It was finally time to set sail. Bikini, check, Suntan lotion, check, and a lot of water, check. It was going to be a vacation of sorts – I thought to myself.
Puerto Rico would host us for a week. It had been long since our family had gone on a vacation. We packed our bags into the trunk of our car and headed towards the port.
Calmly, we waved goodbye to the city and began the voyage. The sun was as bright as ever, and the sea was a joy in itself. I took a bucket load of photographs to hang on the wall once we got home. Sigh, only a week.
All four of us hadn’t been together in very long.
While we danced on the deck and obeyed the Captain’s instructions, I sometimes felt a blurred reality of the Titanic come to us when the ship swayed angrily with the tide. I have to admit, that scared me.
The nights would be long and scary, but everything about that ship made it worth it. The days had started feeling longer. Sometimes I would forget what day we were at.
‘Hey! Come here, I guess I see the shore!’ my father called out to me. Excitedly, I ran towards him, but he had mistaken a group of insignificant islands to be home. I smiled at him and walked back to my room.
I have sea shells in my bag, and pictures to fill the whole house. It felt like a trip that wouldn’t end.
Today is the eighty-ninth day of what was supposed to be a weeklong vacation, and I am waiting for my father to call out to me again.
‘Though initially, we wished it would never end, now I wonder when we will be home’ – I wrote in my diary as we floated in the triangle between Bermuda, Florida, and Puerto Rico.