Midnight Vessel

There was something about walking along the beach beneath the stars that was addicting. The sand between his toes, moisture hanging heavily in the air, the sheen the salt left on his skin. He loved hearing the waves crashing against the shore - smashing the jetty. A constant rolling that echoed out into the night. The perfect background noise. Something he couldn't resist. It called to him - goading him to sneak out into the early hours of the morning. Leave his warm bed for the cold sand.

Growing up on the coast, it was instilled in the young boys that there was nothing more magical than the ocean. It was large. Powerful. Demanded respect. Everyones' fathers had grown up riding the waves, working the nets, providing for their families. And before that, their grandfathers, and great grandfathers did the same. It was something that was passed from generation to generation. Almost inevitable. Part of their DNA. And for him it was no different. From the first moment he had stepped into the waves, he knew he wanted to end up on the sea.

It had been there for a while. Well before he could remember. The adults in town had always said it was a reminder of the last big storm. The one that brought with it days of rain, vicious swells, brooding, towering clouds, and rising tides. It had set the community back for some time. Businesses were flooded, lives lost - houses were even sucked back out into the sea, tumbled against the ocean floor and pulverized to nothing more than tiny pieces of drift wood. Now it sat there, perched on its side - stranded. The elements had not been kind - the sun had bleached the color from the paint, the salt in the air had seeped into the grain and caused it to buckle, splintering the wood - its windows had broken long ago.

But to him it still looked perfect.

Each night as he walked up to it, he'd smile - hand held out, just waiting for the moment his figures graced the rough grain. He knew exactly where it was in the dark - visited it so many times - the number of steps before he touched it, yet he still was anxious. He'd walk around it a couple times, just eying it up and down. Taking in every little inch of its hull - imaging how bright the paint used to be - how beautiful it must of been when it strode proudly across the waves. After a few laps, he would crawl inside and make his way to wheel - taking the now slightly rusted metal in his hands. And there he would stand, for hours at a time, turning it back and forth, gazing out over the bow into the darkness of the morning. Just him. He had no shipmates. No deck hands. This was his vessel and he was in charge. Each night it was different. Sometimes he'd have to battle towering swells, other times he'd be gliding along, able to leave the wheel and walk around the deck.

As soon as the noise of the ocean began to die down, when the waves were sucked back along with the tide, he'd gingerly crawl out of the ship and circle it a few more times. Eventually bidding it farewell and continuing along the beach, back towards home.

When he got back to the house, he made sure to wipe his feet extra carefully, tracking in as few grains of sand as he could. He loved walking through the den, empty and quiet - the shadows from the moon playing off the walls and ceiling. Sneaking up the stairs, he avoided the ones that squeaked, hopeful that his parents didn't hear him making his way back to his room. They had scolded him before, but he hadn't been caught in some time. It was invigorating. To sail the seas at night.

The risk was worth it.