This story should be told…somewhere….
Let me tell you about my Ecuadorian sailor. Full head of black wavy hair, tiny stereotypical latino ‘stache, 5ft4, and dark but kind eyes. Andres.
I could tell, from the first time I laid eyes on him, that he was one of those people that are sustained by the open ocean waters. He was meant to live on the cool blue waters around the Galapagos islands and they welcomed him with a familial love. He was calm while the waters weren’t and he was at ease, swaying in time with the ebb and flow of the boat’s motions.
He was generally quiet, saying that which only needs to be said and leaving everything else to the silence. He was an early riser like me, and I would sit in the dinning cabin and watch him drink his coffee. I would watch him and wonder what he was thinking about. Was there a girl on his mind? Was he a father? Did he miss someone?
I found him intriguing and would watch him interact with his fellow sailors. Laughing at their jokes, and making the odd one himself. He seemed like that guy that everyone admired and that no one really fucked with. He was, it seemed, the one person that everyone trusted.
He only knew a little english, so we didn’t talk much at the beginning, but as time progressed, we started to have more conversations. Jilted and broken as they were, they were always pleasant and jovial. Because of this, when I needed a guard from the lecherous advances from the ship’s guide, I felt as though he would be a good candidate. I make a joke out of the guide, and he picked up on the hint. For the next day or so, he was my knight in shinning armor, keeping me protected from the waggly tongue of your typical Ecuadorian player.
The last night, standing on the upper deck of the boat, Andres and I were talking about the stars. As I stood there, with the ocean winds, blowing my hair about, Andres shifted his coffee cup to the other hand, reached over and touched my face.
“Tu et muy bonita”, he said. I blushed, but stared into those dark eyes. I hadn’t been called beautiful for quite some time, and in that moment in time, it was exactly what I wanted to hear. Embarking on an adventure that would have never been had it not been for my demolished heart, being called beautiful by a lonely Ecuadorian sailor seemed….poetic.
He had to go launch the dingy taking the rest of the boat’s crew to land for the night, and I wanted to wander away from being alone in the one place the guide would most certainly be able to corner me, so I travelled around the boat, slowly taking in the sights of the relatively busy port. Once everyone had left, I was reading in a lounge chair on the second deck. I was only a few pages into the next chapter when all the lights went out. Curious as to what had happened, I wandered back down to main deck, where I found Andres doing his rounds. I explained to him, as best as I could, that I just needed one light, but instead he guided me back to the bridge and showed me where all the light switches were. We stood there in the dark for quite a while, and he touched my face again.
We kissed, right there, on the bridge. I knocked over instruments as the kissing became more passionate and urgent. He laid soft kisses down my neck, on my chest and poured equal amounts of affection onto each breast before guiding into the empty cabin. There, we made love. A term I hate and rarely use, but this, this was different than anything I had experienced. He was devoted to me in that short little while, he told me I had a beautiful body, he tasted all parts of me. He made me feel feminine and pretty. He made me feel wanted.
When we were finished, he went down to the bar and stole us a couple of beers. We sat, wrapped in the sheets, and shared stories about our lives. It was only as the conversation was winding down again that I realized that I should probably get back to my own cabin. He walked me back to the door, kissed me good night and went back to his job of taking care of the ship while the passengers slept and the crew partied at port.
I woke up, early as usual, feeling refreshed and slightly remorseful. I do not regret anything that happened, only that it happened the night before my departure. But, as I got dressed and brushed my teeth, I realized that had it happened earlier on the trip, letting it be exactly what it was might have actually been harder to accomplish. I stepped out on to the deck and into the mess in search of coffee, only to find Andres on the same search I was. He smiled gently, and told me good morning. I asked him how he slept, and he pointed to the couch in the lounge area. He explained that the Leo, the guide, had returned early and kept him awake most of the night talking about stupid things.
We then stood out and watched life float by for what was probably only 20 minutes, but it felt more like an hour. Time just slowed right down that morning.
After I had packed and prepared for my departure, I ran into him one last time. He slipped his address into my hand, and looking around to ensure that no one was watching he kissed me one last time. And as my boat pulled away from the ship, I looked back to wave goodbye.
I am nearly positive I will never see him again, and while he may indeed have been playing me the whole time, I don’t really care. If he was playing, than he played well and I cannot fault him for having good game. Either way, I think I may send him a postcard one day in the future. If to only know I tried.
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is my story.
G’night.
/Jane
