I sat on the rocks and stared out to the horizon, idly twisting and turning my finger in the dusting of sand. I looked down at my right hand and watched in fascination as the finger kept turning, like it was something else, apart from my body. I had made some design that almost looked like one of Da’s Celtic engravings.

I looked up again and frowned, feeling the little forehead lines I had gotten from Da form. I knew from experience, and from Da’s teachings, that there would be a storm tonight; the clouds were gathering; soft, heavy, and low with rain, as the sea rose and got rougher and choppier. The wind lifted my dark straggly hair and blew it back, leaving my neck feeling cool and refreshed. I climbed down slowly; careful of jagged bits of rock, for my feet were bare.

When the tide was in there was hardly any beach left; just enough for maybe two skinny people to walk along together; when it was out, there was enough for a whole little circle of people, I suppose about five people could walk together than. Right now the tide was in, so the water was close. It mixed with the sand to swirl in small eddies around my toes; little fingers reaching and pulling, begging me to come play in the water.

“Not today” I whispered sternly. Normally you could find me in the water at almost any time of day; I loved it so much. Da said I was a regular fish, and probably the best swimmer in the whole county, perhaps the whole state.

The light was green-ish, and the whole electric energy of the sea gave me a strange feeling of excitement in my stomach, and I laughed out loud. It didn’t matter, for this cove was mine and Da’s secret, and as he was at work there was no one to hear me and think I was insane. I was actually glad Da wasn’t here, for normally he made me come inside when it stormed. But I planned to stay out here for the whole storm, I loved the wildness of ocean storms; their furry; and when the tide was in I would get soaked with the sea-spray, and it was simply delightful, though most would call me crazy.

Everyone thought I was crazy anyways. I didn’t like the same things as other children, and I didn’t want to play dress-up or with dolls, or such silly things. I told my teacher in kindergarten that I wanted to be a dolphin or a fish of some sort, and she had laughed at me, and all the other kids did too. But when I told Da later his face had gotten that kind of look that was frightening. It was the look that was so much not a look, so blank, that it was even blanker than stone, and it made people think that he didn’t care or have any emotions. Except I knew better. When Da has that look, something’s terribly wrong.

Well, Da left that night, he just put on his raincoat and his big work boots, and left. The next day he took me to school and he walked with me to an unfamiliar classroom. I remember being terribly confused.

“Da! It’s the wrong room! My room’s not here Da!” But Da ignored me. He studied the door for a bit, and then finally turned to me. “Colleen, this is your new room. You’ve been moved up a couple grades.”

“Da!” I protested. At least in kindergarten I was left to myself to do what I wanted. Da frowned at me, and I quickly quieted, realizing that I was making him angry.

“Listen. That’s no the only thing Colleen. There’s a price for being smart.”

I stared at him, unable to comprehend what that meant.

“Your teacher’s been testing you Colleen. You have something called Dyslexia, which is why you have trouble reading. Whenever it’s time for reading, you have to go to Ms. Jenning. Understand?”

I didn’t, but I nodded anyway. All I knew was that I had a problem, and it was my fault somehow. I hated school after that. The kids in my class disliked me for being moved up. They ignored me at first, than teased me when they learned why I left during English every day. I liked Ms. Jenning, but I hated myself for having the disease, as I learned it was called. I hated how everyone else had no trouble with reading, and I did.

I used to like stories, and being read to. That was before I had to learn to read myself. I still longed for those stories, but now Da and Ma made me read myself for practice, and it was torture. I became really good at memorizing. I’d listen to the tapes in the library of the story for the week, than pretend to read when I got home. But I practiced on my own, I knew I had to learn, I just didn’t want anyone else to see me struggle, and I never read fiction. I didn’t want to ruin the stories that I still loved.

I learned all about the disease too. It made me switch my letters around, so I could never tell what was what. It was also inherited, which brought up a funny question.

“Da?”

“Hmmm?” He was sitting at his desk, writing about the conditions of the sea and the catch that day.

“Ms. Jenning says I had to have inherited dyslexia. Who did I get it from?”

He turned and looked at me, eyebrows furrowed in unusual concentration. I began to fidget under his intense stare.

“Come with me Colleen.”

He took my hand and led me to the hallway, where we put on our boots and coats. He told Ma he was taking me to the beach to talk a bit. Ma came out form the kitchen and looked at him, and something passed between them that I couldn’t understand. She looked at me in a kind of sad way, and then left to go back to fixing dinner. We climbed about halfway down the cliff to the cove, than settled on a particularly large boulder, hunched against the chill of the wind.

“Colleen, I’m only saying this once, so listen carefully.”

I nodded mutely, to cold to do anything else.

“Ma and I were afraid this would come up, ever since they found out you had dyslexia. The truth Colleen is that neither your Ma’s nor my family has ever had dyslexia. You didn’t get it from either of us, you got it from your mother.”

I frowned, this wasn’t making sense. “Da, what do you mean?”

“Colleen, Ma isn’t your real mother. Your real mother loved you too, but she had to leave a long time ago.”

The memory seemed to pain him, and I saw a touch of sadness in his usually stone-like face.

I could actually understand this, I had always felt much more connected to Da than Ma, and I often hadn’t been able to understand how we were related, never seeing much of her in me. We were completely different. But I wanted to know why.

“Da? Why? Why did she leave you, and me?” Me especially, as selfish as that was. A mother was supposed to always love her children, no matter what.

“She was homesick. Truly homesick, she was dying Colleen. I had to let her go.” He looked at me, than held his hand out. I took it mutely, understanding that that was all I would get. For now. I’d find out more later, one way or another.

I became obsessed with the thought of my mother, and how I thought she should look. I came up with a picture of her in my head, dark eyes like my own, and long, gorgeous black hair. She’d have frosty-pale skin, and light pink cheeks. I started drawing pictures of her, until I saw Ma crying over one once. Than I was more careful.

One day I found a book in our house, one I had never seen before. I took it out, staring breathlessly at the cover. It looked just like how I pictured mother would look. I read the cover, working out the sounds, “Se…e...lk…Selk…i…e...Selkie.” It sounded beautiful.

“Da! Da!” In my excitement, I forgot to be careful, and I ran to find him.

“Da! Look at what I found. Read it please? Please?”

He turned the book over and over, than traced the outline of the woman’s face on the cover. His voice, when it came, was harsh and guttural, and very horrible, “Where did you find this?”

“I dunno….” I hesitated, suddenly frightened, “I…I just saw it Da, and it was pretty…Da?” His faced look horrible. And that was the first time I ever saw him truly angry.

He stood up, and all of the sudden all the sun seemed to blot out, and all the darkness gathered in around him as he stared furiously at me, “NEVER! NEVER LET ME CATCH YOU READING THIS AGAIN!”

I began to cry, “I won’t Da! I wont, I promise!” I was frightened for my life at that moment.

And as suddenly as it had come, the darkness had dispelled, and Da was my old Da again, settling in to the chair weekly, like an old exhausted man. I ran from the room.

I went to school Monday feeling angry and resentful. I had searched high and low for the book, and I still hadn’t found it. I was desperate to know what was in it, what treasure Da was keeping from me. I was in fifth grade then (and should’ve been in third), and had begun to develop my own mind. And my own mind did not feel like putting up with the other kids that day, who seemed bent on being worse than usual.

“Colleen….” I began to grow annoyed as Brent’s familiar voice hissed in my ear, “Well folks, meet Colleen, our local retarded-in-residence”.

I grit my teeth and bent over my workbook, trying to ignore him. His voice only became louder, drawing more giggles from near-by students.

“Oh, Colleen” he said, in a fake reporter voice, “Now tell us how it feels to have a diseeeeaaaase” he drew this word out, savoring it, “To be the dumbest kid in the community, you poor stupid kid.”

I couldn’t take it anymore. I jumped up and let my chair clatter to the floor, and let out all my pent-up frustration and anger out on him, “I am not stupid! Don’t you ever say that again Brent! Or you’ll regret it”. I was amazed, I felt like I was Da, drawing in power to my words, the kids around me were actually trembling as I stood in rage before them with clenched fists. To add to it all, it was almost like when Da was angry; I could feel the darkness seeping into the room, and there was a crack of thunder outside, amazing when the day had just been sunny and clear.

“Colleen!” Even Ms. Peters looked scared, but she stood up and marched over to me, “We do not threaten other students! Report to Mr. Halloway at once, while I call your parents!”

This quickly brought me back to reality, and I slumped as I realized how much trouble I was in. As the rain began to pour outside, Ms. Peters lead me to the door. I glanced back behind me before I left, and I felt some satisfaction as I watched everyone’s eyes zip away from me as fast as possible.

I cam out of my reflections as a clap of thunder broke overhead, and smiled as the air responded, the wind became harsh and fierce, screaming as it raced into the cove. I raised my arms and embraced it, then laughed. Then I snuggled down closer to the rocks, and reflected on the consequences of that day.

I had been yelled at, and grounded. I had been sent back to school, which became harder than ever. It wasn’t that the kids teased me or anything; they just completely and utterly ignored me. I was extremely lonely. So I turned to my drawings. I practiced and practiced, and when I wasn’t drawing, I was playing the pipes I had found on Da’s dresser. I loved those pipes more than anything else I owned, and they seemed to fit right in to the atmosphere of the cove. They made me content with my loneliness.

I also became closer to my little sister than most children do. I took her to the rocks, and taught her how to play the pipes. And while she was willing to do this for a while, she never did very long. Jesse was an outgoing, bubbly child, and I think she found my quietness depressing most of the time. But at least she didn’t think I was abnormal. I remember a conversation Ma and Da had one time.

“Bran, there’s something wrong with that child of yours. I try, I really do, but even before you told her I could never get close to her. She’s quiet; she doesn’t act like other children.”

Da’s gruff voice: “There’s nothing wrong with her April, and I won’t have you talk about her like this. If you really think of her as your own, It shouldn’t matter to you.”

“It matters because I want her to have a normal childhood!”

“She’s not a normal child, April!”

I actually appreciated what both of them said. They both cared for me, but in their own ways.

I remember when I finally found the book. I came upon it quiet suddenly, almost as if it had been waiting for me. It sat there, in a gleam of light, beautiful and lovely on top of the newly-polished nightstand on my mother’s side of the bed. She must have found it and set it there till she knew where Da wanted it. I could no more resist its dark temptations than Eve could resist the apple given to her by the snake in the garden. And like the apple, this bountiful fruit gave me knowledge too.