Feb 17 2008
Chocolate Cake
We woke up at four A.M. that morning, both with a craving for fruit loops. After switching cars several times for fear that they would both break down, my friend and I found ourselves sitting in the back of my mom’s minivan wearing hats, sunscreen, and several layers, listening to my mom shriek directions. Of course we got lost. After racing onto the boat seconds before it left, we were introduced to all of the smiling relatives whose names I had forgotten over the course of a year. We walked up and down the boat as it set out for Mexico, watching the sun rise. I spent the day with a fishing rod in hand, staring down into the dark waters of the deep sea, out at the uninhabited islands ruled by wild goats that we passed, and into the face of the sun that burned my arms and face. My friend spent the day in the boat’s galley, sleeping off her seasickness. She woke up for the ride home and convinced me to accompany her up to the stern of the boat. We leaned over the sides, letting the waves we raced through leap up to splash us in the face. We were soaked through with ice cold salt water by the time I nearly fell overboard, and spent the remainder of the trip sitting on the bow, drinking hot chocolate. Now we sit at a metal table outside the grocery store my parents are shopping in, still feeling the waves roll beneath our feet. We are eating chocolate cake and both smell like dead fish and both of us have messy hair and sunburns. Unsurprisingly, many customers are staring at us.
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