Calling Uber

We barely squeak into our rented loft apartment in time to hurry down the stairs, run to the car and turn our noses to the sea. The Parade of Sail, celebrating the beginning of the Tall Ships Festival in Galveston, begins at 1 p.m. Heading toward the Galvez where a watch party is to take place only to find mile-long lines of cars trying to gain entrance and no parking to be found anywhere.

“We should have taken Uber,” I say.

Turning, we drive toward downtown in search of a convenient parking lot near our loft.  Once found, we walk to the Star Drugstore, call Uber and wait. It’s a short ride. The driver loses money. We tip big.

View from the Seawall

Eschewing the crowds at the Galvez, we choose the seawall and sit on the cement sidewalk hanging our legs over the side—swinging them like the kids we used to be. The ships in the Parade of Sail are tiny specs on the horizon. The wind wildly tosses hair about my face. Michael is occupied by the pelicans that glide above us—each group seeming to take the same route across the roof line of the Galvez. Kids play in the surf. Young women sunbathe on the beach. Everyone sits somewhere and waits.

It crosses my mind that this is like sitting and waiting for water to boil. Married to a former sailor, I know, sailboats are slow. Except for one. This is no race, but the tall ship at the back of the line overtakes one ship, then another, then another, till at last, it leads the pack.

I tell Michael, “I want to sail on that boat.” Well, I can’t, but I can wish.