#My anxiety brain says we're never ever getting on a ship in a million years

[sophieswundergarten]

Does anybody want to hear about my 100% fabricated Cannonball backstory?

So, imagine this kid. Maybe he's got parents, maybe he doesn't. I think he probably lost his family at a young age and was sent to live with a great aunt/uncle who has a huge house and doesn't really mind if he runs around on his own all day.

At age seven, he gets his hands on a copy of Treasure Island it becomes he favourite book. He reads it cover to cover in three days, staying up as late as he can and reading under the sheets until he falls asleep and wakes up with his face on the still-open book.

There's a small stream on the edge of the property, and he spends every day down there, studying the water currents and watching the different kinds of leaves drift down it. Once he steals an entire package of toothpicks and takes an afternoon holed up in his room making as perfect a model of a ship he can.

After that, his guardians begin to take notice. He receives model kits and books on the history of sailing and every space second of his is devoted to knot-tying. He always keeps a slender piece of rope in his pocket, and it becomes a soothing habit for him to tie and untie it, often without looking, or under his desk to avoid attention when he's at school.

He doesn't get along with the other children very well, though not for lack of trying. They just aren't interested in hearing him list each part of a sailing ship or debating the merit of a sloop versus a schooner. So, he spends most of his free periods reading and sketching and closing his eyes and imagining what it would be like to feel the wind on his face.

What he does excel at is history, especially navy battles. He loves the strategy and the careful planning and the weighing of pros and cons and it delights him whenever the topic in class turns to maritime warfar.

As soon as school lets out he runs the whole way home, back up the hill to the empty old house that has far too many rooms full of stagnant air. He relishes the feeling of the breeze through his hair, seeking out storms and studying the sky to catalogue weather patterns.

All he wants is to be free. To be free of the small-minded people, and the children at his school that regard him strangely, to be free of the same streets and the same sights and the same people who seem content to never set foot anywhere but the dirt they and their family had grown out of.

He comes home full of tales of distant lands and the people and cultures there and dreams of the smell of the sea.

As soon as he turns thirteen, lying awake as the clock strikes midnight as he is taunted by the sound of waves crashing still echoing from his dreams, he decides he's had enough.

He packs a bag, just the necessities (And his well-worn copy of Treasure Island), and leaves a note on the breakfast table.

Then he sets out, following the path to the sea that he'd charted in his mind hundreds of times, chasing the faint cries of seagulls.

He finds a ship, even in the early morning light he can recognise the different classes of each vessel in the harbor. He slips aboard, hiding himself away behind some crates below deck, exhausted from his journey but feeling a thrill of exhilaration as the gentle rocking sends him into the most peaceful sleep of his life.

He figured he'd sleep here so he could find the first crew member aboard in a few hours and beg for a position on the ship, but when he wakes to the afternoon sunlight slanting down into the hold, he knows instantly that this is not the tender rocking of a boat moored not ten feet from the dock. These are the waves only found when one is really truly at sea.

And, despite himself, he can't help but be excited.

Cautiously emerging, he sees a flurry of motion that sparks something in him he hasn't felt in years. He makes note of each task being done, hoping his expertise (Academic though it is) will prove a good bargaining chip with the captain.

He knows exactly where the captain's quarters would be on a ship of this size, and carefully makes his way to the door, knocking hesitantly before hearing an invite to enter.

He is greeted with a slightly shabby but nonetheless friendly looking man, studying a map on his desk. He looks up in surprise at the sight of an unaccounted for child on his ship, but quickly masks it with a professional look.

The boy is too smart for that, though, and he's seen that look shared between teachers before they gently but firmly tell him that while impressive, his report on why a field trip to the marina would be beneficial is of course ridiculous.

Silent tears start dripping down his cheeks, as he lays out his whole story for the captain and begs for even the smallest position on his ship. He won't even ask to be paid, all he needs is to be on the ocean. He's been longing for it all his life, and now that he's finally experienced it the siren song will surely drive him mad if he's deposited back in that horrible landlocked schoolhouse.

The captain is slightly taken aback by this, but his first instinct is to give the boy a hug. He tells him that they will have to dock soon, and then he will be having a very frank discussion with the child's guardians, but he sees no reason why he shouldn't be able to take up an apprenticeship with them.

And, as Cannonball heaves a sigh into the captain's shoulder, he recognizes that feeling that's been calling out to him for so long, the one that immediately slid into place in his heart. The feeling of coming home