The summer sun came through my closed eyelids in waves of pink and orange. The sea rocked us in its lazy way, while the breeze kept the smell of salt in my nostrils. A week out of Mar del Plata we had provisions a plenty and an ocean of adventure ahead of us.

“Where ya at, Stubing?”

“Joke never gets old, does it?”

“You should really wear a hat.”

I huffed and went back in my head, back to you. Weeks in the Galapagos, nights in Tortuga, a winter in Belize, and untold days at sea all bowed in deference to the dream of you, the memory of what might have been, the life of normalcy, a job, two kids, and maybe a dog. My eyes crept open to see a gull soar slowly by into a headwind, but I saw only you, drifting into the past, going by as I sailed on.

“Seriously, Mack. Where are you at?”

I tried to shake it off, turn from the expanse and offer an answer, “Just lost in a dream, I guess, an ordinary dream”

“Well quit it for a bit, and reef those sails. We’ve a troubled sky ahead.”

“Aye aye, skipper.”