William on the Dock: Reading Past the Destination

William scrolls with one thumb, the other hand tucked into his jacket against the air coming off the water.

Third steward on a 53-metre yacht. Stew/cook on a 38-metre. Second engineer. Sole engineer. Temporary, permanent. He goes back up the list, comparing lengths as if the numbers might tell him how much room a working day would leave for a life.

The routes are easier to picture: the Mediterranean, Turkey and Greece through summer; the Caribbean appearing in the winter listings. A calendar made of crossings. He can almost mistake the itinerary for an invitation until he reaches the requirements again: STCW safety training, an ENG1 medical. Being good at a difficult thing on a computer is not a qualification to keep a vessel running. These jobs have their own thresholds.

He lowers the phone and looks up.

Across the narrow water, a yacht's deck lights illuminate a table with nobody at it. Farther along, another empty deck shines above a black hull. A mooring line tightens, then eases. From here the boats look still; the work that keeps them that way is out of sight.

A berth would be somewhere to sleep, but also somewhere an employer could reach him. The route would carry him somewhere new, but he would not be choosing every departure. He wonders who gets a quiet hour, where music can be played, how a crew makes room for one another when nobody can simply go home.

William wakes the screen before it goes dark. This time he reads past the destination.