The Circle

might be too rough
     for her to go back. But driven by a force within her as strong and reflexive as sleep,
     she knew she would not stop until she’d made it to Blue Island, or was somehow prevented
     from doing so. If the wind kept quiet and the water held steady, she would make it
     there.
    As she paddled beyond the sailboats and breakers, she looked south, squinting in search
     of the barge where the woman and man lived, but the shapes that far away were not
     clear, and anyway, they were unlikely to have lights on this late. She stayed on course,
     cutting quickly beyond the anchored yachts and into the round stomach of the bay.
    She heard a quick splash behind her, and turned to find the black head of a harbor
     seal, not fifteen feet away. She waited for him to drop below the surface, but he
     stayed, staring at her. She turned back and paddled again toward the island, and the
     seal followed her for a bit, asif also wanting to see what she wanted to see. Mae wondered, briefly, if the seal
     would follow her all the way, or if he was, perhaps, on his way to the group of rocks
     near the island, where many times, driving on the bridge overhead, she’d seen seals
     sunning. But the next time she turned around, the animal was gone.
    The water’s surface remained calm even as she ventured deeper. Where it usually turned
     rough, where the water was exposed to ocean winds, it was, this night, utterly placid,
     and her progress remained swift. In twenty minutes she was halfway to the island,
     or it appeared that way. The distances were impossible to tell, especially at night,
     but the island was growing in her vision, and features of the rock she’d never grasped
     before were now visible. She saw something reflective at the top, the moonlight casting
     it in bright silver. She saw the remains of what she was sure was a window, resting
     on the black sand of the shore. Far away, she heard a foghorn, coming from the mouth
     of the Golden Gate. The fog must be thick there, she thought, even while where she
     was, only a few miles away, the night was clear, the moon brilliant and nearly whole.
     Its shimmer on the water was outlandish, so bright she found herself squinting. She
     wondered about the rocks near the island where she’d seen seals and sea lions. Would
     they be there, and would they flee before her arrival? A breeze came from the west,
     a Pacific wind swooping down off the hills, and she sat still for a moment, measuring
     it. If it picked up, she would have to turn back. She was now closer to the island
     than the shore, but if the water grew choppy, the danger, alone and without a life
     preserver, sitting atop a kayak, would be untenable. But as quickly as it had come,
     the wind disappeared.
    A loud murmuring sound brought her attention to the north. Aboat, something like a tug, was coming toward her. On the roof of the cabin she saw
     lights, white and red, and knew it was a patrol of some kind, Coast Guard probably,
     and they were close enough to see her. If she remained upright, her silhouette would
     quickly give her away.
    She flattened herself against the floor of the kayak, hoping that if they saw the
     shape she was making, they would assume it was a rock, a log, a seal, or simply a
     wide black ripple interrupting the bay’s silver shimmer. The groan of the boat’s engine
     grew louder, and Mae was sure there would soon be some bright flood upon her, but
     the boat passed quickly and Mae went unseen.
    The last push to the island was so quick Mae questioned her sense of distance. One
     moment she felt she was halfway there at best, and the next she was racing toward
     the island’s beach as if propelled by heavy tailwinds. She jumped from the bow, the
     water white-cold and seizing her. She rushed to get the kayak on shore, dragging it
     up until it was entirely out of the water and onto the sand. Remembering the time
     when a quickly rising tide nearly took her vessel away, she turned it parallel to
     the shore and placed large stones on either side.
    She stood, breathing heavily, feeling strong, feeling enormous. What a strange thing,
     she thought, to be here. There was a bridge nearby, and while driving over it she’d
     seen this island a hundred times and had never seen a soul, human or animal. No one
     dared or bothered. What was it about her that made her this curious? It occurred to
     her that this was the only, or at least the best, way to come here. Marion would not