#8: Rearview

Summer had come and gone that year, shorter than usual. Before long, it was time to go. It wasn't until the harbor was almost out of sight that he noticed all that he had given up. It would be three years before he came back. At least that's what he thought.

He already stood, watching the harbor shrink and roll over the world, composing a letter to her in his mind.The air, the smells, the sounds. One of the few aboard that wouldn't be undergoing backbreaking toil over these years, he had his own quarters and as much ink and paper as he could use. Volumes, he swore to her, he would write and send volumes aboard every homeward bound ship they came across. And the three years would feel like nothing.

But he didn't come back. Someone else in his skin, did. Solemn, tempered, and distant. He had given up much more than he thought he had that day. And it was as if that passing summer ha just fallen off the branch for her.

She didn't recognize him in his rags disembarking the ship. He walked past, coming close enough to smell her. And she still didn't see him. It was evident, then, that he wasn't the same. He kept walking.

Issue Six Index