The boat rocks, rocks, rocks and bones rattle against bones and undrinkable, unthinkable liquid covering the floor sloshes back and forth. Papa said this part of the boat is called the "hold," which seems right because it feels like being held, tightly, to the chest of someone who hasn't slept, eaten or drunk properly for months. The back and forth feels like a hot, hard, and stinky mother rocking me to sleep, and at first it made me vomit until there was nothing left to bring up, and now it just keeps me in the purgatory between the nightmare of awake and the nightmare of asleep.