Ocean Liner

The propellers of the ocean liner churned a whitewater wake that frothed straight out and calmed to a steady swirl. Starting from the bow, huge swells slanted back in an expanding, oblique trail that rolled out toward the northern and southern horizons until, somewhere out of sight, the wake was met by the greater ocean and absorbed back to the sea's natural sway. The firecoin midday sun had shimmered down to its last purplish black and the streaming lights and revelry echoes from the ship began to amplify out into the endless, oceanic night.

The engine cut off for a second and everyone felt that their hearing was suddenly given back to them, but then the motor clicked on and the whine and chug of the turbines returned. Water slapped the hull, and the boat rocked slightly, but no one seemed to notice except Charles, who sat alone in a lifeboat playing beautiful guitar songs. His stomach lurched and stirred and he stopped playing abruptly and let down his guitar with a vibrating discord. Milling passengers straightened their backs and craned their heads to determine the origin of the dissonance while Charles looked ahead into the coming night where the horizon used to be, taking deep breaths.

The people who lined the decks and balconies to enjoy the sunset were now shuffling down to the dining room for drinks and dinner. The tradewinds turned cold and the people were rubbing their upper arms and using beachtowels as shawls. Charles disregarded them and continued to breathe and look out. In the daytime, the blue ocean melded with the blue sky creating a seemingly infinite, distant space in every direction, but the nighttime closed that distance with blackness, making the space more intimate. When Charles stared out into the darkness, he felt better and waited for what he thought was the last passenger to descend into the ship's belly to eat and dine and dance before taking back his guitar and composing new songs for the grand abyss now surrounding him.

He wrote elaborate and cryptic hymns and sung them with blind earnest. He sat back on the lifeboat seat, strumming, and imagined that beyond the lapping ocean was an audience somewhere, and that his songs met the distance between them all.

"Hey, that's pretty good." said a girl, sauntering through the decklights with her arms crossed.
"Thank you." Charles was surprised and stopped playing. He felt her pass behind him, and he turned around to only see her silhouette.
"Why don't you come on the boat?" she said.
"I am on the boat."
"You're on the lifeboat. I think you can get in trouble for that."
"So what?" Charles thought for a second. "I might be saving myself, you never know."
"From what? The next Titanic iceberg." she snorted.
Charles sighed, "No, I don't know."
"You should come play for all of us. The guy who plays the piano in the lounge is so awful. You're so much better."
"No thanks. I don't feel like it."
"Well, you want to come watch a movie with all of us or something?"
"No. Not right now. Thanks, though."
"Can I sit out here and listen?"
"No, no. What the fuck?"
"Jeez, I was just trying to be nice." Then sarcastically, "I'll leave you to it then, asshole." Charles wished she would leave him alone. He almost dove down into the ocean to feel its steely cold against his skin as the girl screamed out in confusion and regret. He almost smashed the guitar on the starboard rail and handed it to her like a broken promise. He even considered apologizing and jumping aboard to follow her belowdeck to wherever that stereomusic was coming from. But he didn't. He simply sat there unmoving and considered the darkness before him. After a beat, Charles heard flipflops clicking away, and he turned and said, "Can I ask you something?"
"Yea, sure."
"When are we going back? You know, like ashore?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about," she said. He almost called out to her again, but let her go.