by Stephen Rosenshein
The sea is an endless sameness interrupted by brief signs of life: coastlines, birds, whales, boat wakes. I sat on the side of the boat reading, watched the five or six-foot swells raise and lower the ship. There were fins and water-spouts in the distance. Or maybe they weren’t really whales but I really wanted to see whales so I saw fins and water spouts in the distance. Either way I saw something.
And I thought, I could lead a life at sea, just focusing on the way the sea was dark and churning out frothy streaks of bubbles that turned white because they were emptied of water and filled with light. I didn’t really think that. I thought I wonder what happens to the bubbles at night.
I forgot the bubbles that night and got salty taking shots out of the cap of a liquor bottle. I screamed at the seagulls resting on the railing of the boat. I danced with and swore at everyone. I punched Steve Perkins so hard in the face that I started to think I could REALLY lead a life at sea.
In the morning the cruise was over. I walked onto dry land holding both handrails. I could still feel the up and down, the side to side.
Stephen Rosenshein studied creative writing at San Francisco State University. He welcomes your comments at stever4204[at]gmail.com.
photo by laura.bell