[Editor's Note -- With a nod to the mini-micro-fiction we embed on many of our Product Page images (e.g., Aphrodite Embroidered Jewelry by Dori Csengeri) here's a little  micro-fiction for your perusal, and, we hope, enjoyment. We'd love to hear what you think.]

A Ferry Tale

The crossing should have taken twelve hours. Seventeen had passed while the ferry rolled, stomach-wrenching, in the roiling sea. People tried puking in the rest rooms. Giving that up, they tried getting it over the rail. Finally everyone succumbed to barfing where they sat, too sick to care if we sank.

My girlfriend turned green and heaved often. But I, only slightly woozy, remained unsympathetic, harboring a submerged resentment flowing from her recent romp with my best friend. Yeah, that’s right, “best friend”. While I was out of town, they had “redefined our relationships,” she had said. Ever since I had re-redefined the relationships and she and I had hit the road – alone — I hadn’t been comfortable with it as evidenced by a nagging in the pit of my stomach.

The smell and the closeness of the retching drove me from my deck chair. I weaved my way in the dull light of middle night to a shipping trunk in the center aisle. As I reached it, so did a young woman. We both had our sea legs, but with each grand pitch of the deck, we leaned and swerved, while the trunk slid several feet, first right, then after a momentary pause, back to the left. On the slide her way, she plopped with impressive grace onto only half, with body language inviting me to the other. When it slid my way, I landed squarely, but bumped her arm and shoulder. She reached protectively toward me. She was tall, and though slender, was strong and steadied me easily. Her wide smile as easily unsteadied me, part complicit in our circumstance and part playful.

The trunk scraped left. We lifted our feet to go for the ride.

“Nice night,” I said, returning her smile.

The pendular trunk slid right. She waited for the grinding noise to stop. “Lovely,” she said. “You come here often?” One eyebrow arched slightly.

The trunk slid left. Chestnut hair glistening with highlights even in the dim light framed her face. Her eyes were deep blue, wide set to match her smile and I could feel myself falling into her gaze. She could have had me right then; I’m easy, at least for the short haul.

“I never get enough of this ambiance,” I said when the trunk topped its arc. And when it paused so briefly, “What happened to your shoes?” She was barefoot. She held her feet out. Narrow, high arched, with red painted nails. I imagined caressing an arch with each hand, and pondered where the smooth bulge of her calf would lead.

“I took them off. Then my friend threw up in them.” Her smile twisted to half.

“Nice friend.”

The trunk slid. “He couldn’t help it. He’s so sick.”

I glanced over to where my girlfriend was suffering. I couldn’t see her.

“Your boyfriend?”

“No. Just a friend. What about you?”

“As your boyfriend? Take me, I’m yours.”

She laughed. “No, I meant, are you with your girlfriend?”

As I contemplated redefinitions, the pit in my stomach disappeared. I laced my arm through hers. The trunk slid and together we lifted our feet.