The Old Boat

I walked thirty three steps to the shore. Something white caught my eye. It was the hull of a boat upside down in the muddy bank. I touched it. There was another white boat in my memory. It was fuzzy, I could only touch the fringes of it.

I pushed on the boat. It didn’t budge. I knew I needed it. I dug my hands into the mud, and heaved and hefted and pushed until the boat passed the point where gravity would pull it over. I climbed inside and sat. I looked at the sun dancing on the ripples. It was golden.

“What are you doing!?” he’d exclaimed as he smacked a paper from my hands. It was burning, bright golden flames licking the edges. He was mad at me. I began to cry.

The boat began bobbing on the shore. It slowly drifted away from the mud and out to the middle of the lake. The breeze blew my hair.

I was leaning into the wind, my hair flying back as the smooth white vessel rocked over the waves. “Do you want to go faster?” He’d asked me. I looked down and his hands were over mine on the wheel.

I blinked.

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