Emerson and Spencer

chapter three

Emerson later had a couple of turns steering, though she quickly returned the control to Spencer. She trusted him more than herself with skippering. He navigated the ocean with ease, their boat bobbing over forming waves, turning with the wind. They sailed towards the mooring point for the night- they were sleeping on their vessel. As she drifted into sleep, her mind wandering, she found herself thinking about Spencer, the guy who took in the old friend with no sailing experience and taught her.

What seemed like minutes later, Emerson was awoken by screeching seagulls. It was morning, judging by the sun, about seven o'clock. Spencer was already up, checking the sails et cetera. He looked up from a set of graphs as she rose.  

"Hey." He flashed a grin and gestured for Emerson to come forward. "So, soon, Trev's gonna give the briefing, over his megaphone thing. Then, we're gonna sail north until the day ends. K?"

"I've got you, and you seem to know what you're doing. So I'm good."

They continued checking the instruments, then had breakfast, until

Trev's gravelly voice filled the air.

"Now's the turning point- past today, there's no going back home until the rest of the four days is up. Those who wish to back out, find a boat and all board it now." Everyone looked around. No one moved. No one was leaving. They were all acutely aware of the dangers of the open sea, yet those same dangers didn't seem quite real.

And when Emerson had untied the knots that held the anchor in place, and Spencer had pulled the last sail up the mast, they set sail to open water.

The further north they went, Emerson noticed, the glassier the water became. The warmer the splashes on her face. The more dolphins and other aquatic wildlife they shared the ocean with... And the distance from land grew. This set Em on edge- but it was hard to feel that way with Spencer assuring her that she was in safe hands, and the water is calmer here anyway. Time then flew by.

 They talked, while taking in their surroundings; it truly was beautiful on the open water. She felt the warm water shoot through the air and wet her hair in small splashes, as the waves bobbed beneath the boat. She smelt the salt, and the fresh air; air pure and free of fragrance, odor or smoke, unlike the land they had left behind. She tasted the salt, too, its savory flavour dancing over her tongue. She heard the creaking of the ropes, the swoosh of the mainsail, the ripples of the waves and the calls and jeers of the seafowl that littered the skies. She saw the ocean spread beneath her, sparkling as if made of liquid glass, the cerulean glow of the water; their subtle ripples, the cobalt patches of swell against lapis lazuli water. The simple elegance of the vessel she also noticed for the first time- it’s sleek hull, the colour of ivory; striped with navy motifs and curly lettering. Ropes of all colours dangled above her, a faded coral tint being the most common shade. A tiller with a neat handle and carved fiberglass seats sat beside her, glinting coolly in the sunlight. A deck made of timber and parquetted, stained a luxurious oak colour, spread beneath, obviously so old yet remaining grandeur. And a sail, in itself a thing of splendour, it’s shiny material flickering in the wind, flapping in a movement that reminded Emerson of a bird flying. And they were flying, over the water, in their boat, skillfully controlled.

"Where did you learn to skipper like that?" Emerson asked. Spencer was a remarkably good skipper.

"Uh, my dad was a sailor. He was great. He taught me, while he could."

"Oh. What happened to him?"

"Remember that Jakarta hotel bombing? My dad got his left arm blown off." Spencer spoke in a dull, flat voice so unlike his own cheerful ring.  Emerson was speechless.

"I'm... I'm sorry."

"It's ok. Not your fault. And he's doing ok now, so things are getting better." He smiled sadly.

They avoided the topic of their parents after that, because it was painful to talk about for both of them. But there was no parents, no bullies, no siblings, no teachers, no other humans for kilometers; no one. Just them two. And that was perfect; there was something about each other that made the other feel better, like everything was going to be alright.

When Emerson had finally, fully relaxed again, it was dusk, and the sun was sneakily slipping below the horizon in an amber glow. She lowered the anchor and Spencer lowered the mainsail. He shoved it into a watertight compartment, along with his bag.

"Wanna have your stuff in here too?" He had asked.

"Nah, I'm all good."

She went below deck, and fell into sleep, when she was woken minutes later by Spencer whispering her name.

"Em. Wake up. There's something I have to show you."