To Which I Am Reminded

I called him “the Cap”

Because he was a captain.

Except the ship he was in command of was metaphorically imaginary. A metaphysical promise between us two.

I met the Cap on the silvery steps of a building in the state capital of New York. It was an extremely windy day and we were quite literally blown toward each other.

I was friendly.

He was eager.

Though his accent fooled me, he wasn’t a native to this country.

The Cap was raised in Guinea and belonged to the Fulani tribe. He painted his childhood with words for me on the screen of space that was our very first date. It included barefoot soccer, cows for miles, and a strong emphasis on family.

Quite different from me.

I was born in noisy New York City before my mother stole me away to upstate. Before I knew that the Statue of Liberty wasn’t called the big green lady housed in the sky.

My childhood included buying umpteen cups of limber de coco from my Puerto Rican neighbor and riding my bicycle on the prohibited sidewalk in my cul-de-sac.

I hated the small town I grew up in but for reasons I wouldn’t know until later, I owed my mother my gratitude.

Had I not spent most of life Upstate, I would’ve been more eager to go far away for school out of lack of familiarity and no sense of belonging.

And thus, I would’ve never met the Cap.

So, thank you, Mama.

As far as the relationship between the Cap and me, I mean, what can I say...

He was an angel of a man.

The things he instilled in me were simply the effects of his nature and were beautifully unintentional.

We’d practice simple things together; things that I thought I knew.

Like how to move my mouth to form pretty words, how to look someone honestly in the eye and how to cry with meaning.

I was learning to be human and everything that that meant all over again.

The days when a storm would encompass the whole day and knock the power out cold, I’d slip beneath the thin covers with the Cap.

We’d just enjoy each other in innocent ways, with curious touching and unexpected smiles.

Times when he’d speak Fula to me would be my favorite. I’d watch his mouth form unfamiliar shapes to produce unfamiliar sounds.

I was fascinated, eager to learn the language to be closer to him.

I wanted to understand every single thing that made him up; everything that made him precious to me.

And so it shouldn’t be a surprise that I would shadow the Cap when he’d speak to his father over the phone in Fula.

I’d sit beside him and try to mimic the words coming from his mouth. I felt like a child learning the world again. He felt both pleased and honored with my efforts.

Our love felt much too great for our bodies and too vast for the almost narrow streets of Albany, New York.

And on one evening filled with tender laughs and deep eye gazing, the Cap, starry-eyed and focused on me, said he’d build me a ship.

One strong enough to store our memories in when our brains would reach maximum capacity—

And to store our love when we had a surplus.

He was sure that we’d be rich forever, in love and in tomorrows.

I named the ship “The Proof”. It would serve as a representation that our love actually existed; a symbol of our union.

And I don’t know exactly how it happened, but somehow overtime my mind began constructing that ship.

Every word, smile and touch that the Cap shared with me became the elements that made up that ship.

So in some ways, yes, it built itself, but using the innermost parts of the Cap to do so.

It was a beautiful co-creation.

And that creation meant more to me the day the Cap was gone.

I know that “gone” means different things depending on the person perceiving it. So I’ll leave it up to interpretation.

Just know that I was left with some sort of cavity that could only be filled in the stillness.

The stillness that is comprised of lying on my back on a crisp summer evening, listening to the song of the birds and the children at play. This is when I know everything is alright.

I can relax into that knowing.

My arms are folded across my chest and my hands are pressed over my heart as I lie down in my bed.

And at the moment I begin to drift, between earth land and dream land, I can see my feet in the sand, on the shore, and the Cap’s ship coming toward me peacefully.

Perfectly contrasted against the half orange horizon line and with wind in its sails, it’s our ship; the Cap and I’s.

Our friend ship.

Our relation ship.

Our partner ship.

Our hard ship.

It’s the proof of everything that was, buried deep inside of my heart; embedded into my mind.

I am reminded of the proof of our love.

I am reminded...