In
the very beginning it wasn't even aware of itself. It was new and smelled
like a lumber yard. In what seemed like no time at all, it took on the
fragrance of varnish, and it felt the sensation of floating, perhaps it was a
combination of the mild movement of the water and the fumes from the varnish,
it wasn't sure but the sun felt good and its bones were getting stronger.
The day the sails were installed I would have to say was the day she awoke
completely. Suddenly she knew she was a sailing ship and you couldn't see
it, but she was smiling.
In
the months that followed brass fittings were installed, glass polished and a
final coat of varnish applied to railings.
She was the gem of the marina and was photographed from every possible
angle. Colorful flags were strung and
banners announced her début.
She
was enjoying the attention but longed for the open water. She couldn’t wait until the day she could
catch the breath that would push her through the rolling waves and she would
feel the salt spray along her sides.
Already she was tired of watching the others head out to sea in the
morning, leaving her quietly moored, sitting alone until sunset when she would
spot the colorful sails dotting the horizon, making their return.
She
was not an orphan for long, however. A
family took to her as if she were candy.
The children ran across her deck, up and down. They hung from the rails as if she was a
jungle gym, and the laughter came in constant waves. She wanted to show them all what she could do
out there, but he seemed timid, unsure of how to be a sailor, almost afraid to
let the shore slip from view.
Over
time the family would venture farther and farther from home, but the tone of
the conversations had changed. Something
was wrong. Laughter from the children
was almost nonexistent, and arguments lit like distress flares, suddenly
blanketing the area in uncomfortable silence.
Some of the storms were so great that even the ship herself felt she
might not weather them.
As
a teenager the wooden ship knew she was still in her prime. Her sails still crisp and white, her hull was
sound, but her spirit felt somewhat tattered.
Concerned for the family that no longer showed up on weekends and
holidays she remained tied to her slip, quietly waiting, hoping for a return to
the adventurous spirit that would take her out to sea, and far from the
doldrums of safety.
It
was a Saturday morning, early August when he returned, although by
himself. He spent the day removing
things from cabinets, taking coolers from on deck and setting them onto the
pier. He cleaned the glass and wiped the
entire deck. He checked the ropes,
making sure all sails were secure, and then had placed something on her stern,
though she couldn’t tell what.
By
late evening he and all the family belongings were gone. She sat quietly rocking in her slip as she
had when she was new. Wondering just
what he had done at the stern. She looked to the Lynn Ann, a wonderful ship
moored directly in front of her. That’s
it, she though; He’s given me a name.
She was excited but also frustrated at not knowing what it was.
When
the tide comes in, she thought, I’ll rise high enough to see my reflection in
the large windows of the marina manager’s building. And so she waited, but by the time the tied
had lifted her high enough the sun had set.
She could see nothing in the dark.
The
following day, once the thought of her name had again returned, she glanced
back at the windows of the marina building.
As she focused on her reflection she tried to pronounce her name. Was it Greek? Italian? She wasn't sure.
Rofelas
