Phillip stepped forward. “I believe so. Is this the home of a Margaret Ann Williams?”
“Who’s asking?” The maid replied, suspiciously.
“Jenny, who’s at the door?” A voice replied in the background.
“I’m not sure Madame. A family that wants to speak with you.”
“Bring them in.” At this, Jenny opened the door wider, admitting the family, albeit reluctantly.
They filed into the parlor. “Who are you?” The older lady asked suspiciously.
Molly answered. “Someone that has come to fulfill your wish.”
“I don’t recall making any wish that needs fulfillment. Leave. My grandchildren are coming over soon.”
“Madame Meg, it is a wish you made fifty years ago today as you placed an old wine bottle into the ocean.”
At that, the lady looked up. Molly was surprised at how clear her eyes were, how beautiful she would have been in her youth. All she could do was motion for Molly to bring the bottle over. Reverently, she grabbed it and smiled. “I had forgotten that wish.” She looked up sharply. “I suppose you were the seventh?”
“My son was,” Molly replied as she motioned for Michael. “This is Michael Southwell. My name is Molly, and this is my husband, Phillip Southwell.”
“Pleased to meet you. I am Margaret Ann Williams, best known as Meg when I was younger. I am the one who wrote the message. Please, come, join me for brunch. My grandchildren will be here soon, and they need someone to play with.” The family nodded as they sat around Meg.
“Madame Meg, will you tell us the story?” Molly asked.
“All in good time my dear, all in good time,” She replied, smiling. She had gotten her wish.
*
I recognized the touch as soon as I was handed from Molly to Meg. My mistress, she had gotten the wish she had wanted at last. She would see that the sea does go through perilous times, in and out of countries and touches everyone’s heart that hears or sees it. And I can finally stop being tossed about like a rag. I think Molly said it best:
“We are the seventh, the family of Southwell. My young son Michael found the journal within the bottle and with it, seven stories of amazement. Unfortunately, there are people who do not take every opportunity at its best, but they eventually learned. My son wanted me to write that in 1987 he is 6 and he passionately loves to swim and play soccer. As well, he hates school and loves going to work with his father. He also has a puppy named Goofy.
As for me, my name is Molly and I am married to Phillip Southwell. Meg, I too had those same fears and doubts when I was pregnant. But then, when you see their face for the first time, you try not to worry about incessant things. All you can do is love them. Amazingly, that love never diminishes and can only grow.
Each of the stories before have touched my life (excluding Friedrich). And it has inspired me to write again. Only, this time, the tale will be of a young widow searching for her lover who is lost at sea. Maychance I’ll use the message in the bottle. I was never sure until now that it will ever be seen by anyone. But I’ve learned that it only takes the belief of the person and eventually it will get there.
Meg, I think I will try to answer your question. The sea, it copies our own voyage through life. Just like we have dangers and trials, joys and laughter, it too goes through all of these moods. The sea immolates us.
May God bless and keep you safe always. Blessed be.
Molly.
*
Aye, she said it best. In my travels, the sea went where I willed. It would have come back sooner if I hadn’t lost hope. But I never failed my mistress. Meg got her wish. And Molly got a story.