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In the dim light of her kitchen, Shakky took a long drag of her cigarette, the latest letter Rayleigh had sent in her hands. Deep brown eyes fluttered over the crumbled pages over and over again.
Roger is ill. There’s no cure.
Shakky could tell from the way Rayleigh’s usual neat handwriting got slightly more illegible that he had to pause after writing those two sentences. He probably had pushed his glasses up into his blond hair and rubbed the bridge of his nose, just like he always did when he was upset or trying to hold back tears. She could picture him hunched over the desk in his cabin, resting his head on one hand as he spilled out all his secrets to her with black ink on parchment, the sea outside as stormy as the drumming heart in his chest.
Dearest,
It’s late at night and my heart is already yearning for you. When I close my eyes, I can see you so clearly; the way your lips curl when you sigh out my name like a poem and how your hands trace every birth mark on my body as if you’re drawing a map on my bare skin, a map leading me back into your embrace no matter how far apart we are.
The boys are turning 11 next month, can you believe that? It feels like yesterday when we cradled them in our arms. They grow up so fast is what parents say, don’t they?
These days, I wish I could stop time.
Roger is ill. There’s no cure.
Crocus says he only has one year left to live. One year. I’ve been sailing with Roger half my life now, that’s 25 years. What’s a year compared to that? When I start thinking about it, my heart goes numb; it’s like it’s refusing to beat at the thought of Roger being gone. But I have to put on a brave face, you know? I can’t let him see me cry, nor can I let Shanks and Buggy see me cry. Someone has to stay strong for all of them, right? That’s what I’m supposed to do, as First Mate.
I can’t fall apart. Not yet.
Knowing Roger, he’ll somehow laugh Death in the face. He’ll laugh and the sun will rise again. But the warmth will be gone.
Shakky, I promised you that I’ll come back to you soon. And I’m going to keep this promise. But first I’ll have to see the end of Roger’s story with my own eyes, the story of the man who held out a hand for me. I need to see the end of his dream. Our dream. My soul won’t find peace if I don’t.
And when the day comes, I want to be by your side. There’s nowhere else for me to fall apart than in your arms. And from there we’re going to build each other up again from ruins. I know this is a lot to ask from you. Please bear with me and my weary soul for I’m only a fool in love.
I carry you in my heart, always.
Forever yours,
R.
Shakky flattened out the crumbled corners of the parchment, feeling Rayleigh’s brief touch for a moment. No matter how many times her eyes wandered over the written lines, the news was hard to digest. She knew Roger, having met him many times before. And she also knew how Rayleigh looked at Roger—with a love and adoration in his dark eyes that ran deeper than the bottom of the ocean. It was hard to imagine a life with Roger being gone. His laughter would echo from every wall, and the way his eyes twinkled with mischief when he talked about his dream was captivating.
One couldn’t help but feel drawn to Roger’s soul, it was like they were all just planets rotating around the sun himself.
To think that a man like Roger was ill, that he will be defeated by his own body and not by the seas out there… Shakky took a long drag from her cigarette as she watched the shadows of the flickering candlelight dance across the kitchen, a brief lesson on how to become a ghost. Her heart ached at the thought of how Rayleigh must feel. He was always the strong one, the one who kept a cool head for everyone. It’s what they expected of him. Not once had they seen him crumble.
But she did.
Shakky had tasted those tears of his when she kissed his cheeks, holding him when he cried so hard his whole body shook in her embrace. Behind closed doors, she was the one who peaked into his abyss, the one who saw the broken fragments barely held together by silver and gold. It was her who swallowed the secrets they whispered into the dark.
Her, the empress in the shadows.
A year passed, then another. With every letter, Shakky was expecting the worst of the news, but they never came. Roger was still alive and the crew was sailing towards the end of the world and beyond, to the place not a living soul has ever set foot.
It would be the end of Roger’s dream and a new beginning.
Coming home.
Two words, so simple and yet they made Shakky’s heart flutter and ache at the thought of it. They could finally build a life together, one of their own. Once they’ve burned their prior lives to ruins. It was inevitable now that the Roger Pirates had disbanded.
Shakky stood at the docks, staring out at the vast sea. It was a warm summer evening, but still she was freezing, wrapping the light scarf around her shoulders tighter as her eyes scanned the horizon for the familiar silhouette of the Oro Jackson. When the sun had almost set, the majestic ship finally appeared in her sight, the wind and the waves carrying the last remaining proof of the Roger Pirates to the shore. One lone man was the last member to leave the ship after everyone else had scattered into different directions.
Her man.
The first thing Shakky noticed was how the light had vanished from Rayleigh’s eyes. Once so full of life, sparkling with mischief and confidence, they were now hollow, lingering on her but not really seeing her. She reached out a hand to cup his cheek, a sad little smile on her lips when Rayleigh sighed and closed his eyes to lean into her touch.
“I’m home,” the former first mate whispered and pulled her closer by her waist, his head falling onto her shoulder as he embraced her. Everything in him was tired and aching. Shakky could feel the heaviness of Rayleigh’s heart as she held him close, pressing a soft kiss on the side of his neck.
“Welcome home,” she replied, her voice soft and low. Shakky didn’t know how long they stood at the docks, embracing each other in silence after all this time. No words could grasp the relief and the forbidding of grief they felt in this moment. Both the best and the worst were yet to come; it was the beginning of their lives together while it was also the ending of another.
In the early of autumn, they had announced the execution date in the newspapers. Roger would die in Logue town, the same city he was born in, and only later on would this town be known as the one of the beginning and the end. The date hung over them like a sword on a silver thread.
The sun hadn't even risen yet when Shakky pushed open the door to her bar slowly, the creaking of the door announcing her presence. The lights were out but she could still make out Rayleigh’s silhouette clearly, hunched over the counter, clinging to a bottle of rum. He hummed a familiar melody, his voice cracking in between. Shakky couldn’t really tell if he was laughing or crying; it was probably both.
She opened a window to let the crisp morning air in, the atmosphere in the room way too heavy to breathe. With an unlit cigarette dangling from her lips, she picked up Rayleigh’s coat from the ground and gently wrapped it around his shoulders. She could tell that he had been drinking for a while now.
“Are you okay with not being there?”
Shakky had walked behind the counter, rummaging around for matches and putting two glasses on the counter. Her thoughts wandered to Shanks and Buggy, the ship apprentices who were now teenage boys about to watch their father figure get executed. It all felt so unreal. Her eyes wandered to the clock on the wall. Only a few more hours left.
It’s strange, knowing the exact date and time when someone you love will die. It’s not how it’s supposed to be. It should hit you out of the blue and punch the air out of your lungs, not strangle you this slowly, making you suffocate. This was wrong.
“I’d probably end up killing every single one of them with my bare hands,” Rayleigh replied, his voice hoarse, the syllables falling from his tongue heavily. He clutched the bottle in his hand harder, his face hidden in his other hand. Shakky could tell that he had been crying to the point where no more tears would be left. Part of her wanted to reach out to him, to put a hand on top of his, but she feared he’d shatter like broken glass if she did.
Her heart was bleeding, having to watch her husband like this, knowing there was nothing she could do than to sit with him and be his rock, to hide her own grief deep down in the pit of her stomach for the sake of him. For the sake of them . Roger was her friend, too. The thought of never hearing his booming laugh again drained the color from her world. But she couldn’t falter now or else she would see Rayleigh slip through her fingers, becoming less than a ghost of himself.
She wasn’t sure if and how their relationship would survive all of this.
Everything felt like a blur from here. The execution happened around noon. It was unusually warm for an autumn day, as if the sun itself came to bow goodbye to Roger, the man who was the embodiment of warmth.
It was as if you could sense it in the air, the moment of Roger’s death, marking a before and after him in the timeline of world’s history. Rayleigh’s eyes had gone wide in the second Roger’s lips curved into a smile for the very last time, almost as if he could see it so vividly, without even being there. And then his eyes darted to his chest, as if he was expecting to see his own broken heart seep out from there.
Shakky could still feel the silent and hot tears that were running down her cheek that day, as well as the lump that she desperately tried to swallow so she wouldn’t break down in front of Rayleigh. Her husband, who looked like he would shatter into a million pieces if she only brushed her fingertips across his hollow face.
Later on, they’d describe the day as the one they laughed, cried and drank like they never did before. It was a day that would become engraved into their souls, a day that changed the whole trajectory of their lives. As if Roger’s death marked their relationship as well; before and after him. It changed everything.
Shakky was no stranger to grief but this was different. Over the following weeks she could practically feel Rayleigh slipping through her fingers, watching him become this empty shell of his former self. The light from his eyes was gone. And while they continued living Shakky couldn’t help but feel like a part of them died on the scaffold together with Roger.
During some nights, Rayleigh would seek the warmth of her embrace, only to push her away again the following day. It was as if he was too afraid that he’d stain her soul with his miserable being, as if he was not worthy of her patience and the golden light she radiated. It was only when Shakky cupped his face with both of her hands and forced him to gaze into her eyes that he knew that she wouldn’t go anywhere. That the love was still there in this abyss of grief.
Only the everchanging flowers on the kitchen table indicated the transition of seasons. Winter was hard on them with its stormy and dark nights, but spring brought a lightness with it that they desperately needed. And during the first summer without Roger, their hearts started slow dancing again in the warmth of the sinking sun and the light of fireflies surrounding them.
And when the anniversary of Roger’s death came up, Shakky and Rayleigh stood side by side at the shore, staring out at the sea. No words between them could have described the relief and gratefulness they felt to still be here, hearts beating the same drum. Shakky held onto Rayleigh’s hand, now in the absence of fear. He won’t shatter, not anymore. The burden of having to be strong for both of them was lifted off her shoulders.
While their grief never went away, never shrunk, they learned how to mold a life around it. A beautiful life— maybe not a quiet one since they were still pirates after all—but a life worth living. They could mourn the dead and the past versions of themselves, but they could also build everything up again from ruins, always.