Ferries moseyed around the harbor. Across the water, a long, low cloud hung near the mid-section of high rises. They peered over its soft white looming and down onto the grey water. Lights reflected and swayed in gold, green, red, and blue.
The gurgling ferry eased up sideways to the dock and settled against its decking. A deckhand jumped out at the stern and wrapped a rope around a cleat, then went over to the bow and did the same. The deckhand turned and looked at a little girl waiting, holding a stuffed bear in her arms. Her hair was slept in. Her black hood rested on her neck and back.
“Ready?” asked the deckhand.
The girl stood still for a beat, then stepped forward and onward. When she got to the deckhand, the deckhand offered their left arm in welcome, boot pressed down on the side of the ferry, leg bent at the knee. A big inviting smile.
The girl cocked her head up at the deckhand, assessing. After a moment, she took the deckhand’s left hand in her right, the other arm wrapped around the bear, stepped over the edge, and bumped down into the boat.
The deckhand went and untied the boat, threw the ropes in, and jumped on.
“Across?” asked the deckhand.
The girl looked up. She nodded.
“You know,” said the deckhand picking up a rope, “this is my first journey too.”
The girl squinted.
“Oh, I didn’t come from over there,” said the deckhand. “Got on just before you.”
The engine rumbled.
The girl cocked her head and squinted again at the deckhand.
The deckhand gazed back at her, turned and coiled the ropes, elbow to thumb. The ferry eased away from the dock.
The girl turned her head to her left and looked out over the grey water to the other side of the harbor. She then looked to her right at the dock under the shadow of the overpasses.
“What do you think you’ll find there?” asked the deckhand, staring ahead.
The girl faced him and shrugged, arms wrapped around her bear. She stared through the front window in the empty wheelhouse as the boat turned toward the open harbor.
“Have a seat,” said the deckhand. “I don’t want you to fall.”
The little girl shook her head.
“No?” said the deckhand. “I think you should.”
The little girl sighed and stepped over to a bench in the back, sitting with a thump, bear in her arms.
“Thank you,” said the deckhand, coiling the second rope. “Won’t be a long trip.”
The girl looked off, wind blowing her hair and against her face as the boat increased speed. She closed her eyes, and the boat rocked gently. The wakes of other boats spread out in the harbor.
The deckhand dropped the rope with the sound of a sharp, staccato. “When we get to the shore they’ll be waiting. There anything you want me to tell them first before you deboard?”
Lids still held together, she shook her head.
“Hey,” said the deckhand. The girl opened her eyes. The deckhand held a warm drink. She placed her bear down on the bench beside her and grabbed the drink with both hands. Steam rose from the little cup. She brought the cup to her lips.
“Careful, it’s hot,” warned the deckhand.
She paused at the warning, then pushed forward. After a second, she balked and the liquid jumped and she dropped it on the deck of the boat.
“Oh, no, did you burn yourself?” asked the deckhand. The deckhand sat down next to the girl as she nodded and cried. The deckhand rubbed her back. “Here,” the deckhand said and grabbed a bottle of water from a case nearby. The deckhand opened it and gave it to her. She took a sip.
“Hey, why did the chicken cross the road?” asked the deckhand.
The girl shrugged, tears on her cheeks, drying fast in the breeze.
“Be-caaaaws,” said the deckhand, imitating a chicken’s cluck.
The girl laughed a good hearty laugh. The deckhand laughed too. Then they fell silent, gazing out at the harbor around them, and felt the ride for a few moments.
The buildings loomed. The ferry drew nearer to the shore. It downthrottled.
Seabirds cawed and flapped overhead. One flew up and landed on a finial at the top of a flagpole. The boat pivoted and sidled up to the dock. It was full of people, dogs, cats, a person held a fishbowl with a beautiful Siamese fighting fish in it. They filled the decking and covered the ramp. Some were well dressed. Others looked ragged. Some were young. Some old. One woman was dressed in a sexy police costume. A few smaller children chirped on the wharf above.
The boat stopped and the deckhand jumped out, tying a rope on a cleat by the stern, then by the bow. The deckhand came up and reached out a hand. The girl sat for a moment, then got up and walked over to the deckhand. She reached for the hand but stopped and climbed over the edge and onto the dock herself.
She faced and looked at the deckhand a long time, the deckhand gazing back, knee bent on the edge of the ferry, elbow on their knee. She turned and walked to the people. After a few steps, she stopped and looked back. The boat had pulled away, its side still parallel with the dock. The deckhand threw down some coiled rope and looked up, waved, and gave a big smile. The bear lay on its side on the bench. The tipped over cup rolled and pivoted this way and that on the deck as the boat rocked and heaved in the wake of other vessels.