Hello World

Chapter 35 Hecate

Pier Street was a narrow two lane road that ran along the ocean. Earlier it would have been packed with people but now it was rather quiet. Across the street from me, a family of four were taking a stroll. They each held an ice cream cone. A couple and their little boy road their bikes. They headed in the opposite direction of the family carrying ice creams. As they passed each other, the child stopped to gawk at the ice cream in the little girl's hand.

"Daniel," his mother called, and her son started to pedal towards her.

I crossed the street and walked through the grass towards the water. It was long and tickled my bare legs. After fifty feet the grass stopped, and the ground dropped down into steep rocky slope that bordered the edge of the shore for at least a mile along. At the bottom of the slope was a small alcove covered in round grey rocks. They differed from the ones that had been stacked neatly along the border. I followed the edge and the shore became smaller and smaller as I neared corner. Then it suddenly disappeared and was replaced by deep dark water. The grass also seemed to have ended here. Another parking. This one was used to access the Pier and boat docks. A green truck sat near the entrance. One tire was deflated and rust had started to gnaw away at the doors. There was a large dent on the rear fended. I had never noticed it before. Perhaps a homeless person had driven a shopping cart into it? Who knew? Who cared? The car had been parked there for years. I doubted if anyone even knew who its original owner was. And again, who cared? Very few people ever drove. There was a bus, and there were boats, there was even a highway. But cars for the most part remained parked and took all the features of abandonment as they eroded in the salty air. Gas was too expensive, Ferdinand had often complained, as he looked out the window towards the old family Volvo that had not been driven since I was maybe five or six, before Rowan and Joel were even born. There is no reason to drive, Samantha would chide. River was just too small a place. And besides, walking was good for you.

I cut diagonally across the parking lot, towards the boat dock, and stepped onto a steep wooden ramp. I placed my hands on the surface of the guard rails. They had at one time been painted cherry red, but most had chipped off to reveal a greying wood that felt both soft and rough at the same time. I slid my hands along them as I cautiously walked down. Small rectangular boards had been attached every food along the base of the ramp. They stopped my shoes from slipping to far ahead of me on the smooth metal grate.

A cool draft hit me as I stepped down onto the wooden dock. I felt the boards beneath my feet sink slightly. The dock wobbled as small waves lapped at its sides and danced around beneath it.

When I was little, I used to skip back an fourth along the docks. While Samantha fretted, I would go so far as to test her by trying to balance on the big rectangular boards that were perched along the edges. You will fall in, Samantha would tell me as I stepped over the ropes attaching the boats to the dock. I never did fall in.

Th wind ruffled my hair, and I took a deep breath. The moist, salty air filled my lungs. I exhaled, then took another deep breath. The dock continued to move beneath me. Above me, a seagull jetted across the sky. For a moment, I had the urge to run, and play the way I had as a child. My pace quickened to a sprint as I strolled along the deck. Then I forced myself to slow down. Slow down, and behave like a normal member of society.

I looked at each boat I passed, observing their colours, shapes, and sizes. Many of them portrayed names, mostly female. Beth was printed in bold blue lettering on a little white sailboat to my left. Just a foot or two ahead of her, Cindy bobbed up and down in the water. To my left was another sailboat, only far larger. Magnolia was printed on her tall black sides. By the time I had reached the end, I had passed a Susie-Marie, a Jacklyn, an Alexandria, and a Patricia. Some of the boats held more creative names. A tugboat had been called Vitamin Sea, the bow of a large yacht had been tattooed with Sea Senor, and the faded lettering on a small motor boat read Seas the day. I could see a couple beer cans floating in the rainwater that had accumulated on its open deck. I turned down the narrow bridge that connected an adjacent part of the dock. A few boards were missing midway and I stepped over the gap with ease.

I walked down each row, passed the Lindas, Fredericas, and Natalies. As I reached the outer rows, I noticed that more and more of the boats bore maple leafs. In place of names, these boats each had the words "Government of Canada" in identical block letters. Most of them I assumed belong to the coast guard, but I recognised several tug boats that assisted in carrying supplies across from the mainland. At one time, it would have been considered unusual for these boats to be docked here right alongside the personal boats of normal citizens. Even small tugboats had their own designated area near the terminal that was perhaps 70 yards north. The terminal's main purpose was to welcome large cargo vessels, as well as the ferry that ran one day a week to Van and back.

I looked out, beyond the wall of rocks –akin to those stacked along the shore- that served as a breakwater around the boats. I could vaguely see the silhouette of Van tattooed on the horizon. The sky now cast an orange pink glow across the horizon.

I turned and walked down the very last row, heading towards the shore where another ramp would be waiting for me. Docked here were not so much boats, but miniature houses each operating a little business. There was a Fred's Fried Fishes, which sold fish and chips, there was a Tickle my Tackle with a display of rods and lours in the window. There was an ice cream parlour with a sign depicting a woman with long dark hair wearing too little clothing and posing seductively while licking a pistachio ice cream cone. There was a Fresh Seafood Limited, Crabby Abby's, and a little yellow house where an elderly lady would sell handmade jewelry on Sundays.

"Hello,"

I looked around startled to see an older man tying down the sails of a small boat which floated between Fred's Fried Fishes, and Crabby Abby's.

"Hello," I replied. I was thankful that he had already shifted his attention back to his work. I quickly carried on down the dock.

As I neared the ramp, I noticed a large rectangular bulletin board. It was three feet wide by five feet long. Over its top was a slanted roof to shield its contents from the rain. One item in particular caught my eye, and I knew instantly that it was a knock off of the posters I had seen posted around town. It was a plain white paper, and it read:

Is your child flawed?

Call us at 923-2474 or visit the GEC testing clinic today

We would be happy to resolve this issue.

Note: Flawed constitutes any trait or feature that you did not pay for, or find undesirable. Warrantee valid for 18 years after date of purchase.

Joy Maker, ltd

Brighten your life with designer children

A flash of hatred filled me as I read it. I ripped it from the board. I looked around, and noticed the old man watching me. I met his gaze before beginning to rip it up. The old man turned his attention back to his boat. I tossed the poster remains into the ocean and watched them float on the oily surface. A small fish swam to the top, gulped a piece then spat it back into the water. I glanced behind me once as I hurried up the ramp and was thankful to find the gate still unlocked. I made my way across the parking lot and carried on towards Town Centre.