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We’d be going nowhere under sail that day, even if we’d wanted to.A couple of barges had left on the rising tide, others had been gone since Friday, but as it was a holiday, people were setting up on the quay; someone demonstrating and selling decorative knot-work, various displays of the organisations that ran classic boats, some just for profit (actually, there’s little or no profit in old boats, they cost too much to maintain, but the people who do it, do so more for the sake of the boats than for money) some charitable ones, mainly adventure/sail training for youngsters. Later, there would probably be Morris dancing, or perhaps shanty or folk singing. It would be fun.We walked slowly along the prom, hand in hand. Did I mention feeling like a teenager? I couldn’t remember ever feeling like that before, at any age, and certainly not when I was courting Brenda, my ex-wife. Normally I would have been watching the small boats out from the sailing club, despite the early hour; noting. ‘No more skipping school,’ my father said pointedly. I nodded in agreement. I was tempted to hug him again, but I knew it wouldn’t go well. Pop was from a generation when men were men and they did not hug each other. ‘Where is my kiss goodbye?’ mom asked both of us. My father rolled his eyes, but than turned and kissed mom. I watched them and smiled, oddly content on a level it was hard to explain. In my world pop had died of a heart attack years ago and mom was in a nursing home with Alzheimer’s. For just a moment I forced the thought of what lay ahead of them aside. They were my parents and to see them together and in love like this was a dream come true. ‘Okay, maybe being thrown back in time to relive high school wasn’t a complete bust,’ I thought. On the other hand, when the knowledge of what was to come crept back into my head my joy turned bitter sweet. ‘Hey Simmons!’ someone called. I turned toward the voice. It was Jimmy something or other. I couldn’t remember his last.
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