Twenty-six Seconds of Silence

From Dear Frankie: a take on the Stranger's thoughts in the endless twenty-six seconds between the moment Frankie hugged him and the moment he returned the hug.

He runs to me and throws his arms around my waist, this beaming child of wonder, and his momentum is absorbed in my solid sailor's stance. I find myself frozen with shame. His swift acceptance of me is founded on a lie, worse, on a betrayal of his trust. I've read it in your letters. The words that sent him running to me burn on my tongue. What right had I to read his letters?

Frankie is the only anchor that keeps me from running away.

I raise my eyes to his mother. I intend to pin her with an accusatory stare – this was your doing – but my flicker of anger is quenched in the oceans of pain that are her eyes. These deep oceans, so like the ones I've sailed most of my life; I try to read the currents of her deepest thoughts.

I find a hint of shame that mirrors mine, a rippling reflection. I've read it in your letters. What right had she to give me his letters?

Deeper inside I find a darker undercurrent. Regret for having made the deal with me? Fear at Frankie's spontaneous, profound reaction? I can understand that. I feel like I'm sailing in dangerous waters: one wrong tug on the rudder and Frankie's ship of dreams will capsize and sink. Surely for that I'll be doomed like Coleridge's mariner.

And deeper still, like a behemoth monster lurking in her eyes, the dark outlines of pain. The pain of seeing Frankie grant me, a stranger, an undeserved token of free love, whereas she, who struggle for him day after day, remains shunted aside and solitary.

These impressions roll over me like a tidal wave, in that fraction of a second when our eyes meet. I cannot hold her stare. I look down.

Slowly the physical contact of Frankie's embrace permeates through my leather coat and woolen sweater. His arms are clasping me like a life belt, his head pressing against my midriff. Even without hearing, he must feel the rapid sonar-pulses of my heart. He hugs me without fear or reserve, as I once longed to hug my father but knew better. The same father I've escaped from to the cold, windswept embrace of the sea. How could I have changed positions with him? And yet here I am, standing stiff as a pillar of salt in the embrace of a child.

Frankie and Lizzie, how I admire you. In all my far-and-wide sailings I've braved rough weather and towering waves, I've matched myself against the forces of nature, and in doing so, considered myself a force of nature in my own, strong and fearless. But I now see that true strength lies in the open arms of the harbor, which bears the daily pounding of the tides and still welcomes home any ship.

I steal another glance at the mother, almost apologetically. This was your doing. The thought is free of anger now, only the somber admiration remains.

And slowly, finally, my arms enclose the blissful child.