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Words on Water
By Ryan Dale
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1

I will tell you my story, though I cannot tell you how it began, because I honestly don’t remember. I don’t know how I came to be in that boat; all I know is that one morning I opened my eyes, and all I could see was the fog. I looked up, into the sky, straining to see anything but gray, but to no avail. I sat up and looked around, and feeling the sway of the boat, I scanned the vague edge of the fog for any sign of land, but there was none – just the calm, flat water in all directions.
          It was a cold morning – at least, I think it was morning. I couldn’t see the sun through the haze, so I couldn’t really tell what time of day it was, and I had no idea how long I had been asleep. For that matter, I didn’t know what day it was either; I couldn’t seem to remember how I got there. All I knew for sure was that I was alone – completely alone. After a while my mind began to share with me it’s crazy thoughts, and I felt the strongest urge to find someone, though I didn’t know which direction would give the greatest hope of contact with anyone who might be out there. For all I knew I might start rowing away from land that was just beyond the reach of my senses, obscured by this persistent cover of fog. I called out, hoping to hear a reply, but doubting it would come. If anyone was answering I didn’t hear it; the fog seemed to be capturing any sound from beyond it.
          The more I sat in the boat, unable to sense how long I was there thinking and considering my dilemma, the more I knew that I couldn’t stay where I was and I had to go one way or the other. I needed answers, and I was certain that I would not find any in this tiny wooden craft that I found myself in – or perhaps I should say, lost myself in. Did I get into this boat intending to go somewhere in particular, or was I just out for a relaxing time of floating on the water? Could it be that I was put in this boat without my knowledge by someone else? If so, what were their intentions? Where had I come from, and was anyone looking for me?
          The oars sat along the bottom of the small boat which was big enough for maybe four people. At least I had a way to move the boat, and it didn’t seem to be leaking, so I figured that things could be worse. I could have found myself floating in the water with nothing to hold onto, and no hope of finding land. The boat could have been stuck in a muddy swamp, and I would have struggled to move anywhere at all. I suddenly felt blessed to be in a seemingly solid, well-built boat with two oars and two good arms.
          Once again I looked around at all the fog, which seemed to be getting closer, and I slowly lowered the oars into the peaceful liquid beneath me. Then I turned the boat around a few times, and finally, I began to move in greater and greater circles – moving away from my starting point, out into the fog. I thought that perhaps I might be close to the shore, and moving in circles would help me find in which direction it was, but my eyes saw nothing new. Reluctantly, I decided on one direction and gave up navigation to the flow of the quiet water.