I guess this is it for me. I never really had a chance to tell my story before – nobody from my neighbourhood ever does. Well, dammit, I’m telling mine.
It started like any other day. Salty Dan and I were on our way to the marina, when then wannabe-cop at the gate stopped us and asked to see our licences. I sat there, waiting for Dan to sweet-talk him like he always did.
‘We aren’t taking them out, he’d say, with that mischievous grin. ‘Just left some property on deck. My friend’s music player.’
It wasn’t always a music player. Sometimes it was a laptop, or a fishing rod. Once he’d successfully argued we should be allowed in because we were applying a camo boat wrap to a boat nearby. That was completely untrue.
But today was a different story. It was a new guard – with an expression as old as time.
‘Out of the car,’ he’d told Salty Dan, then glared through the windshield to let me know I was included in the order. I quickly complied.
Dan, being Salty, did not.
A scuffle ensued, each man grappling for control of the marina guard’s baton.
‘Run, lad!’ Salty Dan had ordered me, grunting from the exertion. ‘Get to the ship!’
And so I did. I ran and I ran, faster than ever before, the rows and rows of boats blurring at my side as I sprinted down the pier.
My eyes ran wild as I searched for Dan’s boat with its distinctive custom boat print, ideas of freedom crowding for room in my mind.
That all depended on Dan though. Where was he? I thought, over and over again.
My eyes latched onto the distinctive camo, and I sprinted for the boat, leaping over the side and landing on the deck. Like on autopilot, I undid all of the moorings, waiting for Salty Dan to appear and set us off like he always did.
One last time.
I waited, and waited.
Night fell. Dan never appeared.