Up the ramp and onto the pier Mitchell’s front wheels bounced heavily on the planks of a skinny walk pinched between the warehouse and a storm fence. Andy opened the gate and they crossed the wharf, pushing through a chaos of plastic chairs surrounding metal tables in an empty rest area. Mitchell wheeled to Commercial Street, Old Portland, where small red-brick buildings sagged like old men, huddled and worn and grown quiet since the bygone days of tall ships and their cargoes.

One block east they wandered into the terminal for the island ferries, a grey cement rampart harbor side, vacant except for a few employees in offices. Mitchell pushed into the spacious passenger area open to the harbor. Rows of green and blue and orange plastic seats lined the cement floor. Andy put the jug on a seat and strolled off to find a rest room. Mitchell threw his hat on the seat. He drank from the jug then soaked himself with water again. Leaning back he pushed his buttocks forward and reached under his knee, swinging his boot off the footrest to open his body as much as possible.

Andy returned and sat sideways to stretch a leg across the seats. "I’m going to look around," he said but he didn’t move. Out in the harbor a motor boat cruised past like a breach of the peace. Andy raised himself slowly and walked away.

"Send up a flare if you find a cool spot." Mitchell hung his hands inside the front of his shirt to raise the fabric off his skin. He lowered his chin and closed his eyes and drifted into other times...

He climbed an aluminum ladder to a high diving board and stood atop the height at the back of the board to watch the beach beyond the club where low swells peeled off a jeweled sea, melting into surf foam and coral white sand. Palm trees hushed the breeze. Laughter and conversations swarmed up and evaporated from the tables of the men and women sitting poolside. In the oval-aqua pool swimmers dashed their heads and shoved water playfully and wiped chlorinated water from their faces. On a bleached dirt road twisting into the jungle a monkey raised a thin trail of dust.

Mitchell looked down at his empty chair, his empty glass. Next to his seat a young Asian woman smiled and waved and her young face was full of hope. There was something he needed to say to her but the warmth of her eyes and the fragrance of her body were too distracting. His thoughts avoided the words. He would be leaving soon. Alone.

Walking out to the end of the diving board he raised himself onto the balls of his feet and bent his knees to drop his weight, pushing the board down then lifting off into warm clear light. His mind was unhindered, unconstrained...

Mitchell opened his eyes to a curly-haired cherub in pink and white play clothes pressing into the numbness of his leg. She was struggling for foot holds in the frame of the wheelchair, her little hands grasping his pant leg then clenching his damp shirt as she raised her chest onto his leg to pull herself into his lap. He moved his hands to give her space as she twisted around, straddling his leg. Leaning backward onto his belly she reached both hands for the wheels but could touch only the top of the nearest tire.

"Anything else I can get you?" Mitchell asked.

"Un-uh." She pushed at the tire.

Passengers were streaming from a ferry into the waiting area. A dark-tanned blonde woman in a white blouse and khaki shorts hurried toward Mitchell with a large canvas carry bag slung over her shoulder. Seeing the humor in his eyes she slowed to a walk and slipped her hands into the pockets of her shorts as she stopped next to his wheelchair. "When she saw you she didn’t hesitate."

"Wheels are wheels," Mitchell said. "It’s all the same to kids."