7

               Normally I’d go out at least thirty miles before stopping, but I knew that I didn’t have the time for that. Instead I went out around fifteen and anchored the boat. Ondine and made small talk on the way there, talking about various shallow subjects. She asked me about my work (as usual), and I asked her about her school. She was in a ballet school in New York about an hour away. When she told me that, I wondered why she felt she could not live up to what her parents expected. I got the impression that ballet was an art form that took a lot of discipline, but I didn’t question her.

               By the time I’d stopped the boat, Ondine had begun to look a bit green in the face. I asked her if she was alright and offered her a bottle of water, but she brushed me off and left the control room out to the deck. I sighed. I figured it wasn’t a typical way to court a woman; taking her out to sea spontaneously and all. But she did say she had never been, and what harm was there in showing her something new? I forced myself out of my chair and grabbed a water bottle from the cooler, then walked out onto the deck to join her.

               She looked so perfect. She leaned against the edge of the boat even though waves rocked it back and forth. Her face wore a fearless, yet fascinated expression. The breeze gently lifted her hair, and the sunlight that managed to break through the clouds reflected in her eyes and shone on the contours of her face – high cheekbones, a narrow jawline, and a thin nose. Her white, loose-fitting blouse ruffled in the wind, and the ends of her wool scarf danced over her shoulders and chest. She turned to look at me, and her mouth lifted into a smile. I lost my balance and nearly fell over, and she hurried over to help me.

               “Are you okay?” she asked, throwing her arms around me to help me.

               “I’m fine, I’m fine,” I insisted, stepping away. “I just…I got you a water.”

               “Thank you,” she said hesitantly, cocking an eyebrow. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

               “I really am okay,” I told her, looking her straight in the eye. She grinned at me.

               “You’ve got like what, five years on me? You should be way more than okay.” She chuckled. I couldn’t help it. I smiled back at her, then handed her the water bottle. She twisted it open and drank a bit of it, then handed it back to me. She folded her arms over her chest and looked back out at the ocean. “So this is the Atlantic?” I nodded. “It’s cold.” I grinned.

               “What were you expecting?” I asked with a smug grin.

               “Shut up,” she laughed. “I don’t know. I told you I’ve never been to sea.”

               My small bout of laughter died down, and I sighed. I noticed her hands were trembling and her teeth were chattering. I could feel my face fall, and was grateful she was looking out at the water. I took off my heavy jacket and put it over her shoulders. She turned and looked up at me, and our eyes met. For a moment I think she understood, and I could see the vulnerability, then fear, in her eyes. She broke her gaze and looked down at her feet, then back out to ocean. I stepped back and sat down on the bench, which was more of a ledge built into the side of the boat. I had forgotten what it felt like to be out in the Atlantic without a jacket, and savored the cold sting.

               After what seemed like forever, but could only have been a matter of minutes, Ondine turned around and came to sit next to me. She didn’t say anything, but I noticed she’d put arms through the sleeves of my jacket and had her hands shoved into the pockets. It was so big on her; it made her figure that much more diminutive. Her eyes were locked on the ground in front of her. I checked multiple times to see what she was looking at. I don’t know why I did it. I knew she was lost in thought. I don’t know why I wanted to make her so much simpler than she was. Maybe I was afraid of who she might be. Perhaps I was trying to deny what conclusions I could have possibly drawn from what I knew about her. WhiIe did not believe that any single element of her could ruin the rest of her, I did not know that for a fact.

               “I’m not a very good dancer.” Her voice surprised me.

               “What makes you say that?”

               “I just know,” she said, shaking her head. “The other girls look so beautiful when they dance. They’re so effortless and perfect, and I wonder how I got into this school.”

               “You must be skillful if you got into a ballet school,” I told her. “Don’t say that you’re not good. What have others said?”

               “They don’t notice me.”

               Her words stung me. She was so beautiful and so kind. How could the world fail to make her feel unremarkable, when she was anything but?

               “I noticed you,” I said quietly.

               She looked up at me, perplexed. “What do you mean?”

               “You’re not like any other woman I see on a day-to-day basis,” I explained reluctantly, wringing my callused hands together. “You stand out. You’re beautiful, and charming, and kind. You intimidate me, actually.”

               Her laugh gave me shivers. “Well, thank you,” she said, breathing deeply. “But I guess not everyone sees me that way.” She looked up at me with a dry smile, and I put my arm around her and gave her a gentle squeeze. Her head rested on my shoulder, and I felt like I was holding the whole world with just one arm. It frightened me. But it was a good kind of fear –sharp, sweet, falling.

               We were adrift.