Chapter three: It's obvious that Aster is not pleased that she ended up on a remote island. How did she get stuck there? Let's go back to the beginning...
photo by ldyck
Chapter four
Before
From the passenger seat, Aster watched her husband weave his way through the ferry’s car deck. As if following a clearly marked path, he worked his way through the maze of boat-sized trucks. Believing that she could simply follow him, Aster pushed the door o—. The neighbouring truck was too close. Crawling out required Aster to move her body in ways more appropriate for Yoga class—bend, stretch, slid, pull. Finally free of the car, she felt a sense of victory but—. Bumpers, side mirrors, trailer hitches blocked her progress in every direction. Balancing on her toes, Aster searched for her husband. There he went past that truck and that one, never looking back. Clearly, he wasn’t worrying about, had no thought of her.
“Not very chivalrous, my dear Kenneth James,” Aster grumbled.
Alone, without any possibility of aid, she squeezed her body past a side mirror and around a trailer hitch. She nearly missed colliding with the corner of a truck’s bed. By the time she caught up to her husband, he was slipping through an automated sliding door. The door closed in Aster’s face. She scanned the wall looking for some way to open the door. She was still searching when she heard a thud. She jumped. A man behind her heaved a heavy sigh and Aster knew he was annoyed at her.
She watched as magically the door began to slowly, ever so slowly, slid open. Aster wanted to thank him but—.
“Tourists!” The man spat, pushing past. A wave of body odor trailed behind him and struck her in the face.
Aster wondered when he had last bathed. She wondered how many other passengers were in a similar state. Concerns about hygiene gave her pause. She opened her purse and pulled out a tissue. After wrapping the tissue around the handrail, she followed the man up the stairs. The tissue slid steadily upward as she ascended the stairs.
Aster had to push, with her arm and shoulder, to open the once-white door that was at the top of the stairs. The door nearly weighed a ton. She almost tripped over a protrusion in the threshold. Its presence and the fact that no one had bothered to mark it—possibly with red tape—annoyed her. How many people had been injured?
To her right, a blue trash can stood against the wall. She used her tissue-wrapped hand to push the lid open. The lid— The entire trash can was in sorry need of a good scrubbing with a disinfectant and a heavy bristled brush. And the thing stank.
A few feet ahead a large window offered a view of the ocean. At least the ocean was better than the gray, greasy cave she’d just left. To the right of the window was a door to the outside deck. She could clearly see that there was no one standing out there. To her left was a row of bolted-together chairs. They didn’t look comfortable. The first row of chairs faced the front of the ferry. A woman sat in the far corner of the first row. She was knitting while reading the magazine open on her lap. Aster watched the needles coil the yarn and longed to inquire as to what the knitting would yield but the woman looked like she didn’t wish to be disturbed. The two middle rows faced each other with a gap of about five feet between them. A gang of adolescents slummed in these chairs. Aster quickly walked passed without giving them much heed. If she ignored them, she hoped they would ignore her. The last rows faced Vancouver’s ferry terminal. These chairs were empty. Kenneth James wasn’t here. Had he vanished? Past the row of chairs, another door offered her her last opportunity to go outside. Her husband had to be somewhere. Aster pushed the door open and this time wasn’t surprised to discover that it was weighed.
A man smoking a cigarette thoughtlessly sent smoke in her direction but the wind blew it back in his face. Aster suppressed a smile and went back inside. Returning, she discovered another set of stairs. She retrieved another tissue, wrapped it around the handrail, and ascended. There was no door and no protrusion at the top of these stairs. This deck seemed brighter and somehow more cheerful than the last until—.
Mrs. Kenneth James Stevens Wants A Baby
Aster has lost her husband on the ferry? Will she ever find him again? Or is that how she ends up on-- ? (I've said--or written--too much.)
