Marooned

We weren't supposed to have the camera, you know.
It's my mother's camera.

My mother has pictures of the lives of my brothers and I in their entirities. She has dated and catalogued them. My mother appreciates her camera.
I once lost a sandwich.
It took much convincing.
Thanks mom.

This is dockside. We arrive at the dock initially at approximately 4:30ish. People are milling about. There are cars. I park, and we wander aimlessly.

We are dressed as we are, we are awaiting the ferry for Bell Island. I can feel eyes on us.

There is a ticket booth and a fellow doling tickets. It would seem that boarding is about to take place.

Luckily, we see a building harbouring a sign that says 'Tourist Info'. For all intent and purpose, this is a sign for us. We stride on over to the building.

Empty.

There is a bench or two. And bathrooms. There is a desk that is positioned in a way that would suggest someone occaisonally sits behind it, but there is no one. Observe:

There is a kitchen nearby. It is housing the largest kettle I have ever seen. We are meekly calling 'hello?' throughout the building. Because we're misguided, you see. We need help.
No one.
A phone starts ringing. Startled, we run away.
There are men in 'hit me first' (Marie's term) vests milling about the dock, waving cars this way and that. She and I find the man who looks most tolerant, and ask him about the next crossing, and the cost.
"She's leaving in about a half hour."
We ask him how much the ferry is. He tells us that it isn't much; about $1.75, or $1.50.
Marie tells him that we have plenty, and therefore leave.
We prepare to smoke a bowl by the water. We of course have no flint.
Backtrack. Marie has to use the bathroom. She encounters, ironically, a man who played in a band on the Port-Aux-Basque ferry crossing. Aparantly he chose her as the recipient of many mirthful jokes he unleashed upon the ferry's bar. At her expense.
Whatever. It's better than being pissed on.
They speak. I have no idea who this man and his assumed wife are. I say nothing and try my best to look like I'm shy so as to avoid asinine questions.

We go to what is likely the only shop in the town.
Marie exits the car. I remain. She is paying for everything, remember.
She returns to rummage in the backseat. She has been id'd to buy a lighter.
We used to get id'd for lighters when we were 14. Da b'ys and I. And with good reason. We almost set fire to various areas that should not have been near fire.
She returns with a lighter she is significantly old enough to buy. They had no yellow, so we settled on purple.
"I told her I was 26. After she looked at the id, she said, 'Sure, she's older than Mike.'"
I think I'm dedicating this post to Mike. Wherever he is. Probably at that store...

We smoke a bowl.
We return to the store so that I can get snacks. With Marie's change.
We return to the dock. We get into the car lineup.
We joke that 'hit me first' told us the wrong ferry price because he had been working there for 30 years, and it was $1.50 when he started, but due to inflation, it was now $20, or something ridiculous.
Ha ha. Had a fine laugh at that one.
We get to the booth. Bright-eyed. We are ready to experience this place.

It's karma, or it is simply our being together.
"Eight dollars."
We immediately panick and look at one another.
"We were told a dollar fifty."
We were told a dollar fifty because we approached 'hit me first' without a car, presenting instead only our bodies. A walk-on is a dollar fifty. As soon as an engine is brought into the picture, things change.
We are now the people in the lineup that holds everything up. We are rummaging. We do not have enough change.
"We don't have enough..." admits Marie.
We were off by a dollar or two.
This is equivelant to the cost of a chocolate milk and a lighter, perhaps.

We begin to search for a bank machine, unsure of whether or not we will find one. We are beginning to grow concerned.
I remember that, miraculously, I have coffee change in the car. Fate has stepped in and dumped some coins on us.
We are now effectively back in business.
We go from the beginning of the line to the end of the line.
We wait.
Cars progress through sluggishly. A pickup truck gets to the booth. It does not move. For fifteen minutes.
Now they are the ones holding up the show.
Marie and I badmouth these people who are preventing us from boarding our boat, which we can still see in the harbour.
More time passes. Pickup makes no attempt to move. On closer inspection, everyone else in the surrounding cars seem suspiciously lethargic.
We stop a man walking by and ask how long it will take before the ferry leaves.
The ferry has left already. We missed it while acruing change.
"What about that one?" Marie gestures to the remaining boat.
"Oh, sure she's broke down."
This is why there is an hour wait between ferry rides rather than half an hour.
We have 45 minutes.
I still have not eaten beyond a few Wheat Thins and some burnt cheese.
We wait. I offer Marie some of my chocolate milk.
She declines.