The Barge of Freedom

The Barge of Freedom

By Kimberly Smith Andreadis

October 13, 2025

It was one of those mornings that felt alive — sunlight spilled like honey across the fields, the sky so blue it almost hurt to look at it. This was the kind of day that promised adventure. It was this time every day, that the three youngsters would escape to navigate the bay waters. And now they were all running.

The three youngsters were racing across the green lawn behind their home. The warmth of the sun comforted them as they sprinted over the stone walls that lead to the gravel path and on to the sea.

Somewhere ahead, the tide was rolling out, leaving the shoreline glittering with promise. Every low tide brought new treasures: pieces of sea glass in shades of turquoise and jade, tiny white shells that could pass for pearls. It was dependable, waiting there for them; never letting them down. Even when it rained. The sea was their shelter, wrapping it's arms around them in quiet reassurance and hope. Offering a vast variety of experiences, all of their imaginings. The world at sea shimmered with possibilities, if you only knew where to look.

Carlyle did. So did her brothers. To anyone else, the sea was just the sea — but to them, it was freedom. Joy. A place to dream. Their true home where kindness, fun and adventure prevailed. They shared the bond of it's knowledge and warm embrace.

Behind them, faint but real, came the echo of a door slamming. Then their father’s voice — rough, slurred, angry — bled into the distance. Carlyle didn’t turn back. She didn’t need to. She could still picture her father's red face, the leather belt in his fist, ready to strike. His words turned into growls when the bottle was empty. Time to get far away. The further, the better.

Her older brothers had picked up speed and were racing ahead of her.

The wind was rising, lifting their hair, pushing them forward. The further they ran, the lighter they became. By the time they reached the last stone wall, Carlyle could almost breathe again. “Wait up!” she called, scrambling after her brothers as they vaulted over the stones. Chris looked back briefly, his grin wide and wild. “Catch up, slowpoke!” “Race you to the barge!” Darryl shouted, his twin already pulling further ahead.

They tore down the gravel path, laughter chasing the sound of their footsteps. The salt air grew thicker, sharper — it filled Carlyle’s lungs like something alive, something reassuring. Everything would be all right. They belonged to the world now, to the sea. The cypress trees at the edge of the bluff swayed in greeting as they passed. Almost there.

And then she saw it: the wide, endless ocean, glinting silver and blue under the morning sun. Waves whispered and broke against the sand and rocks. Just beyond them, anchored in the shallows, lay their ship — a rusted, hulking barge abandoned years ago. Most people ignored it, an eyesore at the edge of the bay. But to the three of them, it was magic — their secret fortress, their vessel to anywhere but here. The twins reached the water first, tossing their sneakers aside and splashing in up to their knees. “Hurry up, Carlyle!” Darryl yelled, his voice bright and commanding. “The Captain’s boarding!” Darryl splashed on eagerly and waded to the barge, hoisting himself up on the rusted ladder. Chris followed, "First mate reporting for duty, sir."

Carlyle hurried, now just several paces behind, She ran the last stretch, her legs burning, her heart light. The sand gave way beneath her feet, cool water licking at her ankles. When she reached the barge’s side, she grabbed the sun-warmed ladder and began to climb, one rung at a time, her hair dripping and her laughter ringing out over the tide. “Permission to board, sir!” she called, saluting when she reached the deck. She looked down and laughed as she realized that she was still wearing soggy sneakers.

She didn't care; the day stretched out before her. They were home.

Darryl, standing tall at the bow, raised his hand to the horizon. “Then prepare to set sail!” he proclaimed, his voice carrying over the wind. Hoist the anchor.

The barge creaked under their weight, its metal sides groaning like an old whale waking from sleep. But in their minds, it was no barge — it was a grand ship, gleaming and proud. The sea stretched forever before them, and the air was thick with the scent of salt and adventure.

“Today we sail for Majorca!” Darryl announced. Chris grabbed an old broom handle — their “mast” — and twisted it dramatically. “Aye aye, Captain! I know where that is; Spain! Get ready for dolphin viewing. Wind’s good out of the west!” Carlyle ran to the edge of the deck, cupping her hands to her mouth. “All hands prepare to launch!”

The three of them burst into laughter. Waves slapped against the hull as if applauding. The wind whipped through their hair. For a moment, they were no longer children from a broken home. They were sailors, explorers, conquerors of the sea. They shouted orders and laughed until their stomachs hurt, until tears ran down their faces — not from sadness, but from joy so fierce it almost burned. When their laughter finally quieted, they lay side by side on the sun-warmed metal deck, staring up at the clouds drifting overhead. “Do you think we’ll ever go for real?” Carlyle asked softly. She rolled on her side. "I want to go everywhere, she proclaimed!"

Chris turned his head. “Yes, we will go anywhere we want to go; somewhere far. Somewhere like Majorca.” Darryl smiled without opening his eyes. “We will. Someday. Tomorrow we sail to Gibraltar." The sea sighed against the barge. Seagulls wheeled above them, their cries thin and distant. The world felt endless, gentle, possible.

Carlyle closed her eyes. For now, it didn’t matter if they never left. On this barge, under the wide- open sky, they were already free.