To Absent Friends
Step aboard again, a short journey this time. The cool autumn air takes the comfort from the body; a little from the soul, too. Another year is on the wane, already; heady days pass into memory and away to the ether with falling housedust and retreating echoes.
The clank of feet on the deckboard is now the happenstance of habit; the novelty long gone, just a routine reminder that the hinges on the back need repair. Puffs of black smoke signal an engine that now complains of the cold, much like its owner, unused to the heavy dew and steaming breath.
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Away to the water, then; a little more distance to cover. I'm a solo body, today; from choice and necessity. I don't mind it, at all; I'm built for it, it transpires, the introvert's introvert. Today though, it bites. Truth is I miss Trav, far more than words can convey. A complex character, he'd have strong opinions of it all, were he here. He was never short of thoughts and wasn't scared of sharing them, either. The thing I miss most is having his trust in me. A dog who was just happy to be involved in anything I was doing, I think he was the first one who ever actually trusted me and never wavered in it. He'd have bloody hated this boat on sight though, I suspect. Very little in the way of promise to a man about the world like Travis, here.
He'd have mucked in though, eventually. He always did. We went through the lot, he and I. For nearly 19 years we curled up together, worked together, studied together, ate together. Looked out at the world side by side, and fought our battles the same. We were invited in together, more than once evicted together, too. At times his mere presence was a saving grace, the dictum that ‘if it's not good enough for the dog, it's not good enough for me’ saving me from walking into more than one sticky situation or relationship. Man's best friend doesn't even come close.
He held on as long as he could manage, years after the vet had consigned him to a short life. I often think that up to the end he was hoping we would have one last hurrah together, one last look at the view. Something a lot like this trip, for instance. In the end though the universe took him back, like it takes us all. It took a great big chunk of me that day, too. A far bigger bit than the size and shape of a Jack Russell terrier might represent.
It's been more than two years since, and I still wake up feeling for him on the bed, maybe I always will. Days like these bring it home; that I'm having this adventure without him. Wonderful as it is, this particular freedom has a hollowed-out taste to it. I feel tired more now than ever before, less resilient to the thumping beat of the modern world. I feel in my bones that some of that is because we no longer peer at each other in wonder at what we are seeing today.
I cast the lines onto the roof and push off, the boat rocks gently as I hop on. In my mind he's stood just aft of my ankles, peering round my legs at the geese over the way. I'd have to snatch him up in a minute or two, tuck him under the one arm where he spent probably half of his time on this earth. He'd want to see what I can see.
As I round the corner through the village and pass the moored boats on the nearside I can see pairs of dark eyes looking up at me from a well deck, guarding their iron kingdom. He'd have told them exactly what he thought of it, as well. The most cutting phenomenon I have experienced, him being both everywhere I look and nowhere to be seen. The thought punctures skin, setting blood of heart to run cold into the stream around.
I shift my weight and push the tiller to the right as I pass the turn to the Birmingham and Fazeley; that route, like so many things, goes behind me in a heartbeat. Soon I will hang a right and head for Coventry. But first a holiday, an actual break if I can get the peace. Little Tils is coming in a few days for a visit, and joining me in Cornwall for a short holiday, where we will sit and I will undoubtedly talk about Trav some more. Little ears will prick up at the mention of a familiar sound, perhaps she still thinks of her old mate, too.
Today the autumn is closing in around me as I go. The sun already low on the horizon though it is early in the day. Somehow it feels much, much later. No more tears for Trav's lament, though melancholy is all around. I tie up and head home, no great ground covered today. Soon I will be joined by others once more to share the miles and talk over views and plans. Soon I will have finished this part of the project; the major repairs and major miles covered. In a week we lose an hour from the day, so some lights will become a priority. As I turn to the van on the street, the light of the sun collapses into the Chase treetops; a metaphor for the mood and the year remaining. When it rises again tomorrow I'll give thanks for being alive and go again, after reaching out for a mate who isn't there any more of course.
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