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stories from the sea
He's a sailor, or on his way there, so it made perfect sense when he turned to me as the fat, white flakes began falling from the sky and said "Hey! Let's ride the ferry tonight!" The Staten Island ferry? In a snowstorm? Why? It was beautiful he said, and lots of fun. Sold. But not that night. It was too late, and though I didn't have to work the next day, he had to be up before dawn and we'd already had a few adventures in the last few hours. So the boat ride was tabled until the next snowstorm. Then the next. And the next.
"I want to see Walking Concert," I said on Monday during the storm, "but I also want to ride the ferry in the snow, and I fear that there aren't many blizzards left in the season. We can't be all talk." He agreed, so after watching my friends play we left the club and headed into the snow and to the train and down down downtown.
The commuters were exhausted and just trying to get home after a long day in the city, but we were excited and giddy and complete geeks. We watched the boat dock and he told me ship facts and we boarded and walked around the deck, then back inside and up to the second level where we ate popcorn and I wondered aloud about the meaning of the sign on the cabin door of a heart with a lightening bolt inside. The boat pushed off and we went out to the deck and stood there with huge snowflakes whipping past our faces and one skyline receding while another drew close. He told me about buildings on those skylines, and navy yards, and docks, and freighters, and harbors, and ships. He told me about things I didn't know and will never remember and my fingers froze in the cold and the fog settled over everything.
And it was beautiful.