A boat trip around the Firth of Forth

By Conan D’Agostino

Having somehow wriggled off the hook of routine, we looked at each other, our smiles flickering between nervousness of the alien and excitement for the novel and our hands clasped tighter than usual as we waited. There were other people present, as there always are, everywhere, but they appeared as if mannequins – dotted around to create the illusion this experience wasn’t solely for our enrichment but freely available to anyone. However, having quickly sussed out the ruse, we paid them no heed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The boat gently backed away from the pier, turned and headed out to sea. To sea! Our eyes widened as we drank in sights that had been denied us for so long we doubted their actual existence – stoic rocks home to birds resting from their aggressive pursuits in the city (your city now); blubbery seals tired of appearing in nature documentaries for our entertainment, basking peacefully; ancient churches peering out at us hopefully from islands barely large enough to house them.

We went under bridges we had only ever been over and revelled in this privileged secret being whispered to us. Future somnolent journeys by car and train far above our heads would forever be suddenly awakened as we peered downwards to where we are now, secretly acknowledging to the other what you will never know.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The rain departed with an apologetic bow for its insolence and we ventured upstairs to the deck. Our childish sense of freedom, seemingly through a chemical reaction with the breeze and the spray, increased tenfold. We made jokes about sea-legs and land-lubbers; we saluted in photographs; with gross exaggeration, we breathed in the sea air; we looked at other vessels and felt a kinship with the strangers on-board; we stared down utterly transfixed at the wake behind the boat (our boat now); and, we looked briefly at the land in the distance before quickly turning away in the hope it would get the hint and disappear.

 

 

 

 

 

My beer bottle clinked against her wine glass and I wished her happy birthday. She smiled, thanked me for the surprise, kissed me and we spoke of our love for each other – the words sounding so much more poetic when uttered far away from the curved, soul-piercing hook of the hum-drum. For the remainder of the journey, we looked out to sea savouring every second, pleased they belonged to two not one.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We descended the gangway onto land without disappointment that our escape had come to its inevitable end but with contentment. We had been on a boat trip – that is all. And that was everything. It had reminded us that we are not permitted simply to exist; we can sometimes, only sometimes mind you, actually live and smile and laugh with innocence and warmth and love. Emotions trampled into the ground on land are generously proffered at sea. That is the gift we both received that day, even though it was her birthday, not mine.