The ferry hit the dock softly, but its music was loud, as if to shut out all argument about its purpose for being there.
“A long December, and there’s reason to believe… maybe this year will be better than the last.”
We sang along as we boarded, tickets in hand, shirts proclaiming our allegiance, because it was the time we had marked on our calendars so many months before… finally here.
I went to the top deck as the song changed, shifted into another one of their hits, but we all kept singing along. Some up there were already drunk, as if they’d been drinking since noon, but at least they weren’t driving.
“She is standing by the water, as a smile begins to curl.”
I saw her sitting demurely, mid-deck, and I knew I was in love, but maybe it was just lust, or interest, or simply an acknowledgment that we were both there. Which was also enough.
I sat next to her for the rest of the trip, across to Jersey, as I’d done so many times before. We smiled at each other and kept singing, but we didn’t talk. The music was enough.
Back on land, and the amphitheater blasted another song from the band. We kept singing, all of us together, all of us in unison, though we mostly sounded bad. But we didn’t hear ourselves. We heard our connection, and it was blissful.
“Children in bloom, cooking in the sun, waiting for a room of our own.”
It was our room, and we were content.