Scott McDrifting

The river was calm, no ripples, sailors or storms. Finding it was serendipitous. I stumbled into it with no intention of getting in, but then I was in a boat, drifting down the coastline with no way of knowing how fast or slow I was moving.

The water looks like glass with no reflection. When I dip my hands in the water, I can feel movement but the surface holds on as if nothing entered or exited. The sun is nowhere to be seen. Temperature doesn’t touch me. It could be blistering or icy, but I can’t feel it. All I can feel is the water when I choose to touch it, but it never seems to touch me. I feel like I’m raping the serene surface, taking its purity and virginity away.

The boat confuses me. It has a sail, yet no paddle. There is no breeze but we’re moving, and the sail seems to hold air. There is no trail behind me. The water becomes calmer with each passing moment; something I didn’t think possible.

I’m being shipped around with no way of knowing where I will end up or when I will end up there. With each passing moment, whatever was behind me disappears further. I’ve never seen back farther than I am right now. I don’t miss where I was, but I know that it’s over. I will not cherish the journey or regret the trip. All I can do now is be carried away by this odd, uncontrollable and unexplainable river in a boat that I don’t remember getting into but was forced into nonetheless.