SON OF A CAPTAIN by johnny ngo
it was hot. i sat quietly beside my father as i watched the others row the ship like their life depended on it. my father whipped anyone who wasn’t gripping their oars tight enough, until the bone of their knuckles were translucent underneath their scorched skin.
he also whipped anyone who looked at me.
i never asked if i could hold my father’s whip. we never talked about it. but then, one day, he held it in front of my eyes and waited for me to take it. it looked heavy. i didn’t know what to do. i hesitated. wouldn’t you if your father suddenly offered his pride to you?
“do you not want to hold it?” he asked without taking his eyes off the family of scorched men. i wanted to say yes, but all i did was nod my head gently.
“are you willing to whip those who deserve it?”
i nodded again.
“And those who do not?”
“Why should i—” my father slapped me hard across the face.
“captain, the boy—” my father cracked his whip at one of the oars men. they kept rowing.
i looked at my father’s stone face. “but—” he slapped me again. harder.
“captain!—” my father cracked his whip twenty times, non stop.
as i stood and watched, i used my tongue to check the inside of my mouth. on the side where i was slapped, my teeth felt uneven. i waited until my father lowered his whip before i spoke again. i opened my mouth, but my father spoke first.
“everyone deserves it,” he told me.
my father never offered his whip again.
thanks to my father we arrived a day early. not even a storm could keep my father from arriving as planned. the crew left the ship to find a local tavern. my father took me aside and lead me away from the dock. he told me that i must be left behind. i could no longer remain on the ship, or any ships. he could no longer cut my hair and fool the crew. i was getting older. my body slimmer. my cheek bones higher.
i never saw my father again.
i never stepped foot on a ship again. ironically though, every time my hair grew past my ears i took a blade and slashed my hair. when i worked at my first tavern, i looked like a boy. when i fell in love, i looked like a boy. when i became a mother, i looked like a boy.
i did once, actually, allowed my hair to grow pass my chin. it tickled my neck, but not in the comforting way. i quickly searched for a blade. i wanted to become a boy again.
