By Judith Amber
Amy left the hospital at the end of her shift. In spite of the downpour, she sauntered leisurely to the bus stop. Water ran in rivulets off her yellow hat that matched her slicker. The bus shelter was crammed with commuters, huddling in what dry corners they could find. She considered joining them, then abruptly turned and walked off.
About six blocks west, the warehouse district began. It was still a working district, but signs of gentrification had set in: a coffee house; a place that sold “gourmet pizza”; and a women’s boutique featuring slinky dresses that Amy thought looked more like lingerie.
She kept walking until she reached the harbor. Boats rocked as the rain and wind struck them. She had never explored this area on foot, only driven by, but tonight she was curious. Were they simply pleasure boats or were there houseboats among them? She had always thought that living on a houseboat would be a kick. All that had prevented her following that dream was the fear that she would feel cut off from friends and family onshore. That and a slight disposition toward seasickness.
Maybe it was her tough day in critical care unit or maybe the wildness of the night hit a corresponding place in her psyche, but tonight Amy’s thoughts wandered to life on a houseboat and the freedom it allowed. She started down a row of boats whose names were nothing out of the ordinary: King of the Sea, Calm Waters, Home Port, Safe Harbor. Turning left into the next row, she spotted “Night Rider” on a boat painted a striking vermillion red. The boat, like the others, was deserted. Curious, she boarded it and entered its small galley and dining area.
Amy easily located a light and peered around. The owner was obviously a world traveler; the shelves were lined with pottery, statues, and artifacts from every continent. She was particularly struck by a Mayan figure of a man with bulging cheeks and an obvious toothache. Then she peered into the bedroom. It unexpectedly contained a waterbed; that gave the sleeper two chances – one man-made, one oceanic – to be rocked to sleep.
She returned to the dining area and removed her raingear. She rummaged in a cabinet, found a teapot, and fixed herself a generous mug of chamomile tea. Sighing with contentment, she snuggled up in a leather chair and fell asleep. As the night wore on, Amy slept and snored. Hours passed before a light snapped on and a male voice cried out: “Who’s that sleeping in MY chair?”
“Well,” she answered, “maybe it’s Goldilocks reincarnated!”
“And what would Goldilocks like to do besides sleep?” asked the middle-aged, lanky man with gray eyes and jet black hair.
“Sail away to destinations I’ve only heard of – the Seychelles Islands, Majorca, Monaco, Ethiopia,” she answered, wondering if she was dreaming.
He considered her for a minute and then had a flash of recognition. This was his favorite nurse when he was hospitalized for a heart valve replacement two years ago!
He left the room and the sound of a motor starting filled the boat. A cat-like smile spread over Amy’s face. Had she recognized him as well? She walked over to a cupboard, took down a bottle of rum, and poked around until she found an appropriate mixer. Then she poured Mai Tai’s into two glasses.
Leaving the galley, she joined her traveling companion portside. Amy raised her glass, clinked it with his, and together they toasted the landlubbers they were leaving behind and the God Poseidon who rules over the seas.
Judith Amber is a freelance writer (under the name Judith Bernstein) on topics including the environment, politics, travel, wine, food, and the arts. She also writes fiction, memoir, and poetry as Judith Amber, her nom de plume. Judith is a member of SLO NightWriters, for writers at all levels in all genres. Find them online at slonightwriters.org.
