In the late summer afternoons, I would ride my bike to the marina where the big boats were. The gangways were always locked. So I just stood behind the gate and stared at the boats, imagining what it would be like to stand at the wheel, back out of the slip, head up the channel, turn south, and keep going. Even then I didn’t want to be the boy behind the gate. I wanted to be the one at the wheel calling, “Cast off the bow, we’re headed to sea.”
Damn, that makes me want to go sailing again . . .
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