Journal entry:

October 5, 2015

 

We’re up in the Bridge. Its very peaceful up here, with the soft tick of instruments; the charts laid out and scattered with pencil marks, compasses, rulers and a single coffee stain. (I imagined the voice of the officer when his mug sloshed… connected to the stain like a ghost). Emmanuel, the wheel man, sits at the window. When asked a question, his face crinkles around his eyebrows and mouth, and his soft eyes blink, as if to say… “I don’t know if I can answer that…” but he smiles, and he replies.