I’m sitting in the ferry line-up, on the Nanaimo side. It’s about 11:30 in the morning. The plaintive sounds of a guitar and a folksy voice are wafting through the air. I can’t tell where it’s coming from, perhaps from the Volkswagen camper van a couple of rows over. The family next to me is French. I can’t understand what they’re saying, just a word or phrase here and there, but their quiet voices are soothing. People walk by; chatting, holding a child’s hand or a dog’s leash. It is restful, perhaps because I haven’t been waiting long. I’m hoping to make the 12:15 ferry. I might not feel so sanguine after a several hour wait in the heat.

I crossed over to the island five days ago. My drive to Horsehoe Bay in the busy morning traffic was made in the rain. I was one of the last cars on the ferry before it sailed. I was in the lowest vehicle deck and by the time I parked and made my way up to the passenger deck, the line-up for the cafeteria was quite long. It didn’t matter to me because I didn’t want breakfast anyway. I went to the coffee shop and grabbed a muffin and a cup of tea. I sat at a little table and pulled out my iPad. My reading was compromised by the conversations and activity around me. An older couple at a nearby table was on the way to the island for a wedding. A young couple with a baby were trying to keep her entertained. Toddlers were toddling by; most stopped to stare at the baby. A group of teenage girls at the table beside me were chattering away, texting at the same time. I finished my snack and sat for a while. Then I gathered up my belongings. I strolled through the gift shop and then walked to the front of the boat to find a seat. I settled in and concentrated on my reading. As the land grew closer, I headed down to my car to wait to disembark.

The weather had cleared up and the drive to Port Alberni was familiar and uneventful. I stopped at a nursery to pick up flowers for my friend and then I drove to her house. She still has a son at home and a married daughter with a young son close by. It was lovely to be in the bosom of a busy family. It was even more lovely to catch up with a dear friend. We chatted late into the evening every night, either at the kitchen table or in the living room. We ventured out during the days; to have the world’s best doughnuts at the Harbour Quay, to check out some houses her daughter and her daughter’s husband were hoping to buy and to shop for dinner. One day we drove to Coombs and walked slowly through the market, jostled by tourists. We bought a few things, had ice cream and drove home.  Sometimes we stayed home, watching her grandson. He’s a busy, almost two-year-old. He learned my name while I was there, although he couldn’t manage all of it. I was “En-neh”.  He stuck out his tongue between the syllables. No matter what we were doing, my friend and I talked. And I learned some new, interesting things about her. We didn’t grow up together. We met about 10 years ago, at work, so we both have things to reveal and many, many more years as “besties” to do it.  

The ferry is loading. Some people are panicking as they come from the marketplace. They’ve forgotten where they parked. The loudspeaker crackles and a voice tells the driver of a white truck pulling a grey fifth-wheel to return to the vehicle. The lane beside me empties, then the cars at the front of my lane slowly start to move. I’m going to make this ferry! See you on the other side.