Landlubber

"Land ho, boys! Land ho!"

Jack sprinted up the ladder as quickly as he could. He moved in a blur, so fast that his shipmates thought he was flying. He pushed the other sailors hard up against the iron walls of the ship and out of his way. A few of them cussed at him. The only sounds he could hear, though, were his boots pounding on the floor and the beating of his heart. They were almost in sync with each other. Another ladder stood in his path. That, too, he climbed speedily up. He was getting closer to the surface. So close, he could almost taste the salty air on his tongue.

        Jack smashed his body against the iron door. With a thunderous thud, it sprang open. He slowed down just as he reached the port bow, nearly slipping on the a-deck. His eyes darted to and fro, analyzing what was in front of him. He bit his lip to contain his excitement and ran his hands through the greasy black curls on his head. The yellow-gold sun blocked most of his view in shadow, and he had to squint a little to understand his perspective. When his eyes finally adjusted, he still couldn't believe it. He combed his fingers through his hair again, and he licked his now slightly bleeding lip.

        The houses were mostly of neutral colors, with blue-grey roofs covering them. The walls of the buildings in Jack's sight were pocked with windows. They were packed so close to each other it almost seemed like there was no room for vehicles. A few that had chimneys exhaled smoke in a long thin stripe against the evening sky. Many of the people he saw in the distance were walking or riding a bicycle. He heard little in the way of motor vehicles. In the harbor, a few small ships bumbled about. One of them, a catamaran, slid out of port as if to greet their much larger vessel. As it got closer, it pulled hard to starboard to avoid them. Jack hollered out a greeting to the people on the deck below, but they ignored him. They seemed to be lost in their own journey, just like he was.

        It had not been more than five minutes since he made it to the stern when Jack heard his name called. Turning around, he knew immediately who was talking. Standing in front was a short, portly man with a thin, patchy beard and a cigar between his lips. His fly was down, and his tank top was dirty and stained. His heart sunk. It was the captain.

        "Jack, what you doing up here?" the man said in a thick, acidic Brooklyn accent.

        Jack's eyes widened. The ecstasy of the sight in front of him quickly dissipated.

        "Uh, I-I was just catching the sights, sir." He said.

        "We ain't here to catch the sights, boy." The captain sneered. "We got cargo to unload and no time to waste."

        The captain pointed his gnarled thumb to the open door behind him.

        "Get back below deck, boy. You've got sorting to do."

        Jack's shoulders sagged. His smile instantly flipped downwards. The captain sneered at him again.

        "Don't give me that look, greenhorn. You signed up for this! Now do your damn job!"

        "Yes, sir…"

        Jack dragged his feet across the floors he darted up not too long ago. The same sailors he shoved away jostled him in payback. Jack deadened himself towards their rough hands and fingertips. There wasn't much he could do. He did lay his hands on them, after all. If he wasn't prepared for that, being a sailor wasn't for him. But he never expected this. He joined up for the travel, not for the douchebags. He wanted to see exotic places and meet interesting people. Not cower below deck and count cargo. As his feet dragged along, his toe caught along a rough edge. Before he careened down to the floor, he put his other foot in front of him and saved himself. The initial jolt of the near fall shook him so much it almost enraged him. After a few deep breaths, however, he resigned himself and went to work.

        It took him four hours to get the logging done. One hundred and fourteen shipments of medical equipment, primarily syringes, and thermometers. A few times, the captain came down to harp on him to move faster. The rest was putting the numbers into the computer and making out the delivery sheets. There were six hospitals throughout this particular region of Norway that needed the supplies. Four more hours of logging. When the typing was done, Jack's wrists were throbbing. He ran his thumb in a circle around the top of each wrist, massaging them as an attempt to ease the pain. They still ached, though, no matter how much he tried. He breathed heavily as he logged out of the computer. Eight hours down. But not enough time for adventure.

        He put on his hat and coat and decided to check out the town. He trudged down the steps of the gangplank onto the pier below. Looking about him, his sense of wonder returned. When he first looked out onto the harbor, though slightly dulled thanks to exhaustion, the feelings he felt were back. The golden yellow streetlights hung about like fireflies. They, however, were weak against the light the stars in the sky gave off. As he looked up and about him, the white flecks of light against the dark sky seemed to wink and glisten when his gaze fell upon them. He closed his eyes and inhaled slowly, deeply through his nose. He let the crisp air out slowly, and he felt more invigorated. He shuffled quickly down the narrow street, eager to explore.

        As he walked on, he kept his wits about him for places to grab a drink. With the work he'd done, he indeed worked up a thirst. Looking about, he could make out a name of a place in the dark; Dirty Nelly Irish Pub. Steeling himself and taking another deep breath, he made his way inside. He found himself a seat at the bar and waved the bartender down.

        "What would you like, sir?" the bartender said, his voice tinged in a Nordic accent.

        "A whiskey sour, please," Jack responded.