Same as Tomorrow

We docked in the dark. I was, finally, fast asleep two decks below in my dorm-sized bunk, after hours of agonizing over channel fever. I entertained thoughts of swimming ashore, as I mashed the space bar on my laptop to flip through electronic solitaire cards. I hadn't needed the steel side-rails for a couple of days, but they were somehow comforting, so I kept them up. The side-rails also provided a fantastic catchment for the laundry in various states of cleanliness, which usually occupied a fair portion of the bunk. Not that I kept the rest of the cabin squared away. This would be unacceptable, under normal circumstances. Most merchant ships carry double-occupancy rooms for all non-officers. However, the maritime industry remains primarily male, so more often than not, there was no other choice than for me to have a private cabin. 

Today, my cabin was uncharacteristically squared away. The only laundry to be seen were the socks I had kicked off the night before. The yellow light above my bunk still buzzed, it was the only source of light until the blue screen of my flip phone illuminated, telling me my alarm was about to start blaring. My laptop had slipped off my stomach and was perched between the mattress and the stainless steel wall. I squinted, and began the mechanical process of waking up. Morning does not fully begin without caffeine and nicotine. I threw on my jeans, and made my way up to do the most important job of my  day; starting the coffee.  

The galley is the epicenter of the ship. It does not matter what is going on outside, or during the workday- as long as there is a hot, delicious meal three times a day. The galley is the one place that sees every single member of the ship through the day. With seventy people and ninety-four days in a floating tilt-a-whirl hundreds of miles into stormy isolation, it is easy to become familiar with every face, voice, and oddity aboard. Day after day, I washed the same dishes, scrubbed the same floors, heard the same voices, saw the same faces and stainless-steel walls. And, day after day, each time we passed, I nodded to the canned, shore-based niceties.

"How's it going?" 

The question became my nemesis. 

I began replying, sweetly at first, then less so, "Yeah! Same as yesterday, same as tomorrow!" 

My point was taken. 

The only thing that changed was the sea. It had been pleasant most of the voyage, I fed the giant albatross scraps from the galley. We had been skirting a southern storm several days prior to our arrival. Some days were flat, gunmetal grey. It was impossible to tell the difference between the dully sparkling hues of the ocean and sky. Other days were darker, rougher, and our legs and torsos grew accustomed to working against the constant movement of the floor beneath us. 

It had not yet occurred to me that the ship was motionless. Coffee in-hand, cigarette in-lip, I maneuvered the handles of the watertight door that led to the smoking deck. The heavy door swung open and a blast of sunlight poured in though my unsuspecting pupils. The heat, and my sea-legs- weak against the inanimate environment, sent me tumbling over the ledge of the door and at the last moment, catching myself on the outside railing of the deck. The sun pricked the skin on my hand, and I pulled myself up. The vivid colors, and humid air filled my starving senses. 

We had landed in Australia.