Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 91170 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91170 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
If I’m about to spend the summer with views like this, will I start to take it for granted?
Someone from the back of the ferry yells that there are dolphins, and while I would love to see a dolphin, I like the idea of going in the opposite direction of the crowd even more. Everyone at the front of the ferry are like June bugs to a porch light as they flock to the back.
I take the opportunity to move to the front of the ferry. It’s empty and more secluded from the cars now.
I notice a half-empty loaf of Sunbeam bread lying on the deck of the ferry near my feet. It’s what the kids have been using to feed the seagulls. Someone must have dropped it in their rush to go look at the dolphins.
My stomach rumbles as soon as I see the bread, reminding me that I’ve hardly eaten in the last twenty-four hours. Besides a bag of pretzels on the plane, I haven’t had anything to eat since my lunch break at work yesterday, and even then, all I ate was a small order of fries.
I look around to make sure there are no people lingering, then I pick up the loaf of bread. I reach my hand inside and pull out a slice, then put the loaf back where it was discarded.
I lean against the railing and tear the bread off in pieces, slowly wadding them up and putting them in my mouth.
I’ve always eaten bread this way. Slowly.
It’s a misconception, at least in my case, that people who live in poverty scarf down food when they do get it. I’ve always savored it because I never knew when it would come again. Growing up, when I’d get to the heel of a loaf of bread, I’d make that slice last all day long.
That’s something I’ll have to get used to this summer, especially if my father’s new wife cooks. They probably have family dinners together.
This is going to be so strange.
It’s sad that it’s strange that I’ll have regular access to food.
I pop another piece of bread into my mouth and then turn around to get a look at the ferry. Robert H. Dedman is written on the side of the upper deck in big white letters.
A ferry named Dedman? That’s not comforting at all.
Several people have returned to the front of the upper deck now. The dolphins must have disappeared.
My eyes are pulled to a guy on the upper deck who is holding a camera like it means nothing to him. The strap isn’t even wrapped around his wrist. It’s just dangling, like he has replacement cameras at home if he were to drop his.
The camera is pointed right at me. At least it seems that way.
I glance behind me, but there’s nothing there, so I’m not sure what else he’d be taking a picture of.
When I look back at him, he’s still staring at me. Even with him being a level higher than me on this ferry, my defense mechanisms kick in immediately. They always do when I find someone attractive.
In a way, he reminds me of the guys back in Kentucky who come back to school after being out on the farm all summer in the assailing sun. Their skin is kissed with a tan, their hair full of light blond streaks from the sun’s rays.
I wonder what color his eyes are.
No. I don’t wonder. I don’t care. Attraction leads to trust leads to love, and those are things I want no part of. I’ve trained myself to turn off faster than I can be turned on. Like a switch, I find him unappealing as instantly as I found him appealing.
I can’t decipher what the look on his face means from down here. I don’t know how to read people my age very well because I’ve honestly never had many friends, but I definitely don’t know how to read the expressions of rich people my age.
I look down at my clothes. My wrinkled, faded sundress. My flip-flops that I’ve managed to keep intact for two years. The half slice of bread remaining in my hand.
I look back up at the guy with the camera that’s still pointed in my direction and suddenly feel embarrassed.
How long has he been taking pictures of me?
Did he take a picture of me stealing the slice of discarded bread? Did he photograph me eating it?
Is he planning on posting the pictures online in hopes they go viral like those heartless People of Walmart posts?
Trust and love and attraction and disappointment are just many of the things I’ve learned to protect myself from, but embarrassment is still one I’m working on, apparently. It envelops me in a wave of heat from head to toe.
I glance nervously around me, recognizing the mixture of people on this ferry. The vacationers in their Jeeps, wearing flip-flops and sunscreen. The business people still sitting in their cars in their business suits.