Pufflings

Puffins remind me of my little brother. They’re small and inquisitive, like him, and have sensitive, upturned eyebrows. They stand with their flippers pointed out, puffing their belly with their wings folded back. Just like five-year-old Finn, with his hands on his hips, that same puffed-up belly full of peas and mash. I remember images of puffins in Iceland—little white birds perched on mossy rock cliffs. And then I think of my little brother wearing his Christmas footies.

Looking at him now, I suppose most of his puffin qualities have left. Although, he still has those upturned eyebrows, which makes it hard to tell how he feels. Most times, he looks sad, but maybe I just say that because I’m a girl. Well, I’ll turn twenty in November, so I guess I’m grown-up. Finn’s just sixteen—he’ll turn seventeen a month before my birthday.

I can see his eyes working under the fluorescents, probably under the cover of a dream.

“Hey, you up?”

Finn’s eyelashes flutter open. When I was younger, I always hated that my brother was prettier than me.

“It’s just grandma.”

“Huh?”

He adjusts his eyes, wrenching himself from the elbow of his plastic bench. Doing so makes his dark bangs sway sideways, and he fixes his hair before looking at me.

He says with a cracked voice—“I had a dream that you were worried about a sea squid in the kitchen, but it was grandma baking cookies.”

“Which grandma?”

“She looked like Gerty, but her hair was whiter.”

I ask him, “Was it a sea squid because you like the ocean?”

“I don’t think so. It was more like the giant tentacles.”

Oh well, I guess puffins don’t historically roam around with giant squid.

Seeing him sit up more, I slide myself forward on my opposing bench—my fingers slip along the wet white plastic. Outside, you can barely see beyond the walls of the ferry. There’s only the darkness of deep blue waters dragging us across the channel. Some cigarette smoke peeking around a pillar. It’s eerily quiet—I feel a great relief now that Finn is awake, since my headphones died thirty minutes ago. I try to catch his gaze, but his brown eyes look utterly dazed as he scratches slightly at his nose. And although he tried to fix his hair, his whisps still stick out in all directions. Suddenly, I feel an immediate want to hug him tightly over the shoulders. Like that time he broke his arm after falling from a tree. Shit, maybe it’s my period. Besides, Finn doesn’t really like hugs.

He gets up—“I’m gonna go take a piss.”

“Ok, just don’t fall over the side.”

He exhales a laugh before turning towards the back of the boat. I watch him whisk around the corner, his oversized hoodie trailing behind him, and I check my phone: five-thirty six. We should pull into Rocky Harbour at sunrise. Then, we’ll finally be 1000 km from home. I wonder if the harbour is really made of stone, and if we’ll have to wedge an anchor on a rock cliff to take us to shore. Even though Newfoundland is only across the gulf, I feel like we’re sailing to the Arctic—somewhere cold and flat and empty. I don’t want Finn to feel like that.

It took everything for Mom to send him here. Something cracked in our quiet house. The nights became too dark—a restless passivity that made the air thick and daunting. Finn became a sort of ghost as he locked himself away in his shuttered bedroom. Mom would knock on his door, and he’d pretend to sleep. Because Finn is like me in any confrontation: he shuts down. Except, it was always harder for him to come back from an argument. Over those summers when I’d come back from college, Mom would try to get me to “talk to him.” But most times, the two of us would just lie around listening to The B-52’s. I’d draw while he’d play video games. Sometimes I’d peer over his shoulder when his pixelated knight uncovered a treasure chest.

Maybe then I should’ve opened my mouth and reached for him from across the room. But I don’t think I’d find anything to say. None of us did much—we didn’t have any hallway crushes or game day jitters. Back in tenth grade, when I told him I liked girls, he said “Ok,” and asked if I wanted the rest of his mac and cheese.

Maybe if I’d “talked to him,” he wouldn’t have swallowed that bottle of pills last December.

“How much longer till Rocky Harbour?”

I look up from my daze to see Finn with his hands in his pockets. Those upturned eyebrows.

“Just a few more hours.”

He nods, then plants himself on the opposing bench.

“You went to Newfoundland once with Dad, right?”

I think back to when I was five, but I can’t visualize anything beyond my Dora the Explorer backpack. Instead I tell him, “Yeah, I think my favorite part was the ocean. All the moss and rocks were nice. But I’m sure there’s more there to explore.”

“Yeah, I’ll probably find something.”

“And there’s lots of stuff to take pictures of. You’ll have to send me some.”

“I don’t know if we’re allowed phones.”

“Oh.”

A wind whistles through the cabin, and a leaf drifts into Finn’s hair.

“Just, make some drawings when you send letters back, ok?”

He nods, and the leaf falls on the ground.

I hate it when it feels like I can’t understand him. I used to when he was younger—I could look into his eyes and gravitate everything about him that was simple and complex. I wish he’d let me practice my makeup on him in high school. I feel like I could figure out all of his working parts with a sharp line of eyeshadow across his gaze. A splatter of blush that could tell me if he’s sweet or if he’s daring. Probably sweet.

I rub my eyes and forget that I’m wearing mascara. “Did you bring any books?”

He looks up—“Yeah, I brought two Percy Jacksons and some Naruto manga.”

“Nice, nice. So, no Shakespeare then?”

“I’d say Percy Jackson is pretty Shakespearean.”

“Yup, that sounds right. I never got past the first two books though.”

“They’re pretty good. I always loved the whole idea of having water powers. I think those are the coolest out of the bunch.”

Yeah, he’s definitely a puffin.

❀❀❀

Some thirty minutes have passed since I came back with snacks from the vending machine. In the end, I threw away my stale animal crackers because they gave me anxiety—as did the incessant buzz of the ferry motor below my feet. I also decided to sit next to Finn, because the lean of the boat made me feel uneasy, like I was gonna fall forward and spill all over the floor. I feel much more comfortable with Finn’s hoodie folded next to my hip.

Across from us, a girl about his age is leaning against the banister. She’s probably trying to seek out the sunrise on the horizon. From here, we can’t see over the walls, only white plastic. I notice that she’s wearing an oversized hoodie, like Finn.

“Do you think that girl’s going to the same program as you?”

Finn looks up from his jittering knee and quirks his head to the side. Her dyed-blue hair sticks out.

“Maybe.”

“She looks the same age as you?”

“I don’t know.”

“You should go talk to her.”

He looks back at me, works at those eyebrows.

“I don’t want to freak her out.”

“Why would you freak her out?”

He shrugs—I scoot closer.

“You know, she’s really pretty.”

At that, Finn scrunches his face. An awkward huff.

“So you agree she’s pretty?”

“I don’t think I want to go talk to her.”

“Well then you’re fine if we gossip from here, right? I mean, assuming she’s in your program, we should probably think of things to start a conversation. You know, for when you two finally meet.”

Instead of responding, he fidgets with his hoodie drawstring.

“Or, you could just go talk to her now.”

Looking away, Finn tucks his bangs behind his ears. After a few seconds, he ties his drawstring into a little knot, which he quickly unravels. He focuses to get his knee to stop shaking.

Then, he gets up with a sigh, and gives me a flat smile before turning towards the banister. I watch him weave through those white plastic benches, avoiding the old drifter snoozing on the far side. He taps her shoulder, and the two of them say hi. Finn finally takes his hands out of his pockets. The girl smiles. Facing each other, the pale light from the water reflects over their cheeks—their freckles and eyelashes. I turn away to give them privacy.

On the left wall, there’s a poster advertising a karaoke bar in Newfoundland. I observe a stock image of twenty-somethings frozen in mid-dance—all of them with stringy hair and tugged smiles. The text above is in neon purple: Lobster Cove’s Premier Karaoke Bar. I imagine Finn going to this karaoke bar, cracking into a lobster dinner, and consequently stepping up to stage to sing Rock Lobster. It makes me laugh.

While Finn and his friend talk on the left side of the ferry, I decide to walk over to the opposite banister. We now have our backs to each other—if I jumped out, I could swim all the way around the ferry until I reached his side. But I won’t do that. Instead, I’m accompanied by a wrinkled woman wearing a cigarette behind her ear. She’s probably saving it for when we disembark. I’ve only smoked weed before, but I imagine Newfoundland is better suited for cigarettes. Fisherman’s cigars—cigarettes for the women. Both of us look over the water, and I try to match her contemplative gaze. But the wind whips my hair in all directions, and the sea sprays into my eyes. Suddenly, I’m trying desperately not to cry. To not think about my ferry ride back.

“What’s a lass like you doing so far up in Newfoundland?”

The wrinkled woman looks at me with kind eyes, her mittens on the banister. I frantically wipe away the seawater from my face, pull my hair back.

“Oh, I’m traveling with my brother.”

“You two got a place to stay?”

“Oh, no. He’s going to a…um. I’m just dropping him off, you know. I have to go back to college in a few days.”

“What are you studying at your college?” Her Irish tongue wraps around every word.

“Well, I don’t really know yet? Which I know is bad, but…”

“Oh, it took me twenty years to figure out what I wanted to do. It took two marriages, too.”

She takes a second to sniff in the cold air, and exhales—“What I mean is, you don’t need to be worrying about who you are, what you want to do. Not yet at least.”

“Yeah, I guess I feel like I’m… lost. Sometimes I think I want to be a writer, but other times… I don’t know.”

“Well the world sure needs new writers. Maybe writers who feel just as lost as the rest of us.”

The woman’s wrinkles are actually quite beautiful, especially when she smiles.

“Is that your brother back there?”

I look back at Finn and his new friend. The two of them have become quite a pair, both balancing on their toes to peer over the banister. They look like puffins pointed to catch a fish.

“Yeah.”

“That’s my granddaughter Katie over there, with the pretty blue hair. Is your brother going to the same program as her?”

“…Yeah.”

She reaches her mittened hand over mine, and I tear my eyes away from Finn.

“I know it’s scary, bringing them out to the island. But let me tell you, I grew up with my mamó in Newfoundland. The waves are always pleasant, the trees are always the deepest green. There are misty mornings and great beautiful cliffs. I caught crabs every Sunday, I skimmed my knees, I ran down the hill for fresh bread in the morning… Your brother is going to be ok.”

My hand feels warm under her mitten. I notice that her accent sinks into the word “brother,” a slight dip in her breath. “Yeah, I uh… read about the program. How they do a lot of stuff outside. I guess that’s better than putting him somewhere else, like an institution.”

“Yes, it’s hard to let go of our children, and send them somewhere away from reach. Unimaginably hard. There’s so much sadness in this world, so much pain. You just wish you could take it away from them.”

I nod, my neck creaking. I feel like her grip over my hand is the only thing keeping me standing. I try not to shake.

“But, you understand, no matter how much love you pour into them, they need to find it themselves. They need to find that reason to live that’s buried somewhere deeper than the rest of us. And that’s the hardest truth. The most painful truth.”

I can’t help it. I crack completely, and the tears stream down my face, burning my cheeks. The wrinkled woman takes me in her arms, her puffer jacket enveloping my whole body.

“Oh, sweetie. You can’t blame yourself. You can’t carry it with you.”

She cradles my head with her mitten, and I fall apart even more.

“You’ll always be his big sister.”

❀❀❀

On sunny days, back when my brother and I were little, our family would all pack into our Honda Civic and ride along the Trans-Canada Highway to the beach. Finn took the booster seat while I sat on Mom’s lap. Looking out the window, I’d count all the ships over the horizon, wondering if I could ever be a sailor. I didn’t like the ocean, because the seawater gave me a rash, and the shells hurt my feet. So, when we got there, I spent my time building sand castles instead, watching little Finn in his diaper. He always loved waddling along the shoreline and stomping his feet. When I wanted to decorate my castle, I’d ask Finn to pick up some seashells to bring back. And he’d always listen, he’d always say “I’m comin’ Laurie.” And a second later, he’d come running—squatting beside my sand castle to present me with a fistful of pearl-white seashells.

I know that the most beautiful shells are washed up on the Newfoundland shore. I know that they’re waiting for Finn Wilson to be the one to find them.

We’re about to reach the dock—I can see the Lobster Cove Lighthouse peeking out from our left side. Some people have started queuing up at the front of the Ferry. I notice Katie and her grandmother holding hands, looking over the bow. Beside me, Finn has his hoodie zipped up against the crisp morning cold. I can see him shivering under his hood.

“Finn.”

“Yeah?”

“Let me give you my jacket.”

He looks at me through his bangs.

“Oh, no it’s ok.”

“Here you go.”

I hand him my thick windbreaker I borrowed from Mom’s closet. Finn’s cheeks are so pink that his freckles poke out like little pebbles.

He hesitates.

“I’m not gonna let you go without a jacket.”

We look at each other for a second. Then, Finn starts unzipping his hoodie.

“I’ll give you my hoodie then. For the ferry ride back.”

He puts it in my hands, soft and gentle. Without thinking, I rub my thumb over the worn-through cotton thread—it’s comforting.

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

The both of us let the cold wash over our arms before we pull our jackets on. I help Finn secure the windbreaker straps on his wrists.

“Finn?”

“Yeah?”

“I know that sometimes it’s hard for me to talk about stuff, but I just wanted to tell you that, you’re gonna be ok.”

Instead of letting his arm fall, I hold onto his wrist.

“I know.”

“You know, the world isn’t ready for all of the amazing things you’re gonna do. You’re gonna do so many things, Finn. So many things.”

He looks at me, his eyes an amber honey in the morning light.

“So are you.”

We both smile, a quiet smile, reserved just for us.

Then, I look over his shoulder and spot something extraordinary.

“Oh my god, look!”

It’s a gathering of puffins, maybe twenty of them. They’re all poised on a mossy rock cliff, just like I imagined, tilting their beaks with a sensitive curiosity. One of them dives into the water with their flippers pointed out. Another nestles close with a mate, tucking into their love. I can spot a little gray puffling buried somewhere in between all the white feathers.

“That’s you, Finn!”

His eyes are filled with wonder.

I can’t help tearing up—“You’re, those are…god, they remind me of you. Puffins.”

He takes my hand, and I notice he’s tearing up, too.

Three squeezes mean I love you.

Ryn Daniel is a freshman student at the School of Cinematic Arts. She has a passion for screenwriting and creative storytelling and is super excited to be among California kool kids as a Georgia native. She loves Adventure Time and making doodles of hot ladies.