Try new things, they said.
It will help you get back into the swing of life, they claimed.
Make sure to get lots of sunshine. It will help with your moods, they proclaimed.
Somehow, I suspect, they didn’t expect me to buy a new schooner. But to be fair, the schooner is the answer to the platitudes they were spouting in treatment. It’s something new. It requires me to be out in the sun; it requires me to swing back into the active part of life. What a fucking disaster. Hmm, maybe that’s what I should name the boat. Disaster is what brought her to me. Disaster is probably the only thing that will separate us.
I bought this boat to impress a guy. He talked about how he loved to sail. He wanted to find someone to share his passion with. I’d never sailed before and generally hate the idea of being outside. But I took a chance on him. A chance that he might see what I was doing. A chance that he would be flattered and not repulsed. I hoped I could be the one to share his passion.
However, it just ended in disaster. He didn’t find my devotion to him enduring; no, it freaked him out. He didn’t find me attractive or find me worth his energy. To him, my buying a schooner to sail alongside him to Key Largo wasn’t a sign of love and solidarity. He called it insanity. My already fragile heart’s existence was further destroyed. He told me I would always be a good friend, but he could never see himself sharing the sea with me.
Disaster! Yes! That damn schooner shall be a disaster set in motion by unrequited love. Together, as we float about the sea, I quietly pray for another catastrophe to separate us and set me free.
Or maybe I should name it Love. Love can sometimes be the same as a disaster. People run from love faster than they run from trouble. My heart keeps screaming: Yes, name it, Love. If you call it love, then Oliver must not be running away from you. No, he is running from the powerful emotions he feels for you. As I settle in on this option, I’m physically shaken by the thoughts that run through my head. If he loved you, why would he leave you? Why, dear girl, does he not include you?
Either way, I look at it, the results are still the same. I’m just a girl with a lonely heart floating in a boat that has no name.
Photo by George Desipris via Pexels.