Idle Thumbs

Four hours since leaving home, who knows how many 'til you get there, and only the idle putts of the outboard motor have broken the silence. Silence so thick it's suffocating, to the point that you don't know what will happen if you actually do say something. You almost did early on, but you saw it in its eyes: the nervous anticipation, the anxiety, the fear sweating out of that cartoon cap when it saw you open your mouth, and spared you both the embarrassment. But... Maybe it's not both of you, maybe it's just you. Maybe the cap has no clue what to say to you because you never say anything to it. Maybe if you opened up a little, people would be interested, they'd reciprocate, they'd share too. Maybe you'd be able to start making friends again, have a goddamn life. You realize you've spent so long thinking about this that it wouldn't make sense to talk now, so you just stay quiet. The puttering slows then stops, replaced by the hissing and servos of the ship’s landing gear, as the door whizzes open and meets