Return to Civilization

The built in bench seat that surrounded the steering column in the rear of the boat was perfect for stretching out and catching a few rays. Clad in only a pair of shorts, Christopher had to be careful not to fall asleep. A serious sunburn was something he did not need. The beer was as refreshing as a hot meal to a starving Eskimo. He finished the first bottle in three big gulps, propped up his feet, and rested his head on the bench. The soft lap of water against the hull and the gentle clang of the rope against the yard arm lulled him to sleep.

The sharp wail of yet another seagull awoke him before a deep burn could set in. His chest and the tops of his legs were pink though, and the hard bench had produced a crick in his neck. The remedy was another cold beer.

He went below, reached down into the icy comfort of the cooler, and plucked out another bottle. This time he remained in a sitting position on the bench seat. If he were to fall asleep again, he might not be so lucky as to have his friend the seagull around to wake him.

He squinted into the distance, trying to make out the outline of buildings and hotels tucked neatly into the endless expanse of beach. Suddenly, he missed civilization with a passion. He needed people. He needed conversation…even if only for a while.