M. and the sea

M. Likes the Sea More Than He Admits #

M. pretends football matters more than the sea. This is clearly false. Tonight he called while I was pretending to study history and within five minutes somehow the conversation returned to sailing again.

Wind conditions.
Boats.
Winter water.
Harbor lights.
People he knows from competitions.

His entire voice changes when discussing the sea.
Slower. Calmer. Less guarded.
I don’t think he notices.

At one point I asked what he was doing before calling and he said he’d just come back from walking near the port because he “needed air.” Genovese people always say this like the sea is oxygen itself. Meanwhile in M. “getting air” usually means surviving traffic emotionally. I miss him more during winter for some reason. Maybe because everything already feels colder and distance becomes sharper around the edges. He told me Sampdoria played terribly Sunday and sounded genuinely wounded by it. Boys attach emotional stability to sports in ways scientists should study carefully.

Still.

I like listening to him talk even when I barely understand the subject because certain people carry atmosphere with them. And M. always sounds faintly like sea air entering a warm room.

Remember me,
Eclipse