The Bay


I WALKED DOWN to the water last evening and, after crossing through one of the restaurants’ parking, I took my way on the paved alley by the bay. There was nobody there, but a lot was happening on the water. I turned around before the bridge to Balboa Peninsula and went back to get to a spot I liked.
Most of the restaurants have a dock in the back of their buildings, and there is where you can sit down on the wooden moving wharf and watch the boats.

The sun was setting and this huge fancy boat was trying to back up and reach the small harbor. I didn’t know why, but then I saw a server holding a trey with food and waiting for them.

I was maybe 5 years old when mom and dad took me on the city’s boat, “The Sparrow.” It was an easy way to float from our city down the river to former Yugoslavia. But we were not allowed to do that. We didn’t have passports under the communists, and the only Romanians who could cross the border to buy stuff were some of the inhabitants of the villages closest to the border.
“The Sparrow” floated quietly about a mile down the river and turned back. I was so happy on that trip. Then my parents took me again and again, almost every Sunday since Sunday was the only day for cruises. The town closed the boat rides one day for good.

Then I remembered the rowing boat one dear friend took me on a lake in the mountains. I was on one of my fencing training camps at “Trei Ape”/ “Three Waters” when this friend came for a day to see me. I talked to my coach and he agreed to give me a couple of hours off. My friend got a rowing boat and he rowed the boat on the water between the evergreen forests while we talked about everything. Then life separated us.

The big boat on the bay reached the server, and a woman picked up the trey of food with a shout of victory.
The water was glittering under the sun caught on fire. A sailboat passed by.
It was peaceful.


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