Young Writers Society

I padded around on the front deck in my bare feet and adjusted the inflatable life vest. It was the kind that wasn’t big and poofy until you pulled the emergency cord. If it wasn’t so loose on me, I might have forgotten it was there. The cool night breeze picked up my short hair and blew the loose locks in my face. Good thing I had my pirate cap on. I loved that cap; it was my sailing hat.

We weren’t really sailing. In fact, we really didn’t mean to end up moving at night. We technically should have been docked in harbor by now, but I didn’t mind at all. In fact, right now I was almost grateful that the new motor had broken down this morning. Otherwise we wouldn’t have ended up out on the water at this hour. Towards the back of the boat in the cockpit, I could hear the soft murmuring voices of my parents. Behind even that, there was the soft purring of the now-fixed motor. We'd gotten it only a month ago, and this was its shake-down cruise. It had cost a heap, but it was so quiet that it was worth the expense. Now that the noise of the old diesel outboard had been eliminated, nothing could make this more perfect.

The inky black waters slapped gently on the sides of our catamaran. I loved the hollow sound of the water between the twin hulls. The silver orb of the moon hovered above in the starry night sky, and it seemed to me as if it was smiling gently. Without the light pollution of inland, you could see every single star like gleaming dust spread over the vault of the heavens. Their light reflected on the little waves and gave them a surreal glow, one that you couldn’t quiet see if you focused your eyes but was there all the same. And the light of the moon cast a long strip of silver over the water, so perfect it could have been a painting. The night air was somehow fresher than during the day, probably an effect of the coolness and lack of humidity. It tempered the salty tang of the ocean, so that I could almost believe this was fresh water.

I drank it all in with my eyes, knowing it would not last. The sun would rise, and the night would be gone for another twelve hours. Maybe if I sat quietly and stared long enough, the memory would imprint itself in my mind. I was perfectly content to sit on the edge with my arm around the railing, trailing my feet in the dark water as it slipped by. I loved sailing, but with the baleful orb of the sun glaring down on you there was always something to kill the joy. The more temperate, gentle light of the moon and the protection of the shadows afforded the bay some of the quiet perfection that I missed in my normal, day-to-day life. One day I'll live on a boat, and I'll never have to miss the water again. This is the only place I really feel at home and at peace, for how can I go home and feel the same after having left that life behind?