Half ‘n half

The Ferry

Taking the ferry in the morning feels like taking a ride with a distant relative. One with unshared history but the kind of care humans feel when there is something, even delicate, tethering them to each other.

Riders hobble down the medal grate, bridging between land and the boat. Soft “good-mornings”, exchanged between passengers and the crew fall into the fog. Breeze crackles around ear lobes, heads duck attempting to crouch below the wind, then warmth. Upon boarding the heat melts around crossed arms and bundled heads. Commuters huddle around a complementary basin of coffee, liberally pouring powdered creamer into their cups.

The ferry slips out of the dock, almost unnoticed, and into the channel with cargo containers and those large ships you only really see in movies. The engine hums and the boat flies, smoothly, over the water, the way planes float in the air.

There are a plethora of open seats on this morning’s ferry. Usually the 8am boat is a compact one. It feels as if a studio apartment decided to be a ferry one day. Today, they’ve brought the larger double decker, with windows wrapping around every side, sprayed with salty water and debris from the bay.

A crew member walks around with a tall open carton of real half and half, offering it to those who have poured themselves their small paper cups of coffee. “We’ve got to keep this one hidden” he says as he gestures to the carton. Half and half, a hot commodity for the tired mid week 9-5er.