I'm not sure I'll be home in time
It is a boat we find on the shore of this little town, a cute little dingy only tied to a log, oars tucked inside along with a cooler and a pair of life jackets. We throw our beer in the cooler, drink the warm beer that's already in there, jokingly put on the life jackets and push off. We haven't planned on going anywhere, but we also haven't really planned on much else. A bit choppy, the full moon teases us that we are safe in it's light.
It's a short row across the water to the reservation, we make good time with the wind at our backs. Do we do this often? Not enough, really. Hidden in our little town, we spend nights on the beach, watching the few lights flicker on the opposite shore. Drinking beer, throwing the bottles in the water, chasing them with rocks. We are children, we are happy with our few miles of beach, our little country roads to patrol. The trip across the water is to the grocery store, to see the girls we know, to sit on the dock and watch our town's few lights flicker.
My shift at the oars lands us, Steven hops off the bow and pulls us in. We tie to a log, leave a beer in the cooler in case anyone is thinking like us. These are the type of nights we are always looking for, a night where we don't pretend to have answers, where we ask for the unpredictable. We walk out on the dock to smoke and watch our little town. We talk about what it will be like to grow old enough to leave this bay, what will finally pull us away. We are always unsure, but also always proud. We have grown like young men, we have made our families proud. We are the next generation, and the little town will talk about us when we move on.
At the pay phone next to the gas station we call the few girls we know, convince them to sneak out and meet us at the basketball court by the water. The five of us start a fire on the beach, Steven and I sitting on opposite sides of these young women, so proud of ourselves for this little moment. We are young men; we are easy to please.
It is stories of our childhoods in these little towns, it is stories of the water. It is stories of how scared we are to leave, stories of how anxious we are to leave.
Avenue One Condos, 2721 First Avenue (enter on Clay Street)
On view: April 20, 2013 through August 10, 2013