Dream Reader

Someone asked me why do I write? After awkwardly stumbling over my words, I found my stride and told them it was just apart of me. Writing is a release, and a source of mystery and excitement and love. I can’t imagine a world without writing.

Their next question caught me off guard. “Who is your dream reader?” The person I would send a thousand postcards to just to get them to read my jumble of words and phrases. After scratching my head and giving a little smirk I answered with “the one I spend the rest of my life with.”

Honestly, after sifting through celebrities, friends, acquaintances and loved ones, I couldn’t imagine any better feeling than having the one I love geek out with joy over one of my writings. Now, call me a romantic if you like, but here’s to you mystery girl. This one’s for you.

A Boat Called “Layla”

There was this dream floating around that I would own a boat one day and sail the seven seas. I figured “why not?” The seas aren’t going anywhere and pirates are probably really nice people. I was 7.

But to be honest with my 7-year old self, it was never really about the open water or befriending pirates; it was about the boat – “Layla”. You see, Layla and I were destined to share in great adventures with one another. I would take care of her, paint her and scrub scallops from her underbelly, and she would get me through the storms and unexpected tides of the deep blue. And hey, if we did meet pirates Layla and I would be the best hosts they would have the fortune to meet.

As the story would have it, I met Layla on an old dock in Maine’s northeastern shore at the first dim light of evening. I would remember it so well because as the sun was just setting this particular eve, she was the only jewel still glowing. Her pearl white complexion contrasted with utter perfection against her deep oak wood belly. The sails, smoothly caressed by the wind and gently splashed sea water, beckoned for a captain worthy to sail such an elegant craft.

The next morning she was mine.

From that morning on, I had a duty. A commitment to Layla and to myself that I would take care of what was mine and she would be the best looking boat in any dock we set anchor in.

Layla wasn’t perfect when we met. But Lord knows I wasn’t either. We started with her. A fine scrub did her well and new intricately sewn sails were all so fitting for a boat of her stature. A fresh paint job did us both in; bringing her a beauty that was untouchable and developed in me strong character. The interior needed work too. There was that cabinet that would never stay shut, and, oh, that flickering light in the bathroom drove me nearly mad.

Layla taught me something more, however. There are some things that shouldn’t be fixed. They don’t need to be. You learn to love them all the more because of their quirkiness and imperfections. It’s what gives them character and they soak into the deepest part of your heart.

Layla put up with me as well. Especially in the early days when I was so rough with her sails and could never catch the current just right. She never let us tip though. I give credit to her patience with me. And before long we made it. And when we did, we realized something. The seven seas were ours. The open skies and all the deep blue water we could want was at our fingertips. To this day, I believe our bond was certified by this moment. A sort of marriage if you will.

But that’s as far as the story goes for now. My imagination can’t push out another drop of possible adventures quite yet. Perhaps I’m waiting to meet my own “Layla” to share in adventures with. My life isn’t at a stand still and I’m not in agony that the story is currently incomplete. But I’m hopeful that one day “Layla” and I will search those seven seas. And that we will see unforgetable sites and turn strangers into comrades. By the way, I’m sure pirates are really nice people. See you soon “Layla”.

Context for “A Boat Called Layla” here.