We think they are taking people, I think they are taking people from their rooms. I don’t tell her. We sit on the balcony the first night the rations do not come to the door. We don’t go looking for them. We stare at a wonder of beauty in the sunset, the stars later and then the clouds of night, losing the moon.
I make us water cocktails from the plastic cups we took back out of the room trash and drink them stretched out like those stars, penultimate, dreaming with our eyes. She smiles inside at me I know she does.
We have made of our cave now a spartan place, cleared our heads from a litter of this new life upon a sea taking us secretly, where. “We may never be cold again.”
She notices it first, that the ship has stopped moving, but it’s not that, it’s the sea, that’s what she noticed, that things were staying. It’s hard to drop to the room below from the balcony, I think it was designed to be but I have not lived the way I wanted to and it’s hard to think it is not me, hanging there weak, threatened with death by my own weakness, my weak arms, hanging, dangling, I do not think about returning, it feels worse than looking down, worse than loosing my life, worse than anything.
Sheets. I take them, for what. Wine flutes, I don’t tell her about the blood, I throw them up with a hook of my arm, an intuition. Another clock radio. It could be safe here or not, either way I throw things over and clean a bit, throw over the things I cleaned with then help her down.
We hear them above. She hides in my arms like she could, I calm her, we are a mile away if a foot for the reasons and the will of it and I know we will be anyway, for real, soon.
At night we slip over. It’s like a pool only dirty, deep, implacable. We move away in the dark and soon it is like walking, we laugh a lot, more than before, more than before the trip even. It’s all I remember…