Inside my cabin, deck 9, #516, I could hear nothing. Silence so absolute, I feel I could hear silence itself. The cabin looked out onto the moving sea. I was situated near the forward part of the ship, port side. From my round window, I could see the underside of the bridge. At night, I left the curtains open, no light, except what the moon sent.
Walking around the ship, sailing in the middle of the ocean, I felt that I was on the verge of understanding something very important. I don’t know if this was about myself, my family, my life, the world, or nothing in particular, but it set in my mind. The ship was at times, overwhelming in distraction. Music, food, alcohol, beautiful people, ugly people, the sea, a movie, a show — my cabin became a refuge. That, along with the lounge on deck 12, where Ethel, the bartender took care of me each evening.
Her: You’re a writer?
Me: I am.
Her: This lounge gets all the writers.
I took that as a good sign. She made a good negroni, which she said was an “odd drink for the ship”. The lounge was quiet before dinner but turned into the dance club around 10PM. I liked it then, too, because I wasn’t always a writer, I was also a person. Deck #4 was also calm. The starboard side was for smokers, but you could walk the entire circumference of the ship on deck #4, and I did, often. It was where you could play shuffleboard. The music was kept low. The lounge chairs were often empty.
I built a routine:
Morning walk along the track on deck #12
Breakfast on deck #11
Pool on deck #11 (opposite end)
Lunch on deck #5
Pool on deck #11 (possible water slide on deck #12)
Nap on deck #11, adult pool, or, in my cabin.
Coffee on deck #5
Pool on deck #11
Shower and change for the evening in my cabin, deck #9
Drink on deck #12
Dinner in the dining room on deck #4
A show on deck #5
Each deck was cluttered with neighbours, people who I came to know. Ethel the bartender. Subeesh the waiter. Evic the room attendant. Each one remembers my name, like someone I’ve lived next to for years.
Evic: Good morning. How did you sleep?
Me: Always excellent.
Evic: I’m glad to hear. Anything you need?
I realized, one day when we were cruising, laying in a lounger on deck #11 near the adult pool, watching a woman eat a chocolate ice cream that was dripping on her leg, that I felt seen. My therapist would understand this, immediately, even if it was being seen to the point of getting a tip, but no matter, I let it go, and I gave into it. I felt at home, which is a feeling you know, not something you can find. I knew it. I think feeling seen is part of the feeling of home. I wrote this down in my notebook, then saw the woman with the ice cream bobbing in the pool holding a Corona, looking quite chuffed.
Later at dinner, Subeesh had a glass of Champagne waiting, as was my custom, and told me what to avoid on the menu, which I always respected. My family arrived, all of us looking fresh, rested, awake, sunkissed. We talked about nothing. A refreshing respite from the world, which still existed, we knew, but seemed distant, far off, aloof. We existed on ship time, which seemed made up, but it was ours. We owned it. Ship time was no one else’s time but ours and if we wanted, it could cease to exist too.
"I liked it then, too, because I wasn’t always a writer, I was also a person."
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