Above Water

This story was my therapy. It's a metaphor for several things. Loneliness, Sex, Frustration. I needed to understand that when you set out on a personal journey, the world will support you and drown you. The ship was inspired by a painting I saw of a tiny ship in a maddening storm.

Behind a tiny wheel upon a wooden ship is a captain. His eyes are dark and his brow is furrowed. His skin is beaten and red as he holds his wheel steady, pushing his craft across the ocean. Sometimes the water is like glass, and the ship glides effortlessly, but just as often, the water bounds against his hull, threatening to drown him along with his vessel.

He is a proud captain, and he laughs at the water. “Rage on.” He calls out to the sea as he turns his craft up a large rolling wave. Spray smacks against him as the sky grows dark. He grits his teeth. The ocean boils underneath his ship, rocking it hard. The captain lashes himself to the wheel as a large wave crashes over the deck and knocks him from his feet. He stumbles back into position. It is hours until the storm abates.

The captain expects the water. He talks to it, argues with it. And though he is fierce, sometimes at night his throat catches and curses the water. Once the waves had rolled him off the edge of the ship and into the ocean. The impact of the wave had knocked his breath from him, and he struggled just below the surface. It was then that he relaxed, and felt the waves toss him about and drag him under. He closed his eyes. He was going to be one with the ocean, and warmth and brightness enveloped him. Finally, he was going home. And then pain. It started in his lungs, and as he began to asphyxiate, it pounded at his brain. His eyes shot open as he struggled to the surface. With a ragged gasp and several coughs he shouted out. A rope was passing him in the water and he grabbed hold. Though his chest was quaking in pain, he had the resolve to pull himself on board once again. He howled at the water. He could never be the water. What is the water that it should dictate his course?

But now the water was clear and sun was bright. The wind was full, and he clipped along. He was above the water, belonged above the water. He was singing out, loud and strong. He was a captain. He almost missed a tiny dot along the horizon.

A dot? A ship? He strained to look. It seemed like a sail. He turned towards it.

It was definitely a sail, and a mast, and a hull. He pulled out a telescope and peered at the ship. There was someone on it, waving frantically, jumping up and down. “Who?” He asked excitedly. He removed the glass and could see the ship clearly, and peeking back in the glass he saw the ship was headed towards him. The figure was larger, and he could see hair. “A woman,” he thought.

The other figure was indeed a woman. A captain of another small ship. Both vessels slowed as they passed alongside one another. “Hello!” She yelled excitedly, and hung off the side of the ship, reaching out her hand. He was confused at first, but smiled and reached out for her hand. And then the world slowed. He could hear his slow inhale. He could feel a bead of sweat trickle over his eyelid. He could hear the creak of his ship as it gave here and there. And he could see her. Her hair blew out softly behind her like a flag. He watched his hand reach out. He watched his fingers uncurl and he watched as her fingertips connected with his. He gasped as he felt her skin against his own. He saw her fingertips curl gently and grazed his with her nails. And time was restored. She was laughing and she called back to him, “Turn it around!”

He remembered where he was and sprung back to the wheel and aligned his ship with hers. She was throwing ropes over to him, and he began looping them around the sides of his own ship until they were bound together.

Both ships weighed anchor and the vessels slowed. Evening was approaching and he could hear her call, “Permission to come aboard!”

He sputtered, “Uh, granted! Yes, come aboard.” He was in shock as this beautiful captain set her feet upon his deck. As he could now see her closely, he could see her hair was matted, and salt covered her arms and face. But she looked strong.

“You look awful.” She pushed at him. She could see him studying her and reached her fingers through her hair where they stuck firmly. He laughed, “Goes with the job.”

“Yes it does.”

The two became acquainted and he lit a lamp and brought her down below and pulled some bread and fruit out of one of the storage barrels. They sat at a small table where she took off her shoes. “God, it’s been a while. How has the ocean been treating you?”

It was a simple question. But his mouth began to talk. He talked slowly at first, and then faster and more excited. She laughed and shared her own stories. The two became friends before the first bite of food was taken. They marveled at one another and laughed and teased. He had never had this much to say. She had earlier accepted that she might just as well be silent forever.

After dinner, they shared their voyages, and their current stores, moving back and forth between the vessels as the excitement took them. But as the night wore on, they became tired. He was sitting on a crate near the side of the boat when he saw her walking towards him, cradling something. Was it treasure. She smiled, “it’s not treasure. Well, maybe it is.”
She handed him a large book. “It’s my journal. I want you to read it.” Her face blushed and she turned away as she raised a hand to her face. “ I want someone to know who I am.” She turned back to him, “I want you—“ she smiled, “to know me.”

He trembled as he received the book. It was very thick and filled with writing. It was like his. “Come with me” he said as he stood and walked into his quarters. She followed. He reached onto a shelf and pulled his own log and gave it to her, “I think I want the same thing.”
They each read pieces and excerpt aloud to one another. He laughed hard as she read to him his misadventures. He started to explain himself and stopped, and laughed. But his laugh became a choke and then a sob and then a cry. He couldn’t help himself. He cried and took her to him and held her. Her own tears welled in her eyes and she grabbed him with all of her strength. “Oh god!” He sobbed. “I knew that--” he couldn’t finish his words.

“I know,” she said softly to him and kissed his chest and kissed his neck. She laid her head against his chest, feeling him rise with each sob. Rhythmically at first, but slower and slower as he drifted into slumber. She fell asleep against him.

When he awoke, she was not there. He jumped up. Was it a dream? He launched through the door and squinted as the bright sunlight stung him. As his vision returned he looked. Ah, her ship! It was real. He called out for her. “Down here!” she cried.

He peered overboard and saw that she was sitting on a plank lowered over the side of the ship. She had been painting unto his hull. “I want you to remember me.” She smiled at him for a long time and then turned back to her work, singing in a cheery voice.

He smiled happily and lowered himself as well. He painted designs onto her hull. “You are not the water.” He muttered to her.

“What’s that?” She turned to look at him.

He laughed, “I was saying you aren’t the water. It's this little thing I think about. What I meant is—“

“I know exactly what you meant.” She smiled deeply at him. "Thank you." She sighed,"You," she threw a small stone out into the ocean, "you aren’t the water either.”

He smiled at her recognition. She was like him. She was above the water.

They spent the rest of the day relaxing, in contact with one another, trading tips about their shipping routes. The traded some of their crates with one another – the variety of food and clothing was more than worth it. As the second day came to a close, he looked at her, a little sad.
“What is it?”

He looked away, “I have to leave. I am –“ He paused and closed his eyes “still a captain.”
She smiled, but she was disappointed. “I know. As am I.” She walked over and touched his arm, “It’s ok. Our ships still have places to see, right?”

They held one another tightly. They were not the water. They could not conform. They were kings.

They untied the boats. As the ropes loosened, the boats slowly separated. She stared at him.
He stared at her and then, with an exhale, he thrust out his hand. “I will see you again.”
She was silent. She reached out, and as they parted, their fingertips touched.

“I will see you again.” She called back to him as her ship disappeared into the night.