by J.W. Gibeau

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“Jazzy, don’t throw that water out the door. You might anger the Watchers,” Mama yelled from the kitchen.

Jazmine rolled her eyes and stopped just short of the door. She set the bucket down. Only a few inches of saltwater remained in the bucket from carrying the blue crabs.

“I know,” Jazmine yelled back, and thought to herself, if the Watchers did exist, if they were really ghosts trapped on the island by the sea and time, why would throwing water out the door bother them?

“If we had good plumbing like the Shelman’s do, or like they do off the island, we wouldn’t have to worry about it,” Jazmine said out loud but probably not loud enough for Mama to hear. 

Jazmine left the bucket by the door and walked to her room. She shut the door behind her and walked to the corner shelf her older brother had built out of scrap plywood. He had found the wood down at the fishing docks and cut it into the shape of a violin with an electric saw he borrowed from the Shelman family, one of the wealthy families of the community. Wealthy in the sense that they had electricity, plumbing and a car to get around the island. Most everyone else walked or rode old bikes rusty from the salty, humid air. After Robbie cut the wood, he nailed two identical sections together at the corners to form a wedge, which would fit nicely into the corner of a room. Then he added three shelves. “One day, Jazzy, I’ll get you a real violin,” he said as he was hanging the violin shelf in Jazmine’s room. “Then you can take it down to the beach side and play for the dolphins. The shrimpers say the dolphins like music, and it’s true, I’ve seen them swim up to a boat to hear an old radio. They’re as smart as you and me, that’s what they say at least. And one day you can make music for them.”

Robbie was true to his word. Below the shelf, a real violin rested on a stand. It was a Christmas gift mailed from somewhere in Oklahoma. Robbie lived on the mainland now. He worked for Sunshine Bread driving trucks. Jazmine and Mama seldom heard from him. Jazmine missed him.

Jazmine never saw Mama cry when Robbie left, but she was quiet for three days, a sad quietness that seemed to spread through the older men and women of the island every time one of the young ones left. For years, Robbie had traveled by boat across the tidal river separating the island from the mainland and then got on a bus to reach the high school just like Jazmine did now, making the trip back and forth Monday through Friday except on holidays or when there was a storm. But after graduation, Robbie couldn’t find work. The shrimpers didn’t need help, there wasn’t any construction and the island only saw a handful of tourists. And when Robbie left, the population of the island dropped from 59 to 58. 

Jazmine looked up at the corner shelf. On each shelf ledge sat a marsh grass doll. The top one was named Sasha. Mama had made Sasha for Jazmine when she was little, still running around barefoot and without a shirt. Jazmine remembered the vanilla smell of the sweetgrass Mama used. The sweetgrass was special, it grew in sandy areas just beyond where the cordgrass grew on the river side of the island. The girls made dolls from the grass while some of the adults hand-wove intricate baskets. “A direct link to Africa,” a young anthropologist who visited the island while researching for a book had told Jazmine and her mother. “The coil-on-coil tan and green sweetgrass patterns are a direct link to Africa brought by the first slaves,” he explained further.

“We’re just doing what we seen our parents doing. That’s all,” Mama had said to the young man.

Maddie sat on the middle shelf. Maddie was one of the first dolls Jazmine made on her own. Poor Maddie had no eyes, and the grass used for her arms and legs was frayed and broken. When she was a child, Jazmine slept with that doll and carried her just about everywhere she went, except to the First African Baptist Church on Sundays. Mama wouldn’t stand for that.

On the bottom shelf sat Anaya, the last grass doll Jazmine made before she grew out of playing with dolls. Anaya was perfect in every detail, from the button eyes to the black thread glued on and styled for hair. Jazmine had tried to copy Anaya’s look from a magazine ad for shampoo in which a beautiful businesswoman hailed a taxi in some city, probably New York. Jazmine had hailed many imaginary taxis with the help of Anaya. Magical taxis that took them to all the big cities: London, L.A., Tokyo.

Jazmine reached up and pulled a white envelope out from underneath Anaya. She stared at the envelope, rereading the return address as if she still couldn’t believe it. The words Charleston Southern University appeared in the top left-hand corner in plain type, casually, as if it were a letter from an old friend. Jazmine pulled out the letter and carefully opened the folded paper.

It began:  Dear Ms. Walker,  We are happy to announce your acceptance into the English Studies Program at Charleston Southern University. Furthermore, we are very pleased to inform you that you have been chosen for the Destiny Hudson Aspiring African American Writer Scholarship based on your essay, “Where I am From and Where I am Going”. The rest of the letter included details on who to contact for further financial information and her academic advisor’s name, Dr. Sylvia Freeman. A real name of a real person hundreds of miles away who was supposed to help Jazmine register for classes. She couldn’t believe it. 

The last line of the letter asked that the enclosed acceptance/enrollment form be filled out and returned by May 1. Jazmine had completed the form the same day she picked the letter up at the docks. Charlie, an older man who retrieved the mail from the mainland by boat each weekday, looked at the envelope before he handed it to Jazmine. He must have read the return address because the sadness crept into his eyes as he said, “Well, Jazzy, you certainly have grown up.”

Jazmine lifted Anaya up again and pulled another envelope off the shelf. This one was sealed and addressed to the university. It was her acceptance form ready for the mail except for the stamp, which she would give Charlie money for when she asked him to mail it. She proofread the address one more time to make sure it was correct, and then she sat on her bed holding the envelope carefully, as if a single wrinkle would change the administrators’ minds about her acceptance.

She stared at the ceiling with the same question running through her mind as the day before and the day before that. How could she tell Mama?  Robbie was gone, and Daddy had been gone for years. It was just the two of them now. Mama had some younger cousins who would help her take care of the house if needed, Jazmine thought, and Mama’s house served as the island’s unofficial restaurant. Although to call using a kitchen to cook seafood eight or nine times a month for a few scattered tourists a restaurant was a stretch of the imagination, it did make Mama the small amount of money she needed to get by. Yeah, Mama would be okay, Jazmine thought, but okay wasn’t good enough for Mama.

Jazmine knew Mama would be lonely, and her mother deserved more than loneliness after the work she’d done raising two kids on her own. I’ll come home often, Jazmine thought. But that was what Robbie said when he left, too. He said he would come home often, and that he’d write even more often. That was a year and a half ago, and he visited once when he had to make an East Coast run. When he first left, he did write fairly often, but after the first year, the postcards and letters slowed to maybe one every couple of months.

Jazmine read the acceptance letter again. Dr. Sylvia Freeman. She liked the sound of the name. She said it out loud, “Dr. Sylvia Freeman.”  Then she said out loud, “Dr. Jazmine Walker.”  She liked that even better. 

Jazmine stood up with an envelope in each hand and closed her eyes. It was time. With determination, she walked out of the bedroom. In the hall, the familiar aroma of Mama’s kitchen enveloped her so completely that Jazmine stopped just short of the kitchen doorway. The earthy tones of rice, the sweet odor of okra and tomatoes, the smoky ham hock and the breath of the sea itself in the crabs and shrimp all mingling and rising together from the slow-cooked stew.

“You can do this Jazmine,” she whispered to herself and stepped through the doorway, hesitating again at the sight of Mama leaning against the sink. Mama was snapping the heads off shrimp to set aside for use later as vegetable broth flavoring, before dropping the shelled bodies and tails of the shrimp into the pot.

“Mama, I need to talk to you.” Jazmine forced the words out.

“Go ahead,” Mama said while her hands kept working at the shrimp. 

“Well, I’ve been thinking a lot about something.”

“All right.”

“I’ve been thinking about going to school. And I got something to show you.”  Jazmine held the letter out towards her mother.

Mama stopped and dried her hands on her apron. She turned and took the letter and unfolded the page. She read for a moment and then looked at Jazmine and refolded the letter.

“I am not going to read anymore,” she said. “Jazzy, if you’re going to tell me something, I want you to tell me. I don’t want to read it in some letter.”

Jazmine breathed heavily. She turned away from Mama, and the words flew out like panicky seagulls on a strong wind. “I’m going to school. Mr. Cartwright helped me get a scholarship, and I am going to accept it. I am going to Charleston Southern. It’s time for me to go. I need to make something of myself. I can’t stay here and do nothing. I can’t do it. I need to see something new, something different than crab traps and alligators and gravel roads and old men with tales of the Watchers. I got to take this chance. I got to.”

   Mama was quiet. Jazmine felt her confidence washing away like sand under your feet when standing in an outgoing tide. She stared at the letter in Mama’s hand.

“I knew you were leaving,” Mama finally said, setting the letter on the counter behind her, so that she stood between Jazmine and the letter.

“Mama, you couldn’t know. I didn’t even know for sure until right now.”

“Well, the island knew, and you don’t think this island here can keep a secret from your Mama, do you?  I’ve known this island too long, since I was born. I can tell if a storm is coming, and I can surely tell when my baby is leaving. And the Watchers—”

“The Watchers told you I was leaving?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Mama said. “They came into my dreams after old Charlie told me you got a letter from a university. The Watchers seen plenty of you young folks leave to know when it’s about to happen. They talk to us old folk. In our dreams, they say ‘keep ’em here’. They say ‘keep ’em here’ because the Watchers are family too.”

“But Mama—”

“And you’ve been so quiet, sneaking off to your room and just sitting in there. When the island gets quiet, that means there’s a storm coming or a heat wave or some other kind of change. I remember Robbie got real quiet for a couple of weeks, just like you’ve been doing. He was in his room flipping through those trucker magazines, finding a company that would pay to train him. Just like you’ve been doing with that letter.”

“I ain’t doing it to hurt you.”

“Robbie didn’t want to hurt me either. Didn’t want to hurt you just the same, but tell me how you feel?”

“I miss him. But I’m glad he left.”

“That’s not what you’ve been saying the whole time he’s been gone. That’s not what you said when he quit writing letters.”

“But it’s what I’m saying now.”

“Well, I ain’t going to stop you, but I ain’t going to pack your bags neither.”  Mama picked up the letter and handed it back to Jazmine. “You gotta do what you gotta do,” she said and then turned around, and her hands went back to work.

“But Mama—”

“I’m not going to give you my blessing to leave your home,” she answered without turning.

“Mama, I was hoping for your blessing, but I didn’t expect it. And I’m going. I just got to…”

“You got to what?”

“I got to know if you’re going to be okay when I’m gone.”

Now, Mama did turn around. Her eyes wide as she wiped her hands on her apron.

“I was a woman before you or Robbie was born. I was a woman alone before I met your father. I’ve been a woman alone before, and I ain’t scared to be one again.”

There was a silence before Mama continued, “Besides, I’ve told you, I left the island once myself for a full year. It wasn’t the same. So much noise you couldn’t hear nothing. So many cars and people you couldn’t hear the world talking. I missed the whistle of the marsh grass and the splash of the crab nets as the men threw them out in the water. And I missed the horn of the ferry as it pulled into the dock with supplies and the mail. Maybe you might miss these things, too. Maybe you might miss the island talking, and you might come home to us on that ferry.”

“Maybe.”

“And, Jazzy, you’ll always be welcome here as long as I’m breathing,” Mama said.

Jazmine looked at her mother standing there with her graying hair sticking out from underneath her yellow head wrap, her strong shoulders sunk slightly, her dirty apron tied around her waist. Jazmine walked forward and wrapped her arms around her mama.

“I love you, Mama.”

Jazmine turned to leave, both letters tight in her hand. She walked slowly just in case there was something else Mama wanted to say. Jazmine put her hand on the doorknob. Silence. She stepped outside.

The island was quiet, except for the rustle of the pines in a warm breeze and the low hum of insects. The evening sky was beginning to soften. Soon, the oranges and reds of the sunset would sink lazily into the mainland to the west of the island, pulling some of the humid air with them. It was Sunday evening, so the last ferry of the weekend would be leaving the dock at Marsh Landing soon. Charlie would be there for sure, loading any mail that had to get to the mainland post office before Monday morning. Jazmine picked up the bike Robbie had left her and climbed onto the seat. She put the letters in the wire basket attached to the handlebars and began pedaling towards Marsh Landing. It was done; she would leave the island. As soon as the letter was in the mail, her life would be in motion.

Jazmine had ridden a bike down this same dirt and gravel road countless times. But this time felt different. A kind of sad loneliness filled her belly, yet she felt like she wasn’t alone. She felt like she was being watched.

There was a noise at the edge of the woods to her right. Probably a raccoon or a deer, Jazmine decided, but she pedaled faster just the same. Though slight, the breeze seemed to fight against her, and she imagined it carrying her letters out of the basket and into the marsh tides on the other side of the trees. Jazmine reached down and put a hand on top of the letters while keeping her balance with the other hand. “You can’t have these,” she said softly to the island. When she rounded the last corner to Marsh Landing, Jazmine heard the ferry horn and saw Charlie leaning over to pull up the loading ramp.

“Charlie, wait!” she yelled over the sound of the horn. 

Charlie stood up and looked at Jazmine as she jumped off the bike and ran to the ramp.

“What is it, Jazzy?” he asked.

“I have a letter for you.”

Jazmine handed Charlie the letter, waiting until she felt it safely in his hand before letting go. Charlie looked at the envelope and then at Jazmine.

“Money for the stamp?” Charlie asked.

“Oh, no. I forgot it.”

“I’ll cover this one,” Charlie said. “Think of it as a goodbye present.”

Charlie tucked the letter into a large canvas bag by the rail. Then he smiled a soft smile at Jazmine as he pulled the loading ramp closed.

Jazmine watched the ferry pull away and turn towards the mainland. It was slow and beautiful. A few seagulls followed closely behind, diving into the wake where the engines churned up an occasional fish. Jazmine stood still and felt the warm salt breeze on her skin. She also felt them behind her, watching. But she did not turn to them. She kept her eyes on the boat as if her gaze kept it afloat and kept her letter safe. And when she could no longer see the boat, Jazmine closed her eyes and pictured the letter tucked safely in the bag.

“Make your way to Dr. Sylvia Freeman,” she whispered.

It was when she opened her eyes and found herself staring into the fading light of the day over the marsh grasses and distant pine trees that Jazmine caught a glimpse of the enormity of forever. She turned towards the woods with empathy for the Watchers. But they were gone.     

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Jason Gibeau is an award-winning writer who lives in Greenville, South Carolina, with his wife and three amazing kids. Jason’s first novel, The Duel, a historical fiction rich in magical realism, is set on a Lowcountry rice plantation at the dawn of the Revolutionary War and is scheduled for release on October 15, 2025. In addition to writing fiction, Jason has published several non-fiction articles in a variety of magazines and worked as a content editor for a health publication. Jason loves his primary job as an occupational therapist working with children with disabilities and plans to release several picture books for kids soon under the pen name Jase Wilder (www.jasewilder.com). In his elusive free time, Jason can be found playing guitar and writing songs, hanging with his family or looking for any excuse to make the drive to the Charleston area for pier or surf fishing. Visit www.jwgibeau.com for books and updates!