A week later, I was on a cruise ship sailing out of New
York harbor, remembering Graham's pride as I pondered my own pride at
having made it to this long awaited reward. Settled into a balcony
chair outside my cabin, I marveled as the ship passed directly in
front of the Statue of Liberty – so close, I felt as if I just
leaned out long enough over the railing, I could almost touch her.
There she stood, seemingly inches in front of me, tall and triumphant
in her everlasting pose, while I reposed triumphant in my own glory
that I had made it to this point. Ahead heaved the open ocean. Rest.
Extending over the horizon, the ocean swelled and
undulated with beckoning blueness, the cerulean sky above sparkled
clear with its blueness, while inside me, a disquieting depression
rose in its own blueness.
Everything blue.
I didn't belong on a cruise ship. Not yet. I
couldn't walk.
Impressively, I made it to the ship's gym first
thing every morning. Watching the sunrise over a rippling ocean does
make it easier to exercise willingly. On the flip side, my foot hurt
and I limped along in pain, barely able to enjoy any activities.
After navigating those long hallways to get anywhere I'd be in
devastating pain and desperate to return to my cabin. Thus, I spent a
majority of my time on my balcony thinking and watching.
The fall foliage never manifested anyway. At each
port, I bandaged and braced my ankle and attempted to go out and
explore, but by the time I staggered the length of the ship and
hobbled down the gangway, my foot swelled, pounding and throbbing,
practically begging a return to my balcony. Dejected, I had to turn
around and go back before ever making it off the quayside.
In Halifax, I managed to make it to the famed
gardens where the resplendent colors of flowers and trees and vistas
were worth every painful step. A Canadian landmark, these gardens are
surrounded by beautiful iron gates.
In St. John, I hired a taxi for a brief tour of the
sights and quickly bonded with the driver, also named John, who ended
up driving me around all day showing me his favorite places and
wouldn't take any extra money for those extended hours. We went to
the Bay of Fundy, his favorite museums and markets, and he delighted
in showing me a particular spiral staircase with no supports that
remains in place over one hundred years after construction. John told
me his stories. (Okay, I give up – why do men want to tell me
the stories of their lives?) His confession about his
alcoholism and how he reached instant sobriety with the birth of his
child moved me.
Otherwise my days were cut short, unable to
accomplish what I would start out to do.
Being a sort of V.I.P., and sort of disabled, I
disembarked first off the ship back in New York and first into the
customs hall where the agent greeting me had yet to adjust his date
stamp to October. I waited while he set it, upside down, instead of
October 1, he set it to the mistaken date of October 10, and he
stamped my passport. I looked down and knowing the date to be October
1, walked off smiling in amusement that the 'homeland security
agency' had everything under effective control. I arrived 'back to
the future.'
Just Another Lori Story.
Excerpted from the soon to be published : "TORTURE"
Just Another Lori Story.
Excerpted from the soon to be published : "TORTURE"
