I Bought a Submarine

I bought a submarine. Not the sandwich either, a full on submarine. I got rid of all the useless stuff of course. Scrapped all the metal hulls, dumped the useless motor, left the curved propellers in rectangular dumpsters. I didn’t even splurge on the Captain’s wheel (though I definitely considered it). It came yesterday in a skinny cardboard box. I took my grandfather’s pocket knife and unfolded it for the 3747th time. I took its storied blade and cut the tape. It slid out of the box easily. I grabbed both handles (outside so I didn’t hit the ceiling) and looked through the periscope– The waves were capped in frothy white, cresting waves lined like mushrooms around poorly dug graves. The waves were high out there today, their salt spray tickled my cheeks. The pelican above circled slowly, beady eyes fixed on choppy waters. His open wings black against the white sun. I turned the periscope to follow his path along the sky. In a flash his wings fold in and he falls, fast as a lead balloon, to disappear beneath the waves. His 30 mph body splashed! with accuracy, sharp has intention. I caught the spray of his descent square on my forehead. Tiny drops mooring on my skin, the smile on my face growing wider. I set the periscope against the wooden railing and ran inside to grab my raincoat.