I Never Want to do Colors Again

We were anchored just off the French coast. Our big, grey, floaty thing spun around leisurely off its forecastle. I stood there, on the very front of the ship. The water mirrored the setting sun. Purple faded into blue; orange splashed sherbet streaks across the waves.

A cool breeze blew my hair beneath my combination cover. I placed a wary hand on its brim to stave off the embarrassment of losing it to the Mediterranean, too.

Yachts the size of cruise liners speckled the bay around us. Their owners sat along the sides, their naked bodies freckled by the sun. They watch as our speakers blared, “first call. First call to colors.”

I looked at my watch. Five minutes to go.

.

I craned back my head; the Jack fluttered red and white stripes in the wind. The snake across its front danced and writhed. It was almost time for bed, Jack.

A sound behind me caught my attention. I glanced back and found a small child running towards the enormous gun sitting dead center on our forecastle. Behind him came a group of people, most of which I didn’t recognize. The boatswain mates followed my gaze from their camping chairs next to the anchor. The Captain and Master Chief were amongst the group.

My heart froze.

This was my first time doing evening colors. I was alone on the bow of the ship. At least two people retired the Ensign, they had each other to rely on. I had no one. No senior shipmate to give me guidance.

“Pssst!”

Boats 2 looked at me in a panic. He motioned with his hands in a circling motion. His lips moved soundlessly at me.

“Untie. The. Rope.”

The large group of spectators were distracted by guns and the ocean. I quickly turned back to the Jack and undid the rope I had tied this morning. My hands trembled. I had no idea what I was doing. What if I screwed it up? The Captain would be furious with guests on board.

I glanced back at my watch. Still two minutes to go.

What if I wasn’t holding the ropes right? Was I supposed to be at attention? That sounded dangerous. With the wind, the rocking of the ship, and a giant hole right beneath my feet, that sounded like a bad idea. What was that hole for anyway? It was more than wide enough for me to slip through. I widened my stance a little further – just to be safe.

A whistle echoed through the air. I swiftly brought the Jack down, glad I pulled the rope the correct way. With still unsteady fingers I unlatched the flag from the tethers, careful not to let it touch the ground.

Once nestled into the crook of my arm, I attempted to get the rope back around its hook. It was too short. I tugged and pulled, attempting to stretch out the rope. The clasp wouldn’t reach the ring.

Three more whistles popped out in quick succession. Carry on.

I glanced over my shoulder. The Captain and his party were sure to turn around and see me struggling any moment. I caught Boats 2’s eye.

“Help!” I mouthed.

He looked at me funny, his head cocked to the side.

“Help. Me.” I mouthed again.

He heaved a heavy sigh. He made his away around the anchor chain. Why did it have to be so big? And then made his way towards me. I kept trying with the rope. I tried clipping it and then stretching it around the hook. I tried unclipping it and clipping it underneath. Nothing seemed to work.

“I can’t get the rope,” I said as he came up beside me.

“Hold the Jack and for the love of God don’t let it touch the ground,” he said, casting a wary look over his shoulder.

Despite being an inch or two shorter than I was, he managed to reach the hook over his head without issue. His tatt’d biceps bulged with effort as he stretched the rope with all his strength. The metal ends shook with effort. Then they latched. Barely.

“Want me to help you fold it?” he asked, nodding to the Jack.

I kept it close to my chest, like a baby bundle. I shook my head then glanced over at the Captain.

“I’ll do it at the quarterdeck,” I said.

He laughed.

As we walked back, me with my head as high as I could managed, I heard laughter to my right. Boats 1 guffawed at my expense.

“Poor little girl couldn’t manage a little rope?” He called out over the chain. His large belly rolled with every laugh. His dark eyes gleamed with mischief.

I harrumphed and made my way around the gun, so as not to run into the group touring the ship – and not to give the Captain a chance to yell at me for screwing up colors.

“Never do that to me again,” I said as I reached the quarterdeck. NC1, who was acting OOD, stared at me, his dark hand up to his ball cap in a salute.

“No?” he asked, keeping his salute.

I stared at him dumbly.

“Colors have been properly executed in accordance with the plan of the day, aye,” He said and dropped his salute. He grabbed one end of my bundle from my arms, in an attempt to fold it.

“It was terrible,” I said as I folded my two ends together. “The Captain was up there. Boats made fun of me. Boats 2 had to help me. My neckerchief is all screwed up…”

“Mmm.” He shook his head.

“Next time we should switch,” I continued. “You do colors, and I’ll be OOD.”

The corner of his mouth turned up. “You aint even gun-qualled.”

“Not the point.”

He laughed and left me, the Jack now in his arms.

“Permission to lay below?” I called after him.

“Oh, you know that part,” he called back. “Permission granted.”

With that I hurried into the skin of the ship, eager to take off my Whites and hide my face. And to tell everyone I knew how terrible colors was before they found out about it from someone else.