Ship Notes

 

Ship Notes

Noel Laflin

10-10-24

 

There's a little boy following his mother, who is guiding her sight impaired husband to a dining room table.

 

The boy is dressed in tan shorts, a super hero tee shirt, and purple Crocs; he skips as he follows. He looks to be maybe five or six years old.

 

Mother wears a finely flowing billowy sun dress. It's a brilliant yellow. She smiles serenely. Radiant comes to mind.

 

Father has long blond hair, his ponytail tied back in a plain leather wrap. His cane is a wooden beauty with carved roses climbing both up and down the grain. It looks to be made of highly polished cherry wood. He wears an Indiana Jones type hat. Overall, he's one cool looking cat as he confidentiality taps his staff, his wife's right hand ever so lightly clutching his left elbow, guiding him effortlessly, but most efficiently, through crowds and obstacles.

 

They reach their table, sit and begin to chat. The boy squirms out of his chair and into his father's lap. Father strokes his son's hair, leans down to deeply inhale, then gently finds the young face. Fingers map small smooth features in a familiar way - chin, lips, nose, eye lids closed in anticipation of that final touch. They both smile. Mother still looks radiant.

 

Feeling like a interloper (guilty as charged), I quickly go back to the book I'm reading, having lost where I'd left off a moment before.

 

I finally find my place. But before I do, I think first that I may never take sight for granted ever again, as the family seated at the table near the window looking out to sea - although they only seem to have eyes and inner vision for one another - is an image I never wish to forget.