“Land ho!” the captain shouted, gesturing enthusiastically from the main deck. He turned to the first mate. “Are the anchors ready?”
“Yes, sir,” the first mate said.
“Excellent. An unexpectedly early arrival.”
“Right, sir.” The first mate removed his cap and began to whistle as he walked toward the cabin with his hands behind his back. He opened the door and, seeing a passenger behind him, held it open for her and continued whistling. She nodded in thanks and he nodded politely back. Following her into the cabin, he stopped whistling and sighed audibly. He made his way toward the lounge, found an easy chair, and sank exhaustedly into it. Next to him, in adjacent chairs, sat an aristocrat and an old woman.
“Excuse me,” the woman began, turning slowly toward the first mate. “Did I hear the captain say that we’ve reached land?”
“Yes, but you shouldn’t pay it any mind,” the first mate said without looking up. “He’s lost his wits. Gone completely crazy. It’ll be weeks before we see any sign of land.”
“Oh, I see,” the old woman said, nodding to herself. She turned to examine the only piece of decoration in the lounge: a photograph of the entire crew from several years back. The captain smiled exuberantly from his place in the center.
“One too many sea voyages for him, I suppose,” the first mate added.
The old woman nodded again. “Yes, that’ll do it,” she said.
“It makes my job something of a nightmare,” said the first mate. He sighed again and reached into his pocket for a handkerchief.
The aristocrat removed his eyeglass and turned it over in his hand. “I wouldn’t mind him losing his mind so much, if he hadn’t fallen in love with my wife!” His voice contained a note of exasperation.
The first mate blew his nose on his handkerchief and then refolded it. The old woman coughed, and all three turned to examine the photograph on the wall. The floorboards creaked softly as the boat shifted.
Suddenly, a shout echoed through the cabin from the main deck. “Giant squid!” came the cry. “Giant squid, poised for attack!”
The first mate covered his face with his hands for a moment before standing up. The captain burst into the lounge, looking both terrified and excited.
“Did you hear? There’s a giant squid ten meters from the ship, ready to send us all to our watery graves!”
“Yes, sir,” the first mate answered. “I’ll prepare the harpoons.”
Missed Connection
Poseidon, do you remember me? I’m the sea captain that you saved last night. You saved me, Poseidon. Remember the storm? Of course you do. It had my simple ship tossing and turning with the waves, but I survived, thanks to you.
As I was tossed violently about the deck, I was sure of the proximity of my death until I saw you. When the clouds parted and the storm drifted away, the sun hit the waves and I saw your face. I saw you, Poseidon, and I think you saw me, too. I felt something. Poseidon, I think I felt a connection between us.
It was brief, I know. Maybe I’m crazy for writing this, but that’s a chance I have to take. When I looked into your eyes, Poseidon – just for that one moment – I saw sparks. I saw the sun and moon in your eyes, Poseidon, and I think I saw the stars, too. I saw time and space and laughter and sorrow in your eyes. I saw my life in your eyes, Poseidon.
Poseidon, I don’t usually do things like this, I swear. I’m shy and I like to read. Do you enjoy literature? We should discuss it over coffee sometime. Maybe we could even start a regular book club, Poseidon, just for the two of us.
They say a sea captain lives a lonely life, but I didn’t know how lonely I was until you walked away from me after our first encounter. Now I can’t do anything without feeling your absence. Poseidon, you’re everything that’s missing from my life right now, and it’s more than I can bear.
When I was a kid, I had a teddy bear that I was very attached to. I would sleep with it and take it to play with friends. It was pretty tattered, but I didn’t mind. One day I lost it on the playground. It broke my heart, Poseidon, losing that bear.
That was a silly story to tell, about the bear. It was completely inappropriate. I’m sorry, Poseidon. I’m not usually like this, but I get so nervous just thinking about speaking to you.
Poseidon, I don’t want to sound like I’m crazy, but I’ve been crying a lot lately. My shoulders are weighed down with longing.
I want to wake up next to you, Poseidon.
I have something to tell you. I love you. Poseidon, I love you, and I haven’t loved anyone since my divorce. You have to understand, Poseidon, how serious I am about this. I can’t sleep or eat. Everything is a blur and nothing makes sense, except you. Except you, Poseidon.
Poseidon, call me. Please.
I almost forgot to give you my phone number. That would have been embarrassing, to ask you to call me and then not give you my phone number. It’s (285) 604-3421. You might need to dial one first, Poseidon, I’m not sure how those things work for you.
Don’t leave me hanging. Poseidon, I need you.
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