Svadhisthana

Inspired by a true chef, my uncle Peter Stampfer.

The warmth and calmness that surrounded me as I laid adrift that day is a memory and a sensation that I will never forget. It was a day when my life completely altered, it pivoted perfectly, in 180 degrees. Unconscious, yet aware, I found myself floating upon the river, fully knowing that I was, but at the same time, distant. As if I saw myself there from afar, from some distant region of space. I was me, but outside of myself at the same moment, feeling the water cradle me, carry me, and I gazed upon my body while it drifted away. While the awareness of my stilled body felt current emotion, simultaneously the self who gazed, admired with unknown emotion, with hesitation, and wonder. It was as if I was unfamiliar with myself, uncertain of exactly who laid there. Though as I gazed, I remember specifically thinking how sad I felt for myself. I saw myself, truly in that instance, within that state, and wondered why the motionless self felt fear. I was a fearful person, always have been, but when I saw myself, I felt the instance of who I was. I was foreign, because I did not feel the fear at that instant. It was nonexistent. I caught a glimpse of who I truly was that day, as I stood outside of myself, and before I opened my eyes, I knew who I needed to become. I needed to be fearless.

When I raised my eyelids, my body immediately reacted out of fear, and I was swallowed by the water. Engulfed, I fell into the depths as I reached for the surface. The light faded with the sparkle of the surface as I fell, but the next realization was that I hit the seafloor. In that instant, I slowly situated myself upon the floor, planted my feet, and propelled upwards towards the surface. I broke free, gasped for air, and waded as I caught my breath. I looked around for my boat, but it was nowhere in sight, so I swam towards the nearest dock. When I reached it, I climbed up the pillar and fell slack upon the wooden slats, coughing up the sea as I laid to rest. The Sun was bright while it pierced through the clouds above, and I rested my arm over my eyes. I began to shake, to shiver, and not from any sort of cold, but from the adrenaline that I produced. The last thing I remembered was falling from the boat. I laid there, shaking, wondering how exactly it happened, as it never happened before. I found it strange and terrifying at the same time.

The scent of blood caught my attention, and I raised my arm to find it was stained red. I immediately propped myself to a seated position, felt where it ached, which was the side of my head, and there I found the source of the blood. My hand stained from the dark, acidic substance, one that I cringed from, and I became afraid in that moment. I was terrified to be severely injured, which I must have been if I lost consciousness. Then again, I remember it all too well: the sensations of drifting, the warmth, the foreigner self. My eyes dropped over the edge of the dock, towards the sea, and as thoughts of nearly dying crossed my mind, I suddenly felt very uneasy. I sighed, and scooted myself closer to the edge, where I then decided to wash the blood from my head and body. As I leaned, as I reached, the blood poured from my scalp, and I watched it drip and create ripples upon the surface. I clearly saw the redness drift and swirl within the light green waters. In a way, it sickened me. I waved my bloodied hand through the water, spreading and diluting it, so I no longer had to look at it. Quickly, I washed my arms, scooped water and rinsed my head, and then my hands. As I shook them out, the ache in the head spread, my vision blurred, and for a moment I thought I saw someone else in the reflection of the water. As the ripples subsided, my vision cleared, and I saw myself. Though, there was something peculiar about what I witnessed.

When I gazed into the reflection, I saw a young man, bearded and kind in appearance, and it was me. Yet, the man I saw was not the man I saw in the mirror that morning. It felt as if I looked at a stranger, similar to how it felt while I was unconscious, as I stared at myself drift in the water. While it was slightly frightening to be awake, seeing myself with unknown differences, I felt calmed and eased in some way. When I gazed at the reflection, I was not sad or disappointed, but instead proud. I liked the person I saw in the water. It simply was me, but all negativity completely removed. While I gazed, the passions in life came to mind, the desires and pursuits that never happened, and the girl I fell in love with that did not know I existed. My eyes narrowed at the reflection, for he, well myself, reminded me of who I do desire, and yet all my life I was fearful of pursuing them. I looked, and the image, my image, nudged me, forced me to look deeper into myself. When that happened, as the images of all my failures flashed before me, I quickly scooted away from the edge of the dock, afraid. Why was I afraid? Why was I afraid of my true nature, and to be someone that I was supposed to be? Fear of failure, for being shy, it all got in the way, and I hated it. I could not even look at my own self.

Before that day, prior to the accident, I was Sanka Morgan, a lonesome fisherman who never strived for anything. From a young age growing up in Port Royal, I always felt as an outsider, hiding any way I could. Behind my parents legs when in public, in the corner of the yard at school while all other children played on the jungle gyms, or spending my weekend on the water with my father, instead of being with friends that I did not seem to have. I was simply afraid, naturally I thought, always hiding, always hidden, and never dreamt of fulfilling my dreams. I knew fear blocked me from those fulfillments, and the notion that I would never become anyone slowly and surely seeped deep within every cell, into my core. I thought I was nobody. I was simply a fisherman for a top rated restaurant in the city, Fishcamp on 11th Street. I was their fisherman. Yet, nothing more.

Secretly, I was a chef at home. I thrived, survived, merely on my own cooking, always daydreaming I was cooking for the restaurant I fished for. I would dance around the kitchen, talking to nobody, but imagining that I was in a kitchen filled with other cooks. I responded to them as I moved from pan to pan, cupboard to refrigerator, to oven and plate. The plates I even dressed as if serving for customers, wiping any drips, and dressing the fish with whatever sauces I conjured for the particular dish. I was a master of fish, a chef in my own mind, with abilities beyond any others. I took family recipes, tweaked and created my own variations. They were beautiful and most of all, the tastiest dishes I ever tasted, even though I had not tasted many. Because of that, because of my lack of experience in the field, at restaurants, I only loved and had a taste for my own recipes. I dreamt of preparing food for others, but I was afraid, uncertain if others would enjoy it as much as I did. Being afraid led me to keep to myself, stay within my own kitchen, and continue to be the chef at home. I hid from the possibility of rejection, especially after my parents died, and was left alone to my own thoughts, my own criticism. I dwelled within them, pretending they were real, and they felt real. I was alone, in self-doubt, with no one but myself, and no one to encourage me — although my parents attempted to. I followed my mind, not my heart, not my soul.

I wondered if I would ever break free, to actually follow my true nature, follow my passions, and to be the creative creature that I was meant to be. How could I rid myself of all the fear? I had no idea until the day of the accident. A few months prior to that incident, I fished one particular morning, and was at the back door of the restaurant by sunrise. I collected my cash, made my way towards my truck, and noticed someone setting up tables outside for the breakfast shift. Someone I had not recognized before, a girl, and as I stood by the wooden picket fence that surrounded the garden, she turned. The moment she had, my heart instantly dropped, as if through me, down to the floor. It was heavy, as if it instantly filled with an immense amount of love for the stranger I gazed upon. She was brilliant, she was beautiful, and when she saw me gazing upon her, she waved with a slight smile. I broke from my trance, realizing her gesture, and quickly lifted my hand and turned away to retreat towards my truck.

The entire ride back home, my thoughts were consumed by her, her beauty, her everything. I felt like I knew her instantly, knowing what kind of person she was, and knowing it drew me in. I was hooked. I was in love. I knew from the very moment she turned towards me. There was no doubt about it, but as I parked, thoughts surrounded how I could meet her, and my eyes instantly dropped, my head dropped and hit the steering wheel. The negativity repeated, it echoed, within my mind. There was no doubt I loved her, but doubted she would ever love me. Who was I? Nobody. At least that was what I thought at that moment. The ache from anger, the anger towards the fear, the shyness, that kept me caged, rumbled from my core. I held myself, wrapping my arms around my stomach while my head remained on the wheel. I closed my eyes, began to shake, and the tears welled. Immediately as the first tear fell, I quickly opened the truck door and stepped out. I was sick of being afraid. Sick of crying from it. I wanted to become someone. It was all desired. I wanted to be a chef, and undeniably wanted to know her name. How could I?

The months passed, the opportunities to ask for a cooking position, the nonexistent moments with her, they all passed. The days were the same. I woke, set out to the river, fished, dropped the catch off, saw the girl of my dreams from afar, and cooked for myself at home. That was all I did, not including the daydreaming of actually becoming a chef at 11th Street, of becoming close to her, the girl whose name remained unknown to me. To break free from the routine, to be ridden of the fear, and to be in her presence was all I desired. I adored her from a distance, and she had no idea who I was. We did not even know each other’s names. It frustrated me beyond what I could understand. I did not want to understand it was the problem I believe. All I wanted was to be set free, magically, so that I could be who I longed to be. Instead, I locked myself away inside my tiny home, burying myself in food. How could I escape? For I was stuck, and believed that I would forever remain stuck, even in the next life.

The day arrived when I fell from the boat. I must have fallen into the rocks within the shallows. As I sat upon the dock, I wondered how it happened, how I survived, but foremost on my mind was the fact that I was surprisingly afraid of my own reflection. It was ridiculous really. As I thought how it was completely absurd, I scooted back towards the edge. I peeked slowly, witnessing my eyes first, where I stopped. The eyes, my eyes, were filled with what seemed like hope and determination. I wanted those eyes. I wanted to see those eyes in the mirror every morning when I woke and at night before I slept. Simply, the person there in the reflection is who I needed to become in order to break free from my inner cage. I was aware of the cage, the fear, the shyness, for I lived with it my entire life, but I had never understood why I was that way. In a way I suppose, I was born that way. Was I to hide from it? No, because I had been doing that the whole time, all eighteen years of my life. Was I to embrace the fear? I was not sure how that was possible. Yet, as I gazed at myself in the water, it appeared I had embraced it, because the eyes I saw were fearless. Was I fearless? Perhaps I was inside, but how? Who was in that reflection? It frustrated me as I contemplated. Though, one thing was clear: I had to become that person, no matter what it took. Unconsciously I leaned further, gazing upon my entire face, and asked aloud, “what do I need to do?” My eyes dropped away from the reflection, but not out of embarrassment or anything, but simply because I realized I was desperate to become who I so desired. To be capable, to follow my dreams.

The Sun had already risen, and I was late to deliver my catch, so I raised my head to find my boat a short distance away. I sighed deeply, after taking my sight away from my reflection. It was as if all the fear rushed into my mind, losing connection with whatever mystery there was in the water. I felt free when I looked into the water, but as soon as I looked away, I was my old, broken self. I rolled my eyes, doubting that I would ever be truly free. So I leaped into the water and swam after my boat. I dragged it back to the docks, where I tied it up. Avoiding my reflection for some reason, I stepped into the boat, grabbed my cooler of fish, and made my way to the truck. I was greeted by my rearview mirror ahead, and the reflection startled me for an instant, but then when I looked again, I noticed I saw me, the fearful me. My eyes narrowed as I gazed closer, in wonder how that was possible. Perhaps my dizziness from the fall simply distorted my thoughts when I looked at myself in the water. I frowned, shrugged, and drove off towards 11th Street.

The chef that appeared at the back door was concerned for my tardiness, but then realized the blood that covered my face, and his concern turned towards worry. He asked if I was alright, and I simply said, “yes, just a small accident while on the water today. Sorry.” As he examined my head from the short distance between us, he said not to worry and to take care of myself. I found that to be kind, and I smiled before I strolled away. In my thoughts, I believed that the girl would be finished setting tables up outdoors. I briefly stopped by the fence and glanced where she would be, but she was nowhere to be found. My head dropped towards the dirt path, where there was a puddle leftover from last night’s rain. I saw myself, slightly gasping from the realization, and thought how foolish I was. Though, when I looked deeper, I saw that foreign me again, the one without fear, the one with hope and determination. I stared, stuck in some sort of trance as I examined myself. A voice shook me awake, “are you alright?” The female voice asked, a voice that was beautiful, soft, and sincere.

When I glanced upwards, I saw her. My eyes widened, I stepped back slightly, nearly losing my balance. “Uhm…” my head dropped, I saw me in the reflection again, where instantly words from my mind said to be fearless, and I raised my head, “I’m Sanka.” Warmth showered over me, and I felt so light, in a good way.

“Hi Sanka. I’m Jada. But you’re bleeding. Are you all right?” She said beautifully, as if she sang.

“Oh! Yes, I had an accident on the water today.” I replied. I realized I had said two things to her, and I was overwhelmed with joy.

“You’re the fisherman, yes?” She questioned curiously.

“Yes,” I responded simply, unsure of what else to say, as if the fearlessness seemed to fade somehow. I glanced down at myself in the puddle, found courage in the reflection, and returned my gaze onto her.

“Uhm, your head looks pretty bad. I have a moment before we open to clean you up if you would like?” She uttered the words my heart desired.

“Oh, no-no, I can tend to it when I get home,” I spoke, lying to her and myself. My first excuse towards her.

“Really, let me take a look! I cannot imagine how you drove with all that blood over your eyes,” she was concerned then.

I must have looked like a fool to her, but maybe that was just my own negative thoughts trying to get the best of me. I saw the image of myself within the water, grasped hold of the fearless self, and spoke to her, while I gazed into her perfect eyes, “Ok, I would like that.”

She smiled and said, “Ok, be right back with a cloth and the first aid.”

Warmth washed over me as I stood, a sensation in the form of dread, watching her disappear into the restaurant. Naturally, my eyes widened, as the uncertainty of whether I should stay or leave crossed my mind. A moment passed where I was unsure what to do, but somehow I remained where I stood. The moment my mind veered towards the idea of simply making a break for it, I instinctively kneeled down towards the puddle below my feet. I peered into the reflection, finding comfort in the action, as if for some mysterious reason I knew I would find my courage again. The Sanka who gazed back at me appeared calm, content, and oddly, excited for the interaction that was about to take place. A smile rose from the corner of my mouth, I felt it, and naturally a breath poured through my mouth, a sigh. I was content.

“Sanka! Here…” The angelic voice of Jada called out.

I remained kneeled, my head propped upwards to face her through the fence, and I saw her lightly run towards me with grace. I stood the moment she squeezed through the narrow gate, and I greeted her again, “hello.”

“Let me see. Oh, here come sit,” she grasped onto my arm, pulling me through the gate and sat me upon the closest chair.

“Thank you,” was all I said, but my mind exploded with thoughts, my body with emotions, as I admired her presence so close to my own.

“Of course. It looks bad. Let’s see how bad and then decide what to do from there,” she said in a sweet, low voice.

“Mmhm,” immediately hummed from my throat.

“So, how did this happen? You said on the water?” Jada asked curiously.

“Ah, well, yes. Fishing, I supposed I fell from my boat. I don’t really remember what actually happened. I woke floating on the surface,” that was the most words I had spoken to her I realized.

“Yikes, and you floated upright? It would have been really bad if you were face down!” She explained and remained curious, as she glanced at me as she cleaned the blood from my temple and hair.

“Face up, yes. I was lucky I suppose,” I proposed.

“That or it was meant to happen!” She smiled at me as she said it.

I paused a moment as I caught her gaze, and a slight giggle escaped before I said, “perhaps.”

She continued to clean and began speaking again, “so what do you do besides fish? You’ve been doing it a long time, I gather, and for 11th Street, right? What else?”

“I cook,” blurted out immediately. My eyes shut a moment the instant I realized what I had said.

She gasped, and repeated, “cook?! Oh, of course you probably make the best fish in town!”

I laughed, and she laughed with me.

We smiled at one another as she continued to mend my head. Briefly, I saw my reflection in her golden eyes. I felt powerful — seeing exactly what my capabilities were. The smile I wore grew, and I hummed slightly. It was silent for a moment as she continued to work further. I had not noticed, completely engaged in her existence and presence. I sat there, dwelling upon her and about how fear had absolutely left my existence. The feeling was astonishing. It was at that moment I realized we remained silent for awhile, and I believe she felt it as well, as she hummed a slight laugh, and broke the silence.

“You know, be careful out there. We should talk more often. It’s strange how your mishap is what enabled us to talk finally,” she spoke softly as she worked, indirectly confessing some hidden mean behind her words.

I swallowed with the realization of her words, but the fear remained distant, and I responded, “I will be, and it definitely is strange,” I said with multiple meanings, as my thoughts drifted towards the whole experience from the morning: the fall, the reflections, and the meet. I added, “and definitely an interesting strange. I appreciate your help.”

“Done!” She smiled brightly at me as she stood upright, examining me from a short distance. “No worries. I’m glad you’re all right,” she tilted her head.

I supposed she admired her patchwork. I looked at her.

“Maybe don’t sleep. You could have a concussion!” She announced with worry suddenly expressed.

My eyes veered, brows lifted, and I nodded slowly.

“Well, you’re all back together again. I… should finish setting up for breakfast,” her lips softened to a slight smile, almost as if disappointed.

“Ah, yes! I-I… really appreciate your help. I feel whole again,” and my smile grew as I continued, “see you tomorrow, Jada. It was very nice to finally speak with you. You’re… very kind,” I hesitated, aware that I almost said something else. Something I wanted to say for a long time.

She clasped her hands and smiled brightly with joy, “yes! Good. Now, go stay up and cook something nice for lunch.” She winked and reached for the med kit.

“Absolutely,” I acknowledged, propping myself to a stand.

As she began to retreat towards the restaurant building, she waved with her free hand and yelled, “take care, Sanka!”

I waved, a smile remaining, while I watched her disappear.

I turned around to leave the courtyard, passed through the narrow gate, and headed towards my truck. The smile on my face grew along the way. When I reached for the truck handle, I hesitated. A feeling came over me. I did not want to go home yet. I wanted something else. Whatever it was, I followed the sensation, the pull that originated from within. My hand retracted from the handle, where I began my stride again. I followed the road, along the water’s edge, which was lined with large rocks. Thoughts came and drifted by, but what remained forefront on my mind was her and the conversation, the interaction. It wound me up, positively, and my heart vibrated with joy. Somehow, I felt different. Somehow, I felt, in a sense, new. I hardly recognized my thoughts, the way I raised my head as I strolled along, the way I wore a smile — even a smile at all — and I enjoyed being who I was at that moment.

When I realized I was all the docks, the same one I fished at and where my boat was bound, I stopped. I stood at the dock entrance, staring out towards the horizon, listening to the waves as they washed up towards me. The water called to me. I knew I had to see it again. I had to see myself in the reflection. Who would I see? I stepped forwards. The wooden dock creaked as I walked along towards the end. I stood at the edge, gaze still ahead. I had to see, I told myself in my head. I kneeled, hesitant and slightly anxious. After I situated myself upon the edge, I dangled my legs over. I swallowed, took a breath, exhaled, and tilted my head towards the ocean’s surface.

I saw myself smiling. When I became aware of my expression, I was smiling. My eyes were wide in the reflection. It seemed brighter, my vision. My heart began to race, and the sensation I felt I will never forget: it was me, the true me, and as I sat there, I became him. Confidence rose within, love whirled, it sang, and while I realized I was who I always was, the fear drifted away completely. The ocean took my fear, I thought in that instant. The ocean revealed who I always was inside. It balanced me, caused me to see clearly, and to not be afraid. A laugh busted outward, but the tears welled, and fell. I watched them hit the surface of the water as the waves washed the ripples. I was free.

I sniffed the moisture from my nose, happy as ever before, and immediately overwhelmed, in a good way, by motivation. Quickly, I stood, and turned to run. I was on a mission. I ran determined, with purpose, full of life that I had been longing for, and full of love. For her eyes sank deep within my skull, within my mind, and her golden eyes burned my thoughts away, forcing her to be foremost upon my mind. I loved her. I needed her in my life. I was not afraid any longer. The moment I reached my truck, I glanced towards the restaurant’s courtyard, hoping to see her, but it was empty. Mentally, I waved goodbye before entering the truck, and I made my way towards home.

The moment I arrived, immediately I headed towards the backyard where I sparked up some coals and wood in the smoke pit. I got the fire burning hot, and allowed it to smolder while I picked a few sprigs of thyme from the small garden. Entering the home, I rushed towards the fridge to prepare my catch from yesterday, a trout. After I cleaned it, I lathered the inside and outside with freshly made butter, thyme, and a few dashes of salt and pepper. It was ready for the smoker. Once I threw on some fresh wood, I spritzed it with water and the entire smoker plumed with heavy, thick smoke. I closed the fire box and threw the trout onto the grates, closed the lip and waited.

I stood for awhile, as if expecting it to microwave the fish, but I perfectly knew it would continue on for quite some time. The idea I had in mind, my mission, broke me from my daze, where I checked the wood, placed some additional chunks, and sprayed it down again. Smoke billowed from the cracks and openings. It was always an enjoyable sight. While the smoke engulfed the fish, cooking it slowly and delicately as every minute passed, I turned towards the garden again, where I grasped a lemon from the neighbors’ tree that slung over the yard’s fence. The scotch bonnets were close by, of my own growth, and I plucked one of them. I remained by the bush filled with orange peppers, cradling the little hot pepper, twiddling it between my fingers as I contemplated the dish.

A moment passed, as the imagery of the procedure flashed and shifted throughout my mind, I absorbed the process, smiling at the same time. When I blinked away the ideas, I quickly turned to enter home from the back screen door. It creaked when I opened it, reminding me that I needed to lube the hinge, which I told myself every single time I entered the yard. It slammed shut behind me, and I entered through a hallway that led to the small kitchen. I immediately washed the two items I had, removing any earthly matter, and placed them upon my chopping board. Swiftly, I reached for my knife from the block directly in front, and with a delicate stroke, I halved the lemon and roughly diced the pepper, keeping the seeds intact. I scooted to the side, reached for an iron skillet that hung from above, and slid it over a burner. The stove clicked fiercely, and then it ignited.

After a rough chop of some garlic, red onion, and a whole sprig of thyme, I threw a slab of butter into the hot skillet, and drizzled a decent pour of avocado oil as well. It was a good combination for cooking hash, as butter burned too quickly, but it added a nice brown and flavor. I threw in the chopped onion, then garlic and thyme, followed by the bonnet pepper. The aroma in the kitchen swarmed. It was tingling to the nose, but sweet and earthy at the same time. While I sautéed the vegetables, I reached for two potatoes, slid over to the sink and washed those as well, before cubing them with my knife. I took my wooden spoon, stirred the veggies, tossed the cubes in with the mixture, and stirred again. Immediately I grabbed a lemon half and headed towards the smoky yard.

With my free hand, I grabbed more wood chunks, lifted the lid for the fire box, tossing and spraying once again. Quickly, I lifted the main lid and squeezed some lemon over the fish, watching it absorb the moisture. I inhaled sightly, consuming the fresh scent that was infused with the woody smoke. After closing both lids, I scampered back towards the house, into the kitchen, and gave the potatoes a quick turn, noticing the nice browning on the one side of the potatoes. It was always an awe moment, seeing that golden brown. My eyes drifted upwards, staring into nothingness, and Jada’s eyes entered my mind once again. They caught me, I held them, and the smile that continued grew further.

When I broke from my daze, the smell of crisp potatoes below my nose found me, and I returned to them, gently flipping them once more. Again, the gold appeared. It was perfect, and so was she. While the skillet browned, I turned to grab an egg from the fridge, and placed it next to the stove. I readied a pot of water to simmer, added a dash of salt, and a few dribbles of vinegar. Then returned to my skillet for another turn. The smell was delightful. The onions had caramelized slightly, sweetening the dish while the pepper spiced it up. The pot of water simmered slightly. I cracked the egg and ever so gently opened it over the surface of the water, swirling it immediately with my straining spoon. Poached eggs were my favorite.

A few minutes passed, and I scooped the egg to rest on a plate by itself. The potatoes readied. I gave it one last turn and removed it from heat. I drizzled the other half of lemon over it, seasoned it, and returned to my smoker. The trout was complete, after testing with a few pokes from my fingertip, sensing its texture. I left with the lid opened, returned to the kitchen, and with a hot hand pad, I grasped the skillet. I made my way back towards the yard, placed the skillet upon the grate next to the fish, and with a metal spatula, I scooped the fish carefully, laying it upon the hash. With the spatula still in hand, I scored the fish slightly, allowing the juices to flow. The pan sizzled. I sniffed the goodness that rose upwards.

After I returned to the kitchen with the skillet, I carefully scooped the cooked food from it, containing it into a cardboard “to-go“ box. Then I scooped the delicate poach upon the top, and sprinkled paprika and a slight pinch of my jerk seasoning. My dish was complete. I allowed it to steam with the box’s lid open, and sighed from relief, frome pride, as I knew the dish was perfect. Perfect for her. I retreated towards the bathroom to freshen myself before another visit to 11th Street.

The reflection in the mirror caught my attention. For a split moment, it caught me off guard. Who was that in the mirror? Could it be me? I saw myself in a new light. I was enlightened after today’s experience. I felt new. I was. I smiled, greeting myself. However, as if welcoming an old friend. Then the blood caught my attention, followed by the patchwork that Jada performed. It looked good, the bandage, other than the fact that it was soaked with blood. During the cooking, I hardly noticed it, nor the blood that seeped down my temple and down into my ear and neck. I suppose I was too eager, too enthralled by my work, by my inspiration: Jada. I grasped the sink hand, twisted it on, and while it warmed, I tore the bandage off. The wound, after closer inspection was not as bad as I thought, but surely not pleasant either. What a mess. I continued to clean myself up, rebandaged, and returned to the delectable scents from the kitchen.

The container I left open, not to soften the potatoes from the steam, and I ventured out of the house towards my truck. In a way, it felt odd returning to the truck again during daylight hours. It was foreign, but somehow it was right. Adventure was what I wanted. It was time. I situated myself into the truck, placing the container of goods upon the passenger seat, and headed directly towards 11th Street. I drove in wonder, with excitement, and also with some anxiety, but not the bad kind. I was confident in that moment. Not fearful. I noticed my eyes in the rearview mirror again. Confident was right, unafraid, and inspired.

As I pulled up to the lot, there were plenty of cars lined. I found a spot, inhaled and exhaled once quickly, determined, and grabbed the box of food. I headed towards the narrow gate, which served as an entrance and exit to the courtyard dining area. A host greeted me, and I smiled.

“Hi. Uhm, I’d like to give this to Jada. She’s a friend,” I spoke outward.

“Oh, uh, hold on and I’ll get her,” the host replied hesitantly.

She walked away, and as I remained where I was, with my chin up, I scanned the courtyard. Jada appeared from within the building, and a smile lit her beautiful face. She dashed over, eyes widened.

“Sanka! What are you doing here?” Jada whispered across a short distance before she stopped a step away from me.

“Well, you inspired me, and I wanted to say thank you for your kindness earlier. Plus, I figured I shouldn’t sleep, so… I made you something,” I smiled sincerely towards her, beaming my radiant energy.

“Oh wow. I-I… well, that is so thoughtful of you. Thank you!” She threw her arms around me.

It caught me, her warming embrace, and I cherished every bit of the gesture. When she released, she smiled and stepped backwards and giggled slightly,

“Sorry, I’m a hugger, but honestly, thank you. I’m glad you’re all right,” she added.

“I am. More than all right. The wound you dressed wasn’t pleasant earlier, full of… well, blood. No worries, I feel great,” my smile brightened. “For you…” and I gestured outwards for her to take the container of food.

She took it, raised it to her nose, and smelled, “wow, it smells amazing. You are a cook. A chef even. You should work here.” She ended with a brightened smile as well. “Well, I must run, but thank you so much. I will definitely eat it as soon as I take a break, which is soon because I can’t let this delicacy get cold, you know,” she explained.

“Yes, absolutely. Enjoy! Oh… I was wondering if I could give you my number? Let me know later how it tastes?” The corner of my mouth raised.

Her eyes widened further, as if stunned, and handed me her pen and notepad for taking customer orders, “of course. Thank you,” said softly, almost shyly. It was the cutest thing to see her in that manner.

After I wrote my number down, I handed it to her, where she glanced at it briefly.

“Thank you! Okay, must go, so… we’ll chat later,” she announced with the brightest smile.

“Alright, enjoy it, and have a good rest of your day here,” I said sincerely.

She turned and retreated towards the building, turning to glance at me before heading it. I saw it, admired her, cherished the way she looked at me, and when she disappeared, I strolled away.

Somehow I found myself at the docks again, as if I found it soothing. A place I worked felt comforting for the first time. I enjoyed the sounds of the ocean in those moments, listening intently, focused. I watched the shimmers upon the surface, the fish leap through it from time to time, and admired earth’s nature. My legs vibrated. A call, now? Could it be her? I stuffed my hand into my pocket, pulled the phone out, and it was an unknown number. I slid the icon to answer, held it to my good ear, and said, “hello?”

“Sanka! Hi. It’s Jada,” she announced energetically.

“Hi Jada! So nice to hear from you already,” spoke truthfully, excitedly.

“The hash… was an amazement. You have a gift, Sanka. Truly,” she spoke gently.

“Really?! You enjoyed it?” I asked.

“Absolutely, and I made the chef try it because it was so rad. Here, talk to him,” her voice trailed towards the end.

“Wait, what?” I was stunned.

“Sanka, you there?” Chef’s voice called out.

“Oh, yes, sorry, hi there,” I stumbled.

“I tried your dish. It truly is what Jada said,” he said in a low voice.

“Wow, thank you very much, chef,” I was unable to process what was happening.

“How would you like to be a cook here at 11th? You can still fish for us, too,” he offered casually.

My dreams completely became reality throughout the day. As unfortunate as the accident was, I truly was grateful for what happened. I would have never found my true self, or been able to speak to the girl of my dreams, or to be offered a job as a cook at the restaurant where Jada worked. Whatever happened, whatever the ocean did to me, what I saw in that reflection, I was grateful. I never felt more right, or true, in that very moment. I was proud to be Sanka Morgan, finally.

“Absolutely, chef,” I acknowledged, completely appreciative, truly honest, and entirely fearless.