Rush

The coffee fountains in the little glass reservoir atop the ancient percolator, keys jangling, foot tapping, its a watched pot and I know it.  Finally it finishes and I can pour the morning's life blood into an insulated travel mug.  I rush out the door, down the steps into a misty fog that envelopes the neighborhood like a blanket.  The car is wet, but not in a clean way and I try not to brush against it as I negotiate the slope of wet grass and a quickly rising curb.  For the beauty the car inspires, I have no illusions about her origins.  All cars and boats are"She".  Mine is no different, set off by her temperamental attitude at start-ups.  She is a bitch and knows it.  I stroke her gently and she purrs to life, minus the rumble from a whole in the exhaust.  Clutch and shift, down and around the block towards the harbor.  The bell has already pealed twice, I had to beat the third.  The captain didn't wait, not even for drinking buddies.  He actually relished the idea of leaving his friends at the ferry dock, mouths agape, so he'd have something to brag about later.  I clipped a corner, drifting on the wet pavement in style and revved around the circle to the Rue-de-Rive.  The old brick pavers always promised to shake Carmen's chassis off the mounts.  I could see the lights of the ferry ahead in the distance, windshield wiper smearing dew, mist and road grime into a visual soup that mired my vision and goal.  Just as I pulled into the last parking spot, the third bell began to ring.  I could see him in the wheel house with a smile on his face.  He was gonna make me work for it, OK.  I grabbed my coffee, backpack and the large leather portfolio that was my life and made a mad dash for the gangplank.  The captain was calling all hands to lay off the mooring lines, the twin diesels started a fountain that washed onto the dock.  Someone started cranking up the gangway.  It wasn't so much the distance as the height, but I launched my self and elevated with ease to the steel-grated plank.  I walked it the end where the disappointed mate stood and I cordially asked to come aboard.  I put my things on a bench and took the steps up to the wheel house.  The captain asked how the mate looked at my arrival cause it meant a smooth sawbuck for the captain.  He successfully negotiated pulling away from the dock and made the turn to find the open channel that would take us across the river.  From the distance we heard a shouting.  We turned to the rear window to see a woman at the edge of the dock, trying desperately to relay some mystical semi-four with wild gesticulations of her arms.  I think she really believed the 100 ton ferry capable of swinging back around to pick her up on a whim.  But it was a sad truth, and it was sad in unison, each of with a wry smile, "she missed the boat."