Favorite Place

Finding Peace on an Inert Sailboat

In the chaotic household I grew up in, was a young girl, on a quest for solitude, peace, and silence. My bedroom was far from peaceful as it was strewn with clothing articles fit for a six-year-old girl's body. Toys were not organized in a neat fashion, nor were they common for other girls my age: crayons were melted from the heating vent on the floor and plastered on the wall, the walk in closet was decorated like Christmas with colored lights hanging from the ceiling, a miniature tree dolled up with colored bulbs and an angel-like Barbie doll stood on top. The most obnoxious object in my bed room was the television. It was always on with a basketball series passing unnecessary sound and light waves through the small room. This peaceful butterfly was not the culprit for this technical device though; it was my older brother lounging on the top bunk with an expression that showed no concern for my needs.

After convincing myself that my brother would not leave me be to journal in peace, I began to seek another refuge, which was not found in the kitchen with my mother. She always took up the most qualified space, equipped with the best lighting and the sturdiest table in the whole home. I walked through with the intent to stick around but instead continued on my quest. I traveled through the downstairs without the slightest possibility for relaxing there since it was a mimicry of Marilyn Manson's room: painted gothic black with silver spray paint, torn couches, candles and wicked posters with the man himself peering into your eyes like a demon. The only person I knew daring enough to occupy this space was Elena- my oldest, most beloved sister. This is where she found her serenity and while I admire her for that, I on the other hand was not about to settle for less than what I wanted.

I was determined and decided that if our home was not going to provide me with the necessary space, perhaps the outdoors would. I slid open the sliding glass doors and stepped into a breath of fresh air. I was quite close to setting up next to the pool with the cool, crisp water shimmering next to me. The neighbor family changed my mind after running across the yard and cannon balling into our irresistible pool. This was not my idea of peace or serenity. So, I carried on my journey through the acreage that took me past our rusted garage and the rusted cars it protected, past the make shift tree house my older siblings had built as a hideout, past the weeds that grew without avail and past the abundant forest of grapevines, mulberry, pear and apple trees. Passing the forest led me into the fields of gold; golden corn that it. This may be considered serenity to some, like Farmer Shamp down the road, but it was not going to suit my needs. I turned around.

When walking north, passers-by are unable to notice the two abandoned sail boats that found comfort in the swarming bushes. When walking south, however, it is quite evident that they are at a peaceful stand still. I approached these monstrous entities, journal in hand and pen in ear. Bliss had consumed me, peace was no longer a question and serenity swallowed me whole. This quest was not over though as another dilemma faced me: which boat do I choose to rest on? There was an age difference between the two boats and was noticeable at first sight. The closest was a newer sail boat and its white paint was rimmed with silver trim, the seats were vinyl and the tarp was still in tact. The second boat was much older, its white paint now dingy and peeling off. There was one seat reserved for whomever the captain was. There was not a tarp, just a slight overhead roof for the captain and the glass window, which was littered with spiderwebs and helpless insects. The boat was as ancient as trees and wood themselves, but I find an interest in antique things. The flaws on this boat have made it unworthy to most, but to me, it was the most magnificent, majestic and intriguing space contemplated for me that day. I stuck with it.

I needed to find a way onto this blissful boat, which led me to circling it a few times before finding a crevice on the back end between the motor and the boat itself. I stuck my petite foot into the crevice and used my elbows to prop myself onto the motor. I could then jump over the back wall and onto the wood floor. The floor creaked and made me second guess my logic but as soon as I began to question myself, it stopped. I crept forward and climbed onto the captains seat, over the glass window and then slid down. I was on the boats front end by now and found it a suitable place to lie down. I had to arrange a comfortable spot for myself by brushing off leaves and rotting pears, but this was no problem. After doing so, I lay down on my front side and opened my journal. I then began my entry that read about my obnoxious brother, my patient mother and my very loveable, gothic sister. I wrote about the annoying neighbors (though at times good company). I discussed the very 'real' love I had for my boyfriend in Kindergarten. Along with these entries came me soaking up the sun and praising the trees for keeping me company. I sat in awe at the mysterious sailboat and I made it clear to myself that this, in fact, was my favorite place on Earth.