“Where the Hell did it all go?!” Mooney growled as he tossed his butt into the murky waters around the dock. There was a heavy fog on the water this morning, and in spite of his heavy jacket and toque he shivered. It wasn’t just the cold.

“I don’t know,” replied Sully. His look was grim as he scratched his beard. He looked from side to side and seemed uneasy. The air had the aroma of fish from the fishing ships a few peers down. The taste of salt was in the air, and the creak of metal as the ships shift in the water. There was the sound of waves and the slap of waves against the ship haul and cement of the pier. There was almost no other sound along the docks at the early hour.

“You have the manifest?” asked Mooney. Sully pulled it from his jacket and handed it over. “I don’t understand. When I talked to Chen he assured me that the containers were on the ship. We checked the whole upper deck and they aren’t there. The manifest says it should be on the starboard side of the deck as well” he said violently pointing to the manifest.

“Maybe they made an error on the manifest and the containers were stowed below,” suggested Sully. He looked around again, but saw nothing but shifting fog and shadows under the dim glow of the pier lights.

“Well we might as well go and check again.”

“Even if we don’t find it this morning we can always check later. After all it is not like we are smuggling people.”

“I didn’t get up at three in the morning to freeze for nothing,” replied Mooney as they climbed up the ramp onto the ship. He pulled out a flashlight and turned it on. The two made their way to the door along the 3rd deck and opened a door. They stepped through into the dark and looked for a layout on the wall.

“There is storage two more decks down.” They continued on their way. They could hear their boots clank on the latticed metal steps. The two could hear creaks and groans, and squeak of rats that has stowed away on the ship. The beam of light moved through the pitch black space of the cargo hold. As the two moved forward it seemed almost as if the shaft of light was growing more narrow. A slight hum also began to fill the air.

“We need more light.”

“You should have brought a flashlight then.”

“I’m serious. Something seems off.”

“Just shut up and follow me, and you damn well better not grab hold of my jacket or hand.”

“Do you hear that noise.”

“Look there are rows of containers. Look for our numbers. If they aren’t on the surface they must be here.”

“I don’t see them.”

“There’s a lot more containers to search.” Suddenly there was a large bang and both the men jumped. Mooney shone the flashlight all around him searching for the source of the sound. Then the beam of light began to flicker and soon went out.

“Shit!”

“What happened?”

“Hell if I know. Old batteries maybe.”

“How do we get out of here if we don’t have light?”

“I’m not an idiot. I put some other batteries in my pocket. Give me a second.” Mooney shoved his hand into his pocket and felt around for the weight of the batteries and gripped the smooth cylinders. He felt himself shivering, and it had grown quite cold: freezing. He unscrewed the top of the flashlight. He dumped out the batteries and failed to catch one and heard the clink as if hit the floor. He inserted the new batteries and tried to screw on the top, but there was no light.

“It’s gotten really cold,” said Sully.

“Damn.”

“What is it?”

“I put the batteries in wrong. Just a second.” Mooney reinserted the batteries and screwed the top onto the flashlight. The light burst from the lens and both Sully and Mooney’s breathe was forming mist with their exhales. Mooney lowered the flashlight ahead of him and along the path between the two rows of large containers on either side of them. There was a dark shape ahead of them. It appeared human-like in shape, but it did not touch the ground. It began to glide toward them. The shape was tall and as the light lifted up it appeared to have straggly hair shifting and protruding from all over its head. Mooney dropped the flashlight and it made a thud. When he did two red glowing points appeared ahead of the two men.

The men wanted to scream, but the cold made only a wheezy high pitched squeal to escape from her mouth. The two began to run in the dark. Mooney stumbled and felt tears on his cheeks and spittle on his lips as he began to blubber. He felt something above him. Moving slowly but with surety. He could hear Sully’s thumping boots as he ran. Sully was panting as he raced and felt the sweat on his face as he could see a slight bit of light ahead that he could only hope was the stairway leading up. He let out a wail and squeezed his eyes shut as he heard Mooney scream. He gripped the rail of the stairwell and began to ascend and feeling anything but safe. He was certain something was coming up fast behind him.

Independence is a tricky term. No doubt that George Orwell would call it a meaning less word based upon his definition found in Politics and the English Language. I would have to disagree with him on this point. The problem is not that word is meaningless, but instead that it has too many possible meanings. This face has been exploited by many politicians, philosophers, and writers to manipulate a reader or audience to receive this term and imbue it with any meaning that they like: regardless of the users intended meaning. I do now wish to follow in their footsteps.

The idea of being independent has been linked to conflict and war frequently throughout human history, and in particular with the origin of the United States of America. This however, need not be the case. The term independence is associated with other tricky terms such as freedom and liberty, but these get us no closer to an understanding as these terms hold as many potential meanings as independence does.

Independence can be seen as a way of life. That an individual can take care of and provide for themselves; however, this is an absolute falsehood. No living entity is able to exist and survive without the interaction and dependence upon other living entities and elemental systems. An ecosystem requires the entire system to remain stable.

Independence has been linked very closely to politics, and an approach to government. Independence is seen as a way for a state or people to govern themselves. This may not be entirely accurate either. A democracy does not make an individual independent as a collective majority is needed to have it operate, and a dictator may themselves be viewed as independent while the citizens that they govern are not. 

What than is independence? The best answer may be that it is best understood as one being able to think for themselves about what they wish, and when they wish. The ability to think differently than another individual, or every other individual. It is the ability to formulate ideas and interrogate thought within oneself. This is a productive and valuable skill and ability to possess, but also ultimately useless unless those independent thoughts and ideas can be shared. 

It is the communication and sharing of ideas and thought produced through independent thinking that offer the value of independence. independence only has a meaning when it is understood in relationship with another individual and within a community. This community may range in size from two individuals becoming a pair, or a family, a town, a city, a nation, a common species, or an entire planetary population. The best way to describe independence is that it is an invitation to come together and to share.

Frank hated Thursdays. There was always too much to do, and he couldn’t enjoy his usual pace. He was seventy two years old, and he had been retired for almost a decade. He enjoyed retirement, and most days he awoke, a little foggy at first, and then put on a pleasant smile as he looked at himself in the mirror. He enjoyed looking at his teeth and smiling because they were his teeth. Not everyone at his age could say that, but he didn’t have that pleasant smile today because today was Thursday. He slowly rose from bed and swung around to put his wrinkled feet into his well-worn grey slippers. The he grabbed his striped bathrobe and shuffled off into the bathroom.

He looked in the mirror, but saw mostly blur. He would need to put on his glasses. He could at least make of a wild bulge of white on top of the blur he knew must be his head. His hair would need attention, but first he would brush his teeth. He squeezed the paste on the brush and thoroughly scrubbed. He spit and then he coughed. He brought up a wad of phlegm and spit it into the sink, and then he went and turned on the shower. Soon the room was filled with steam and he carefully stepped in. he grabbed his bar of soap and he could smell the aroma of salt and aged wood. It seemed like being on an old ship out at sea, he loved to read novels about pirates and sailors, and this blue bar of soap always captured the aroma of his favorite stories. Frank always wondered just how they got the smell in there. He stepped out of the shower and dried off. He looked into the blurry mirror again, now the poor vision was a mix of his failing eyes and the fogged glass. He brushed his teeth again.

When he was ready he stepped out of his apartment and locked the door behind him. Then he made his way out of the building at his steady, somber pace to the bus stop. He hated his weekly trips to the clinic. He had to see too many people. He had to see people on the bus, he had to see people in the clinic waiting room, and he had to see the doctor and nurses. All the time he knew they were watching him, judging him. They wanted to expose his inability to manage himself. What did they know? He could look after himself and he always had. He still had all his teeth and how many seniors could say that?! People were just pests. He loved his wife, but since she died a year before he retired he found a certain joy in the freedom from being nagged: a freedom in being alone.

Everyone, his kids included, had worried and fussed over him then. It drove him crazy. They thought he wouldn’t get along without her, but look at him now. He knew he had grown crusty with them over that year, but they were a bother. More often he was relieved instead of disappointed that they didn’t come around much anymore. They were busy now with their own families, and phone calls worked better. You could always make up and easy excuse to end those fast. Something on the stove, a show you don’t want to miss, an appointment to get to. Heck, if his kids paid attention they might think he had a bustling social life if they tracked his excuses sometimes. It was better this way. They didn’t have to feel bad about not being there, and he didn’t have to feel bad about not wanting them there. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, and it also allowed Frank to relax.

When the bus screeched to a halt at the stop Frank was the last to get on. The driver was a heavier bearded man wearing sun glasses. He didn’t show much emotion or try to smile at Frank because he was old. Lots of people did that like he was some dotty infant or puppy to be watched as he did anything. He was just old – nothing special. It happens to everyone if their lucky. He did notice that as he sat on the open seat on the bench reserved for seniors that the driver got a grin on his face and shook his head as Frank sat down. The driver just lost some of Frank’s respect. Frank looked beside him on the bench and there was a teenager on some sort of electronic device: a video game, a computer, a phone – was there a damn difference anymore. She was absorbed in the screen of whatever it was. She was Asian, maybe her parents were immigrants, or her parents’ parents, but whose weren’t in this country. He was thankful she was young and absorbed, she wouldn’t talk to him. Even if she wasn’t she was probably shy, Asian women were shy – he felt certain of that. She wouldn’t look at him. He could ride in peace looking out the window across from him.

The bus moved along and he stared out the window as the shifting cityscape passed Frank by. He sat and did not occupy his mind by contemplating the teen beside him anymore. He wasn’t thinking of anything anymore. Then a thought popped into his head. Why was he on the bus? He looked around, and he probably seemed a little distraught. The girl was still absorbed but the bus driver seemed to notice him. The bus had come to a stop.

“You getting off sir? This is your usual stop right? You going to the clinic?”

Frank thought for just a moment, the clinic, of course. He nodded to the driver and slowly stood and made his way off the bus. The driver again had a grin and shook his head as he shut the door behind Frank, and the bus pulled away from the curb. Frank for a moment stood a little stunned, and his eye caught a pigeon on the ground. The bird seemed out of place on the pavement. It was there, but it didn’t belong. It sure as hell wasn’t wanted by anyone, but it wouldn’t fly away. The bird wasn’t smart enough to do much, except survive. Then Frank turned and headed off toward the clinic.

As soon as frank stepped into the clinic his nose was assaulted with the scent of sterility. He knew the clinic was clean, obsessively so. The floor was polished and spotless, tables, the empty sections of shelves, desk tops were slick with cleanliness. They were white and amplified the bright fluorescent lights in the clinic. The building looked clean, smelt clean, and Frank swore the air tasted clean – in a chemical way. The cleanliness would be nice if it didn’t feel so oppressive. It was not clean made out of desire or to impress – it was done out of necessity. There was no joy or pride in it, but the feeling of punishment to come if you messed any of it up.

Frank moved out of the entrance way and took a seat in one of the open chairs near the reception desk. He could see other patients in the room watching their own children, looking at their phones. Not a single person was looking at the magazines placed out for them while they wait. Sometimes frank wondered how magazines stayed in business anymore. He always saw them in stands in checkout lines, but never sees many people buying or reading them anymore. Maybe it was just sales for waiting rooms where even the magazines would be left waiting unread. Just another item that was present, but unnoticed and no one would miss if it was gone. It would certainly make the cleaning of the table tops even easier if they weren’t there.

“Frank? Is that you again?” Frank looked up to see the woman behind the reception desk staring at him. She wore glasses and had red hair which was far from natural in colour. She had lipstick to match an a round face that would normally seem inviting, but this woman was all business. Frank knew her, he’d seen her every Thursday for some years now, but he couldn’t place her name.

“Come over here Frank,” she said with a wave of her hand. He slowly stood and shuffled over. “You don’t have an appointment today.”

“Of course I do,” he replied offended by her presumption. These clinic staff was always trying to make him seem inadequate. He was fine. She should take a good look at his teeth. “I always have my appointment on Thursday.”

“That’s true honey, but it is Wednesday today. I told you your appointment was on Thursday when you came in Monday, and on Tuesday. Are you feeling alright Frank?”

At that moment Frank felt dizzy. Was she telling the truth? He tried to think about earlier in the week. He was sure today was Thursday, but did this woman have a good reason to lie to him? Maybe she couldn’t be trusted, but he also couldn’t remember what he had done yesterday, or the day before. He remembered talking to his son on the phone a couple days ago, or was it a week ago. His daughter, Susan, stopped by sometime around when the phone call happened. He didn’t remember the details, only remembered that his kids were pestering him again about his ability to look after himself.

“I am going to call Susan and tell her you’re here again,” said the woman behind the reception desk. “She has been concerned about you. While we’re at it I am going to see if the doctor can see you today while you’re here. I think it is important. You just have a seat.”

Frank sat down still feeling bewildered. He wasn’t sure what was happening. He was going to see the doctor, so it must be Thursday. It wasn’t Thursday though, but he was still going to see the doctor. Of course Susan was concerned. Everyone was concerned about him. He hated it. Susan should know better. He raised her to look after herself. If she learned from him how on earth could he not be capable of looking after himself? He was fine he could look after himself. He had proof he was perfectly fine. He had his teeth; he ran his tongue across them. Did he brush them this morning?