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I shall never sleep peacefully again, the images of my friends screaming out as the ship rocked with multiple cannon shot, both friend and foe, coming and going. The ship I was proud to be a crewman of, lost more men with the storm afterwards than the actual battle. I had lived through Hell, to fight again with an impossible foe, the weather. Yet that is a different tale.The first moment that I knew I was out of the cold water and knife-like wind was a hazy and sickening encounter. It was also the first, and only time, I saw my rescuer. Perhaps it was the warm fire, or snugly blankets that encased my body, the smell of thick stew cooking over the open fire, or the large flea ridden dog laying next to my head sleeping. I have no recollection why, yet I opened my eyes and saw a small warm room and the back of my matron. She was bent over the table, cutting something unknown. She was a small woman, blond hair which is a rarity in these waters. Wearing a loose skirt and large blouse, yet. Growing up, I had friends who were sexually mature too. So hanging out with them made me feel less alone. I had someone who I could share my sexual interests with, who understood me. But that was at school. Nastasia and Beth were my sidekicks, proud to be school sluts. And sure, kids tried to label and even tease us. But I loved who I was, and so did they, so we didn’t give a fuck what people thought. Home was a different story. Family was supposed to love and accept you. All of you—the good, the bad, and the ugly. I guess my parents never got that memo, because my mother always gazed upon me with disdain, and my father rarely looked at me at all. They knew early on that I was different, and they did very little to mask how that knowledge made them feel about me. I am surprised I didn’t grow up really screwed up. But I did have the love of my sisters and somehow that was enough. Don’t get me wrong—I don’t think my parents didn’t love me. They just had a really fucked-up, judgmental.
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