Ferry bound

I’ve been found in the prone position on the floor of a ship or two in my day, so while I was apprehensive about taking the ferry home from work, I found myself in the dock queue on the most perfect day of the year when the sky sparkled a bright blue and the boats in the harbor bobbed contentedly in cheerful reds and blues. My friend went straight to the bar while I snagged us some sunny seats on the top deck and proceeded to exhale in a way that was not hyperventalitive but relaxing.

We left the Boston skyline in our wake, cruised by the Harbor Islands, the egg digesters at the waste water treatment facility (cuter than you’d think), and enjoyed a flat, incident-free sail. No passing out or scrambling for lifejackets. I’m sure my fashionable motion sickness wrist bands stabbing my pressure points helped, if only to make me look like Olivia Newton John and her sweatbanded self. The strong sea breeze offered relief from the heat of late and it was pleasantly chilly as we hugged the North Shore towns and beaches, rounding the corner into Marblehead and its painfully quaint harbor before sliding up to the dock in Salem to be greeted by the picturesque monolith of a power plant. Ah, home!

I might of even taken the ferry like a big girl, alone, to work the next day where I arrived with unusually windswept hair and the relaxed demeanor of a sailor, long at sea, arriving at his home port.


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