Northern Downpour

The Open Gates (XXVII)

XXVII

“I too do not know, son. Maybe it’s a drink? What do ya say?” “I am down,” and they both smiled at each other while his father was fixing his hair with a comb and his suit. “Suit yourself, son, I must go on first.” His father turned his back towards him and went on to check the captain’s deck, and got himself a toast before opening the door, but he never took a bite out of it until he was past the door, and his father proceeded incessantly. Micael quickly got up on his knees and wore himself some undergarments and plain shorts, a cream bland shirt and a necklace. He did this for just a matter of time, and got himself to fix his bed. He was still shocked and went aquiver as to why he had found himself waking up on his bed, when he did fall asleep beside Amy’s.

Was it a dream? He slept walk? He did not really know, but he was sure his mother does. He fixed his bed with quite the speed, and went on to the roundtable at the other room.

“Mom!” he yelled happily. Her mother was not replying and he thought that maybe she was busy. He got himself a seat on the table and grabbed himself some toasts and coffee. The toasts and the coffee smelled good. There was the smell of milk, butter, cinnamon, vanilla and the usual smell of a newly-brewed coffee. For him, it felt like heaven, but it was more heavenly last a night. Micael ha d bitten into the toast and about to sip some coffee, though it was hot, when his mother had uttered and replied: “Yes, sweetie?” while walking clumsy from the kitchen with pot holders on both of her hands. “Where did I sleep again? And what time did I come home?”

“Last a night? Sweetie, you were home before we did. And Amy was, too. Her parents were glad you guys didn’t sleep beside each other, or did you?”

“Would it be mandatory to jump off this ship if we did?” Micael replied and followed a smile towards his mother. He was happy nothing because his parents were not aware, but because of Amy’s parents were not. The only problem that he might encounter was the fact that he did not know where he put his clothes of which he wore last night, but he wasn’t bothered at all. Happy face, and quite the smile on his eyes like honey from a beehive, and he continued to eat the toasts and he sipped. “Oh, by the by, I must find myself present inside the captain’s deck. I will talk to you later, mother,” said Micael after biting the last of this toast and sipping just a pint of his coffee, stood up, and hugged his mother tightly.

“Oh, how sweet that is. Okay, dear, and may you find your comfort upstairs.” He opened the front door, rubbed his sandals on the mat, and went on. He scurried through the first three doors, hoping that the Peeks were still fast asleep. He walked with brisk and four legs, and continued. Soon enough, he passed Amy’s room. It ensued a quite relief both outside and inside Micael, and he went on. He had reached the staircases, and eventually the upper deck, where the captain’s deck was a mere thirty steps afar. He did, for 2 steps a second (not constant, however), and he reached the front door. There was no do not disturb signage or any type of typogram which would say that the captain was currently busy, or talking to someone of importance, however unprecedented that might be.

And he twisted the knob, and he opened the door. Beyond the door, he saw his father and captain talking and drinking wine, with both of their hands occupied with glasses half-filled. His presence on the room had ensued it ghost-quiet, and then there was a thump came from the heel of his father hitting the floor. It was silent awhile, but it never lasted ten a second. “Have a seat, Micael,” said the captain, and he followed to get himself comfortable. The seat was comfortable indeed, like his buttocks were resting on memory foam.

“How was the trip, so far? It will only take us a mere week or two to reach British shores. Sounds advice, right? There are really not much of a talk going on, to be honest with ya. I just wanna check you by. Care for a drink?” the captain uttered, while handing one glass to Micael, of which he accepted and smiled. His smile was both of the captain’s quite generosity and the fact that he could move the shit out of himself and finally see what the United Kingdom would really look like. He got the glass on his hand, and he smelled it. He was reminded of the wine which could only be found on a certain wine shop on Melbourne, of name which he had long forgotten. One could really forget one’s name but never the description, and the scent.

“Is there anything to talk of some kind of, importance perhaps?” said Micael after sipping his first from the glass. It tasted delicious, as it was made from grapes and some kind of ingredient of which the fermenters have considered classified and should be out of reach from their consumers. “Nothing much, actually. Me and your father just wanna have a drink, and we decided to why not invite you over, for our ship will be ashore in just a few days. And by the way, I wish you both the very best of your journey in Southwark,” the captain replied to Micael’s question. There was nothing special really happening inside the captain deck, either, there were just smiles, glances, brow raises and the ultimate fact that the three of them were drinking wine, without even reminiscing what happened last night.

Every sip of Micael felt sweet, like lips coming in contact onto his. The wine was smooth, tasted elegant and its fragrance was extraordinary, let alone something he would never forget. It was addictive. More addictive than a woman’s body. The captain tapped the table several times, and looked at the painting on his left wall, and pointed at it sharply.

...