Monster

The three little ones…that’s what we were called being the youngest in a large family. We are huddled on the deck. It feels like a rowing boat. I can see the plain wood benches but I hear an engine. This day, we thought, would never come fast enough. A family friend taking us out on his boat. 

We are back in the harbour. I can’t remember the journey. Maybe there was talk of visiting an island but, blank. He watches us huddled together. I can see the lines on his face, permanent like a clown masks grin. He looks sad. On land, he produces three seafarer caps. His first mates he calls us. I’m pleased with mine, always a waterbaby. At home, the eldest little one announces that we won’t be wearing the caps. We burn them in the field.