Lighthouse

He rowed out in the plain wooden boat - out to the mouth of the inlet, shivering a bit in the morning air; the dolphins were already gathered. He waved, not knowing what else to do and they laughed, waving back. He popped the seal on one covered bucket and fed them his freshest catch of the day and they nudged his hand in thanks. "How are you feeling?" one asked him. "Oh, I'm good; feeling steadier than yesterday." "There's a problem with the lighthouse," one said (and he nodded). "I see it out here; I mean, I look back and I know that I have to replace the bulb, but it's like I forget as soon as I row back," he explained, confused. "Thanks for trying to help, though." "I'll come back with you a ways," another said to him, "and remind you closer to shore." "Me, too," a third said. "You guys are the best," he whispered, smiling, and opening a second bucket. "It would be lonely out here without you." "You're not alone," they said (almost in unison) as they played and nudged him, played and nudged him. "Seriously, though," he said, suddenly afraid, "if the lighthouse goes dark, what am I going to do?" The largest of the three raised up against the boat. "You'll just come home with us," it whispered. "Easy as that." "Easy as that," he whispered. "Don't be afraid; we got you," they said and he was heading back home, not sure how he'd turned around. Two were swimming as far as they could back into the shallows with him. "There's a problem with the lighthouse," he observed. In the hospital room, his mother held his hand. "Do you think he knows we're here?" she asked the nurse. "On some level, yes, I believe he does," the nurse responded.