To a Captain

Dear Captain,
Well, this is weird. I’ve never met you; I mean, I had the chance once, and another time I knew—I know—I saw you, but I’ve never met you outside my dreams and the television screen. And yet, you somehow found a space to rest inside my heart. Every time now I think of you or hear your name brought up, my heart clenches that empty place and my entire body feels empty as a result.

You weren’t my role model. Good grief, you weren’t even in my life in a real way, except for every Tuesday night from spring into summer for five years. But I grew to care about what happened to you, to every man on that show. You were real to me, and now that you have passed on, I still live. The world never stopped moving (except for a few seconds, I think, that one time), and the show continues. But I’ve learned to grind my teeth at the fragility of life.

Screw it all, but I miss being able to think that somewhere in the world, you were working your trade, one of the last oceanic cowboys, shaking your fist at the ocean while gathering your cash from her back.

I hope you’re having a good rest right now. I hope I’m not deluding myself.

Love,
Irene.