The Captain

Don’t forget the dream you had about you and your mom on a very large cruise ship, dark grey, sleek and shiny with glass on all sides. And the incredibly almost inconceivably high waves barreling towards you in the middle of the ocean. How the boat tilted all the way to the port side and you could see an entire ocean of sea life below the water as it dipped under. Then it flew back up and tilted starboard. At first you thought you were the only two people on the massive boat. You held your mother’s hands, silently nodding to each other, trusting what you knew she already knew: that it would right itself, which it did. Just then you understood there was a captain in the wheelhouse, you could feel the boat turning from his direction. The captain steered you directly into the monstrous waves and made the bow of that enormous cruise liner duck dive down below them like a surfer. You were in an observation deck surrounded by glass, staying dry as the waves crashed over. Never unsteady, the tossing and turning absorbed by the strength of your stance, all you could do was grasp your mother’s hands and take in the ride. Despite your fear you noticed the beautiful clarity of everything underwater. Even though you couldn’t see him, you trusted completely that the captain was steering and you were OK. It wasn’t even trust anymore, it was simple knowing. You felt his presence, pictured him perfectly even though you had never seen or met him. Then he parked it at a dock on a river and you got out and you were in Italy.

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