I wouldn’t have been mad if you would have come to me, if you would have taken me with little regard for my impatience and discussions.
Alone was a word I never liked to admit. Like a figured dancer eying me up, I was always open for business and I knew – just like my salacious friend did – that business was good. I had markets that twisted and turned at mere sight of me, with anticipation gripping at their tongues for the ride.
It was merely a park bench, peacefully perched and calling my name. It wasn’t an alert beacon. It wasn’t a silent sentence. It was slightly weathered and modestly epitaphed like a sea faring ship that’s seen more ports than a pin-legged sailor.
From here – ahead – was a paved path, a hand railing painted green with two levels by design. Beyond was my view. A marvelous vista when the hour was right, when west was like glue to the sinking horizon’s glow. Out past the railing fell straight down to the harbour’s edge. Large placed stones from some time ago that showed signs of the high water level, green signs that turned to slime. Docks stuck out from the coastline like a fine tooth comb, each held about 15 ‘small yachts’ I liked to call them. From this view, I only saw the smaller boats. The bigger boats were at the high class end of the docks.
Beyond the docks: a jetty cut across my view. A small but meaningful light was perched about the tip of that jetty like a lonesome maiden waiting for her sunken sailor to return home. I had watched him as he went.
I watched the little sailors swing left and right as they traversed the open ocean beyond the jetty. Like clockwork they’d know it was time to get back to harbour, awaiting darkness.
I had always dreamed of being a sailor. Of learning to know winds like the mighty albatross so high. I dreamed I’d look out, squint eyed and wearing my navy blue pea coat, knowing and listening. I’d always wonder at what I’d be wondering. I knew the weather would be on my mind like a fair maidens stockings dangling ’bout her ankles.
I dreamed you’d be that fair maiden, wavy blonde curls about the edges of your shoulder. I watched your smile as you listened and responded. I watched you nervously bend your ankle sideways and think of a plan, unconsciously grabbing at a curl. I watched your footsteps, perhaps as you watched me, playing with little things to distract your mind.
I waved goodbye, but you didn’t see. I wasn’t mad. It was the way of the sea. I had learned this much in my years, and was already in deep conversation with myself about the speed of ol’ number 3 breaking waves heading out into the horizon.
