Harwich-Hoek van Holland

Orange and white lights of the port shine goodbye. The beacons of
welcome now wave a meek farewell, sharply pointing out of the clean-cut
autumn night. There are no stars in the sky, but if you look to the
moon you can see it's shrouded white circle, ultimately never too
bright to break the veil, though it fuzzes the surrounding cloud white
with it's plucky effort. Looking out along the coast to my right I can
make out towns along the border of solid land and shimmering sea,
tapering into black. I always liked standing out on the deck going on
my holidays when I was a kid. It was all part of the experience, all
part of the journey. I could never use the Eurotunnel, it's all too
efficient - I need to see the sea, confirmation that I've left England
behind, leaving the land I'm trying to break from. To cut the cord.
Whenever I see northern France and Holland, it looks just like back
home. Flat. Granted, the cars are driven on the other side of the road,
but it's nice to know that I've crossed the water. Confirmation.

I'm by myself here, no family with me this time - that whole 'thing'
was left back a while ago. There's just a few stragglers on deck with
me now, but I feel comfortable here, in relative peace, leaning easy
over the back rail, watching the lights of England float away. I always
thought as a kid that the top deck was the best, a higher view, but
that was always set back into the ship. I prefer here out to the back,
where I can't see anyone else below me, and between me and my friend,
the sea. It feels better that way. More alone. More safe.

The steel-cold wind wrestles with my hair, and it's winning. I'm
starting to regret not bringing my gloves. Still, nothing crossing my
arms and hunching up won't fix. There's a couple just moved up to my
left. A quick glance over. They look happy. The girl's standing up
against the rail, arms crossed, keeping herself warm. The man's
standing behind her, comforting arms wrapping her from the grouchy
wind. 'I'll hug the warmth in, my dear', his arms purr to her. Holding
their love tight in from the cynical night. To protect. They're not
going to stay here long (thank god). Back they go to the warm glow of
the ferry inside. The bar maybe, or to bed. Get some shut eye before
the drive home the other side. Eight hours to kill.

My ear's are definitely cold now, but I don't think I'll bother putting
my hood up. That's not the point of being here. If I wanted to be warm
and cosy, I'd be inside. Instead, it's me and the night and the sea,
out here. Maybe there'll be a gaggle of giggling school girls any
moment- the shrieking at their hair being wrenched horizontal
compensated by the howling wind, respectfully refusing to allow their
brainless cries to reach me, thankfully saving me from their world.
Leaving me well alone. Perhaps someone the worse the wear for the
journey, the waves churning just a bit too much for their delicate
little stomachs. See them hunched in their hooded coats, on the bench
outside, but tucked in from the wind - close to the door should they
feel a bit better and return, for they'll have to go inside sometime,
it's cold out. No doubt there'll be a few smokers huddled around the
heavy metal doors. Watch them drag their cigarettes to a pathetic grey
shrivel quick-fast, before hauling the gate back open to the world of
warm. Back to their tepid lives. Scamper quickly, my friend -
off-duty's just opened and there's only another 8 hours to kill.

I just want to be left alone. And now I am, me and the sea and the
shrouded moon.

No more lights of England, we've left them all far behind along the
churned white water trail. Turning round, I look back at the scene I
left behind me. Light glimpses from the sides of flimsy curtains which
don't meet at the edge nor the middle, screening what I presume to be
the restaurant - you can see plenty of people flitting in and out of
the thin show inside. Happy people. So very happy. It's nice just
taking it in, legs crossed, sloped back on this freezing metal rail,
watching that narrow world go by. My ears, thinking about it, are
really cold, but at least I'm here by myself, and that makes me feel a
whole lot better. Warmer. I think I'll go for a wander.

Skirting that cosy, insular world I take great solace in my cold, green
walkway. And in the air, salt spray so fine you can't feel it, but it's
there if you try to taste it, if you just licked your lips. Beside the
lifeboats I find myself. The wind tugs enthusiastically at the heavy
red tarpaulins that just won't budge. They're made of sterner stuff,
but it doesn't stop the wind from trying, just in case the covers drop
their guard - then the wind'll be there, lion-like, to pounce and maul,
mercilessly. It's a long way down. Straight down. I bet many people
have looked down at that placid black glass and wondered what it would
be like to break the surface. For a split second it has been
considered. A curiosity. Briefly. Yeah, it's along way down. Straight
down. Just think, you could jump off here and no-one would ever notice.
Look around, there's no-one here. It wouldn't be until 8 hours later,
when they count the boarding cards and check the tally on against tally
off that they realise one's missing. They'll check and double check,
but still they'll be that one missing. You could just disappear. In a
world like this I feel a certain romanticism in that. Security that in
a world like this you can still slip away. Unnoticed.

What would they put it down to? A drunken tragedy? Death by
misadventure? A tragic accident? A fateful slip on the spray-wet rails
as he peered over? Maybe a tragic suicide of some single lonely young
male who could take no more. Another number for the statistics. 'An
outcast of society which no longer holds a firm place for this person
in this gender changing world we find ourselves in'- that's what the
psychologist on the telly would say, wouldn't they? 'A tragedy that
someone so desperate could be driven to this'. Maybe, though, I was
never driven, but just arrived. Here. How many times has a speeding
lorry or tube train thundered past and at least not a part of you
screamed 'jump!' Not suicidal, like, but just because you could. The
temptation was there, my friend, was it not? Even as a kid I thought of
this moment, leaning out over that mass of water far below and thinking
of the possibilities. Maybe this is right, maybe this is what I should
do. It's not that I've given up, it's just that I've given all I can -
how about that? A victim of circumstance, and I'm here. Is it clear
which way I should turn? Surely if there's no screaming reason why I
shouldn't is the very reason that I should. I know this isn't what
'normal' people do, but maybe I never was. Then again, what is normal,
and who is? Maybe this feels so right because this is how it's meant to
be. I've served my time, done my bit and now it's time to move on. Far
away. I need a break.

The more I think about it, the less outrageous it becomes. Maybe this
is it, maybe this is how I want it to be. There's something here that
appeals to me so much. So very much. I could live till 80 and get eaten
away by cancer. Maybe live life a vegetable after a car crash. Someone
going too fast. Some drunken idiot. It happens. Maybe this is my chance
to close the chapter as I see fit. How long is a book, anyway? 1984,
that's a short book, but I like it. Maybe the reason that this doesn't
worry me is because it feels so right. It's meant to be. Then again,
this isn't something you can take lightly, but deep down I think I know
- I think I've always known. This is my chance to slide away into the
night, to not scream into deaf ears, to silently crash into the abyss
of, whatever is, beyond. To leave the way I want.

And no-one will ever know until daylight in Holland, but it will be too
late by then, I shall be long gone. Perhaps they'll put out a
helicopter, perhaps no-one will bother. Maybe they'll have a memorial
service for me and no one will come. Perhaps someone will say a few
kind words for me, as they did for the child beaters and bastards of
this world. Those very same words. I want to be different from them, I
want to stand up and say, 'This is me, and this is my way'. This is my
time. It's not like I'm afraid of death, so what's the problem? The
chances are I'll have a heart attack with the cold or get knocked
unconscious by the concrete sea, but at least I'll enjoy the fall.
Soundlessly floating down to what's waiting. But if I jump, that's it,
gravity's a stickler for things like this. That would be that. The end.
Finito. Looking down more intently at the waves, they don't seem so
bad, assuring me with their sensual swaying.

If I slip away tonight, will people understand? Does it really matter
if they don't? This isn't bad, it just is - it's just meant to be.
Destiny. It's already in a book some god has already written, hidden
away in some cloud or maybe the bottom of the sea and we're just
playing the parts, imperfectly. Maybe we all have these parts to play,
maybe we're all just puppets of life. Maybe we each have a function,
and maybe I've served mine. There'll be no left message, because that
isn't the point. I just want to slip away on this nondescript night. To
be left in peace. At last. People may try to explain, but they never
will. There is no reason, no turning point or traumatising event. No
black and white facts or scientific reason to reassure you with, a
foreboding lack of 'something' that separates me from you. It just is.
A chance to be anonymous on an anonymous night. Forever.

The rain isn't lashing down like it shows on the movies. No thunder or
lightening. The stars aren't even shining for me tonight, because
that's not the point. This is my chance to go out without any fuss and
bother. No bunting or party popper - I was never one for big
celebrations, anyway. I just want to leave. I've given all I could and
I've nothing left. Maybe my family will keep a picture of me on the TV,
maybe my friends might be shocked when they hear the news. Maybe some
will cry. But next week it will be back to mortgages and dog food.
Again. It's just not for me.

An anomaly on a boarding count, I like that. That appeals to me. That's
the way I want it to be.
I'm happy.