Terminal #3

The rain came down in the smallest misty droplets. The shrill and strained voices of those inside, echoed off the windows and tall, high ceilings of the terminal. At the same time, a man, not yelling, just outside the door, pointed up at the great wooden beams that supported the roof and said to the woman beside him–maybe his wife and maybe his girlfriends and maybe just a work associate, “look hot those are beveled and so they fit together just right.”

Inside the terminal the echoes continued. You have to wear a mask, said the ferry worker, but it was lost in the shouts.

What about liberty?

Free country.

Don’t have to.

Outside in the loading lot where people in waited in cars waiting to be loaded, a white Tesla paid fare and then drove into the back of a lane. The loud speakers chimed with a thin metallic voice. Will the white Tesla that pulled into the end of lane five please move to lane one. I’ll repeat, the white Tesla must move from lane five to lane one. The announcement flies around the crowded terminal without the potential passenger or the ferry worker hearing it.

The other passengers who wear masks buy tickets amid the hubbub. They shoot glances at the yelling men. A young family hustle quickly past them. The little girls hold their hands over their ears. Entering directly after the family are a pair of state troops. Each are white with close cut hair, one down right bold, and the other has a reddish beard. The ferryman backs away, shaking his head. The yelling man turns around to see the police officers.

On the ferry that is docking a passenger stands on the front of the boat. As the transport nears the dock a ferry worker approaches.

I’m going to ask you to step back. And please pull up your mask to cover your nose when you go inside.

The passenger is a girl, no older than 21 and maybe younger. She does what is asked of her. There is no conflict her. She stands behind the webbing the ferry worker sets up to obscure the walk way. The ferry worker has a partially shaved head and a swath of blond hair streaking the top of her head, pulled back in a pony tale. She unlocked the gate so the passenger bridge can lower.

Under the water where the propellers are, the water churns as the front propellers are engaged, slowing the boat.

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