Boats Redux

It was very early in our relationship, right at the beginning. We were broke college kids with nothing to do but drive through the city in a crummy old car and discover each other. We were strangers with a big crush and an overwhelming curiosity to know what the other was like.

We didn’t have a destination, but wherever we would have ended up, it would have been perfect I imagine. But I parked at the Monroe street garage and we walked over to the harbor. We sat on the pier, hanging our feet over the water. The summer night air was breezy and fresh off the lake.

I don’t remember what we talked about, but I do remember the sound of the boats parked in the harbor. The masts made a sort of strange, distant clinking sound. It made the gigantic city just behind us seem empty and insignificant. It was just her and me and the sound of the boats clinking. It’s the first time I remember kissing her.

I’ve been fond of boats ever since.

Much more recently, Allison invited my down for a swim in the pool in our building. It’s a pretty unique space, built in the 1920s by artisans who wanted to create something singular in the world. It’s beautiful. My friends call it “The Great Gatsby Pool.”

Imagine my surprise when we walked in and I heard that same clinking sound emanating from a nearby boom box. The pool was filled with small paper sail boats about the size of a briefcase. Allison made boats with her two bare hands and had recorded hours of the clinking sounds at the harbor in days before. It was very sweet.

We sat at the edge of pool with our feet in the water. And then we jumped in.