Each chapter of my return trip from Seattle had a distinct smell. Perfume might be taking it a step too far, and even fragrance is too kind to describe exhaust and sunbaked pavement. We could be so lucky if the final stop could be bottled and sold.
I stepped onto the ferry surrounded by Seattle sunshine, which I’m told is rare, but finds me each time I visit. Perhaps my timing is ideal or the luck in my deck is stacked in favor of fair-weather. The air was clear, but still heavy, overburdened with oxygen and moisture, and tinged with the mystery of the sea and the acrid and punishing smell of diesel. And once we were in motion, the only scent that remained was freedom, as we moved too fast for anything near us to keep up.
Leaving.
If credits rolling at the end of a film could have a smell, it might be a sunny Seattle ferryboat ride, the space between the ending and the beginning.
As we slowed and settled into the dock, a lone seagull perched atop the land bridge waiting to welcome us once our steward pulled back the gate and allowed us to disembark. Seattle itself smelled heavy, the way city streets often do. The pollution and perfume, the bakery and fishing boats, cigarettes and sorrow. Hope and grime. What a perplexing place it must be to a dog.
I managed an Uber within 30 seconds - anyone headed to the airport is a hot fare, and the ferry terminal a likely spot to locate foot travelers in search of wheels. Hassan was driving a silver Camry, as I imagine most full time Uber drivers do, with a fresh water bottle in the door and an impeccably vacant back seat. The canary yellow air freshener hanging from the rearview must have been opened just that morning, as I could nearly taste musk masquerading as clean as I loaded my suitcase into the trunk. We drove in the unseasonable sunshine and warmth with the windows rolled way down, mercy flying in every time we moved fast enough, and evaporating again with grid lock. Stop and go. The small ornament a cookie cutter tree stump swinging rhythmically with the gentle jostling of the road, its irritating stench like gaudy cubic zirconia. Flashy and false and impossible to ignore.
But also harmless.
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