What we carry

Cold, it was so damn cold, that was seemingly the only thought he could force his mind to form. The cold and her…

She was with him always, even while he slept, no especially while he slept. He could never force her image from his mind, she was there consuming and surrounding his thoughts. The sound of a wave breaking against the hull snapped him from his pensive state and back into reality. He was here on this god forsaken boat with its ragged crew, where exactly he did not know, besides that it was somewhere south of the Cape of Good Hope. He had come here to run from something, something which he either no longer cared about or no longer remembered he did not know. In fact the only thing he did know was that he ached, he ached for her. Who was he to ache for her though? Hell he probably wasn't even a forgotten afterthought or glimmer of memory to her…

Quiet, it was so quiet that it consumed her, not just silence but a deafening quiet. Amidst the roar of silence fell a single tear as she read the letter, not just any letter but a letter from him. It had arrived weeks ago but she hadn't bothered to open it because she was afraid that what was happening right now would occur. It had come via air mail from some far off place she did not know how to pronounce, she had tried to forget, god she had tried so hard but she couldn't. Even as she leapt from the arm of one Manhattan bachelor to another, he was always there; he was the one she carried with her wherever she went.

He never slept for too long, maybe it was the rocking of the ship, maybe it was his dreams, but whatever it was that caused him to wake in the wee hours, really did give him a treat this morning as he wandered out onto the wooden deck of the ship. It was beautiful, the brilliant greens and blues of the Aurora Australis or southern lights that greeted him as he looked up at them. A poem came to mind, one that seemed bittersweet given his history.

on her pallid cheek and forehead came a colour and light,

As I have seen the rosy red flushing in the northern night

The poem was the work of Tennyson, not one of his favorite poets but this seemed appropriate as he recited it. He remembered the way her face flushed red when he looked at her in his special way, and he couldn't help but be reminded of her when he saw those lights in the sky and he just stood there mesmerized by the oscillating waves in the sky, only after he had stood there for a good 20 minutes contemplating his life and the decisions he had made did he realize that he had not even bothered to pull on his coat when he came up on deck, his heavy fisherman's sweater was no longer enough to keep him warm as the prow knifed through the surface of the water, gliding amongst the monolithic mountains of ice as they were eerily reflecting the colors of the lights. As he hurried below deck he took one last look at the sky and felt a twinge in his heart, and he knew that someday, somehow he would, no he had too, see her again. He could only hope that it would be soon.

She slept through all five of her alarms the next morning, she woke up sometime after 11, but she just wanted to curl up with her pillow and sleep it all away, the pain after reading that letter, the sadness and guilt she felt, and the hangover, especially the hangover. She had lost it after reading his letter for the 15th or 20th time, grabbing a case of champagne and repeatedly watching cliché' filled Nicholas Sparks movies. Eventually she crawled out of bed and grabbed two aspirin and a tall glass of water; she quickly downed the pills with a long drag from the glass. Then she headed out to her favorite café to grab some comfort food and salt the day away in bed, as she was laying there, crying into her pillow her thoughts drifted away to him, what she'd done to him and what he'd done to her, all the way back to that day almost 3 years ago, there was nothing she wanted to do more than find him and make everything right, but the only thing she knew about his whereabouts was some unpronounceable African port and the final words of his letter,

…I don't think it's a good idea that we ever see each other again,

All the best, Dan

And then it all faded away as she fell asleep still clutching his tear stained letter against her chest.

How could he be so stupid! He should have never sent that letter, now he had no chance of ever seeing or speaking to her again and it was all his fault, she was the one thing in the world that he wanted more than to run away from what had happened. God how could he have done that to her, even if she had never thought about him after he disappeared, his damn letter would dredge up old feelings and re-open deep wounds. He remembered the day he wrote it well,

it had been an extremely hot day along the coast of eastern Africa and he had spent the entire day ashore at a hole in the wall getting drunk off of his rocker, he had seen a spotty television screen for a split second that seemed like an hour, BBC was coming through and a gossip show was on but he didn't hear any of it, all he could see was her, she looked stunning in a little black dress, and she was hanging off the arm of some European douchebag, who was no doubt completely loaded and maybe even a royal. What the hell why did he care? He barked at the bartender to turn it off and went back to his drink, he couldn't shake her though she looked good, hell she almost looked happy, almost, and he could see it in her eyes even if no one else could. Something was missing, there was emptiness where there used to be a light. So he scrambled around to find a pen and paper and started writing to her, he wasn't even sure what exactly but he took it back to the ship with him that night and continued to write. He eventually finished it late at night while lying restless in his bunk, he just had to add one last sentence and sign it…. He woke up the next morning to the sound of gulls and the smell of the salty sea, he arose from his bunk and took it into town to find an envelope and some postage luckily the bar owner had some, so Dan left it with him to mail and then returned to the ship mere minutes before they were to set sail.

As he sat there contemplating his actions all those months ago, a deep feeling of regret and sadness slipped over him as he walked up on to the deck, and stared out over the side trying to will a wave to come and take him, but alas none would and as he stepped back the tears started down his face and he just stood there, sobbing in silence, wanting nothing more than to just fade away into the night.

As is prone to happen in the south sea the weather quickly went from calm to a complete maelstrom in the blink of an eye. Dan manned his post at the wheel as the captain barked out orders in the face of the storm, the waves were in excess of 20 feet and crashed over the deck constantly as he tried to steer the ship away from the heart of the tumult, just as the bow cleared the top of one wave another came crashing in along the starboard side and slammed into the bridge shattering the tempered glass windows into millions of brilliant shards. The force of the water threw Dan off of his feet and into a steel bulkhead door; he could hear the sound of his ribcage cracking against the metal as he gasped for air. He stood up just in time to grab onto a beam as another wave crashed through the pilothouse. He slowly and laboredly made his way back to the helm, and tried to steer the ship for the nearest land which, by the looks of the GPS, was nearly 25 nautical miles north and east of their position he knew it would be alright if they could make it up to the cape of good hope, hope, what a splendid concept he thought as he drew a ragged breath while holding on for dear life to the wooden spokes of the ships wheel, maybe he didn't deserve hope. Why couldn't that wave just have capsized the ship he thought? He didn't deserve hope he just wanted to disappear to the world, he's have had his wish too if he hadn't owed the captain that money that had kept him on the boat in Crete, he could have gotten off and lived out his days on the Mediterranean seaside away from the world, finally in some sort of piece. A jolt of pain through his chest tore him back to what was left of his senses, the seas had started to calm as he had steered the boat to the north he was still relying on the wheel for support as everything started to fade, the last thing he remembered was thinking that maybe he had finally reached his peace, only now he knew that he had hurt her and that only made him wish for more pain ….