Time through Human Eyes

Chapter 1

This simple moment could be one of the happiest of my life. I am standing outside a deserted convenience store picking through post cards I don't plan to buy, and he is standing across from me looking at post cards I know he hasn't thought about buying, smiling. Another warm, sunny December day passes. A million miles away from home, at least – a million miles away from everyday life, everyday thoughts. No cooking, washing, cleaning. No mail to collect, no alarm to set; no work. No responsibilities of any kind. In another city, altogether different country, we met. A year ago. James joined a company I worked for, sparked an instant interest between us. In weeks, we were secretly dating. In less than six months – we had our engagement. For someone else it might seem hurried, for us, it was perfect timing.

His dark-blonde hair away from his face, eyes the colour of clear blue-sky, stare back at me; he's the most handsome man I have met. He stands just shy of six feet tall, couple inches taller than me. Wears a suit most days for work – I like him dressed down. He is wearing dark-blue jeans, a light blue t-shirt. I waste hours looking at him – we married, seventy-eight hours ago. A cool summer's day wedding, under tall, flowering trees, preceded a marquee reception in the same landscaped gardens. Decorated the marquee was in assorted coloured flowers, crystal led-light chandeliers throughout – closest friends, family invited. A small wedding left more money for the important part, our honeymoon. In sunny Florida, room service is great. In a quaint hotel, on its private beach, we spend time.

"Come on," James says taking my hand; we walk. Air is warm, as if a blanket brushing up against my skin. Chatter of strangers talking musical, mixing in with different songs playing from one store to another.

We walk to nowhere. I burrow into him that bit closer.

"I love you," he whispers into my hair. I think of how much I love him – I don't reply. He looks down at his watch. I feel him instantly tense. "We're going to be late," he says at an incredible speed.

"Late for what?" he pulls at my hand to run. I knew he was up to something; he asked me to wear a favourite dress. I put on the cherry print dress he likes. Matched the dress with my beige, wooden-wedge heels – coincidently, a bad choice for running. "Late for what?" I yell out. We hurry down a quiet street, banana trees overgrowing in residential front yards. At its end the street meets warm coastal waters of the Gulf of Mexico.

"I made a reservation for a dinner cruise. They have the best seafood. We're not missing it, so run," we keep running. At the pier we see a large ship with multi-coloured light bulbs hung across its railings, three tall masts. It's a beautiful black and gold historical tall ship, the kind men slaved on many years ago. On the side of the ship, in large, fancy, white script, reads its name – 'New Beginnings.' Crewmembers busy packing the detachable bridge from the pier, pull at ropes leading to the ship. We run faster – passing an elderly couple along the way that appear to be racing at snail speed trying to reach the same ship. James sprints ahead – reaches the crew first, he waves a hand in my direction, tries convince them to wait. "Just a few more minutes," he finishes saying. I reach him. One of the crewmembers agrees to let us on board; we make them wait for the elderly couple.

Guided by various workers we pass along the way, we run a short flight of stairs. The stairs lead to a finely decorated, wooden-trimmed dining area that stretches all the way out to the back of the ship. An attractive blonde woman, dressed in crew's uniform of red shirts, navy pants, matching silk floral scarfs – greets us. She collects a couple of menus, leads us to a table by a window. Placing our drinks order before we have seated, we ask for cocktails, leave type to her; we set a challenge at the start of our trip to try every blend of cocktail. Slumping into our booth seat, we smile at each other in triumph. The ship begins to coast across calm, turquoise water. James explains how he planned this dinner over the last two days. He talks about how the ship is renowned for amazing food – it is one of the rare places you can get a piece of truly authentic Key lime pie – unlike greenie custard varieties sold over the counter. Booked out for weeks in advance, he convinced a receptionist to prioritise our booking, in case of a cancellation. A stroke of luck or sheer persistence, here we are.