I’m out on the deck, leaning against a match as I sketch. I intended to draw the ocean, maybe an orca. Instead, I begin to draw her face. I don’t know why, but it just comes out of my pencil. I sketch her short hair, and her dimples, and the beginnings of crows feet by her eyes.

The wind wisp my hair into my face, but somehow I’m so focused I don’t even see it. After I’ve sketched her face, her eyes are next, in a smaller scale on a different part of the page. The her torso and her breasts, her back. She’s so beautiful. I draw her hands, her muscles, her stomach.

I’m so absorbed in my drawing, I don’t even really realize how much of her I really remember. We’ve only kissed and hugged and flirted a bit, but, as I sketch her lips and the scar that breaks up the smoothness in her upper lip, I smile. I title the page, Kaplan, her last name. I sign my own in the bottom right corner, as I run my finger over the drawing.

I’ve sketched everything I can possibly remember about her, I think. I remember the placement of her freckles, birthmarks, and moles, the way her hands look and feel on my face. I need a fucking drink, but I’m a lightweight, and a single shot always tastes like getting blackout drunk. I sip from a thermos of tea, and smile as the warmth floods through me.

I stare at the leather-bound notebook and close it. If I was by myself, maybe I’d slip my hand into my pants. But I don’t, because I might be a little different but I’m not deprived. She yawns, as her bleary eyes locate me. She walks over with that crooked smile, sitting down far enough away from me that we’re not touching.

Her head falls back against the metal-reinforced wooden mast with a thump, and she lets out a sharp ‘Ow!’ as her hand flies to the back of her head. I laugh, and she pushes my shoulder. This sparks a little play fight, which quickly escalates, naturally.

We’ve started all-out brawling now, and she only gets off when our navigator, RJ, pulls her off. I can hold my own just fine, but she’d panting. She hasn’t fought like I have. RJ looks at us like we’re children, and I flip him off petulantly as he hands her a handkerchief to stop her bleeding lip, and gives me a rag to stop my bleeding nose.

We sit there next to her, our impromptu sparring session left behind. “Sorry I broke your nose.” She says, turning to look at me. “Sorry I split your lip.” I say, and as we make eye-contact. She starts to laugh. Than I start, and neither of us can cold ourselves up anymore as we laugh and fall against each other.