by jerrontables

The boat’s gone. I’ve sat on the dock for years and years–day and night. Built me a little caboda here. Just mud and straw and almost every night got to build it again. I was inland when they come. Hoop hawin’ and here kitty (Adam!). I heard none of that. Or didn’t care–up to the coconuts with Nina, the local. I don’t know what kind of people they are, but they’re all very strange. I don’t know if her name’s Nina. She doesn’t really talk. And she doesn’t talk english when she does. Different tones and…well she moves weird. She’s my honey, though, or well enough my girl. At least I can say that, sometimes. We were ruffle-bushin’ near the fire brook when I hear ’em just a bellowin’, jawing on–I never heard such bawlin’. I figured them to stay a while, the commotion they put off, but they stayed none. I ran when I was done. It was quiet. Still and quiet and no boat. Now the wind doesn’t even blow. They’d have to row it, but no one does.

It’s the waiting that stings most. Nina don’t really talk too much. Just the screamin’. Whatever. She don’t come ’round too often any more any how. Fine by me. It’s not like I ain’t got my beeber tapes. Batteries. Nina has batteries. Cash. I’m sittin’ on it. Someone carries me they’re a king. But no one carries anyone.

That’s funny. I thought I knew everything was to know about boatin’, the water. I took classes. I made a livin’. I just can’t get goin’. I had it down to a science. An art. I thought I knew everything about the water. Except why it’s hotter here.