A Short Story..More to come...

Days that can make even the most well off man wish they were in my topsiders. It was a good day on the top deck of the MS Pride of America. The wind from starboard and the sun was dropping to our bow. There is nothing in this world that comes close to a sunset while underway. The sun casts a golden shadow across a sapphire and aqua sea. A mango sky perfectly contrasting the waters that lay ahead creates an almost surreal horizon. Reclining in a chair I take in everything controlling my breathing, slow and deliberate. I savor every second as the sun inches closer and closer to the azure water. As this natural phenomenon takes place the sky changes into a bright peach hue, with no clouds in the sky it is almost as if the entire sky is under a filtered light. Enjoying times such as these my mind fills with thoughts of the many seaman who were able to enjoy this same event through the ages. Though I am on a craft of Iron I can still close my eyes and try to place myself onto a wooden sailing vessel. I can almost smell the pitch and wood as my modern floating city roars on. It would be an amazing experience to sail without the drone of an engine. The only sounds filling the approaching night sky would be the bow breaking and the sails flapping as we came around to capture the wind. With night falling and the last shred of light disappearing over the horizon the lights on board the creaking vessel would cut, and a blanket of black would veil itself tightly around our small world in the center of the sea. As the day toils on a person it is the night which wears on a man as the day ends it is easy to find ones self moments away from loss of control. With a crew in a mindset such as this it is no doubt that some would light a pipe and share a story of rough seas and even rougher women at port. It is a difficult life for a sailor the rolling of the sea alone can drive a man to fever but the most difficult emotion to deal with is that of feeling alone. With confines tighter than the rigging on the main sail it is hard to imagine one feeling alone. But it is a possibility and a very real part of life. But to get many through this relying on the only real comfort is the knowledge that the next horizon will offer something new and different, and the crimes of the previous will be forgiven and forgotten. A heathenish bunch we are made to be and perhaps the combination of cook and sailor is only placing a grittier than average stigma on my head, which I am completely comfortable with. I like the notion that I am a gruff man who likes women and booze a little too much, perhaps that is correct, but If it is my lifestyle of choosing then I think it is I alone who must bear the weight of the mast. My friends let me inform you of this it is not a lifestyle of wealth and fame we are living; it is thankless and soul breaking at best. It is a environment in which nothing of your past life matters. The only thing that really counts is how you cope with your new reality. I find myself awakening to wonder what day it could be and further realizing that it makes not much matter what day or what year it could be. The positive is in waking up. This is a feat alone when it comes to this fantasy lifestyle. With unfriendly ports and infectious diseases it is only a matter of time before you too will succumb to the hands of the sea. She gives in many respects and takes in many more. She claims more than just the green and she roasts no bones about who will rest within her bowels. These waters we sail are warm and dangers abound. With each rising sun port may be in a number of secluded locations all on the exotic side and with many diversions that make it easy to become lost in the chaos. With the ship moored on a questionable pier in a very questionable port I know every man will find his form of pleasure. Be it lovers numerous as the fish that school in the tidal pools or perhaps a man will take to the drink, a swill on a harsh local cane wine that stings the senses even after it is consumed. But I find my pleasure from another. She is in every port and I know her to be safe and kind. She goes by the name of Lady and comes from the most remote regions of Asia. I know I have come close when I smell her sweet perfume hanging heavy in the air around a group of tranquil locals. I know while under her magical spell I can let the confines of the ship sail, and appreciate the luxury of sprawling my legs as we lay side by side drifting from one conciseness to another. Her passion takes me away to lands that even I dare not go, far beyond my furthest horizons. But my trust in her is strong and I am able to enjoy the times we are able to spend with each other. With my head occupied with other matters I drift away from my thatched bunker and make way through the clouded streets observing and appreciating all the movements happening all around me. Though the temptation of flesh is ever-present I still avoid and revel in the commotion of fruit vendors juggling freshly harvested papayas. The streets are narrow and the stalls are tightly packed with people and wares. In port we provision and replenish, at least that is what is supposed to happen. With the masses of people it is sometimes difficult to move and most do not make way for our type. With the intersecting corridors and the repetition of products it is easy to become lost within the inner sanctum of this living and breathing thing that seems to circulate like an uroburos. Coiled within these serpentine passages and colorful offerings lays a danger greater than the sea, but perhaps it is all in my head. As I stroll every face seems to have an untold air of danger to it. It feels as though I can look into people’s souls through their eyes. A man with a thin mustache and skin worn and tanned like a precious piece of leather seems to stare me down as I pass. His eyes hide barely peeking out of the brim of his woven hat. I can feel a connection between us though no words are shared. I have uneasiness about the man and truly think he is up to something less than pious. But with my fresh high I manage to put these fears aside and succumb to the moment and attempt to enjoy the day as it unfolds before me in a much more favorable light. Though the bustling streets of the port offer excitement and pleasure I find my eyes have become far too dizzy from the colors and movement, my mind is twisting from the sounds and compressed space, the face of the mustached man keeps reappearing and starts to make me wonder what the hell I got myself into. I need to find an area to decompress my head. Though my body is already relaxed I must seek an area to breath the fresh air and let my mind rest and the confines of the city cannot offer such. With a goal in mind I splash my parched face with water and being on my quest. Before I exit the cobbled streets I purchase necessary provisions for this conquest. With everything readily at hand finding what I need is not difficult even in my current mental capacity. With me I take citrus fruits and libations to quench the thirst. It is easy to become ill from heat in locations such as this. With my direction chosen I begin my trek. But to my fortune before I exit the city I am able to find more pure Lady, which I add to my purchases and place into my worn canvas rucksack and fasten the brass buckle finally exiting the city’s mass hysteria. The resulting factor from being in port for an extended time usually equates to a sluggish crew upon departure. I know I am no different, one must enjoy while they can for it is hard to say when the next port will be reached. Perhaps many overindulge but when the next day at sea comes one day to early it is a necessary thing to take advantage of time away from the dank confines of the crew bunk.