13

I took the boat out only a few miles at first to seine, but I planned to take it out a full thirty-five later on to prove to Ryan that I was fine. He hadn’t argued with me any further, but did seem unsatisfied with the end of the conversation. I slowed the boat to a stop and let it drift. I left the keys in the ignition, and Ryan and I went to the deck to join the crew. They were already up and ready to work. I felt my ego swell, and unlocked the storage compartment. Ryan and I hauled the first part of the net out, and were then joined by two other men. Once enough of it had been removed, I attached it to the pulley. I then returned to the cabin, leaving the door wide open. Ryan climbed onto the fly deck and manned the power block, while the rest of the crew gathered the net up. Once they were ready, I began to coast slowly, watching the sonar closely. When it alerted me to activity underneath us, I radioed to Ryan for confirmation. The signals were usually hit or miss, and we rarely caught on the first signal. I moved on, then stopped the boat again at the next signal and repeated the protocol.

“Toss the net!” Ryan’s voice boomed over the sound of the wind and waves. The men grunted and exclaimed as they threw the net into the water, and I heard the power block creak as Ryan lowered it. He radioed me that we were set, and I began to circle the boat. I began with large circles, but gradually spiraled inwards. Once I could not turn any sharper, I made several passes through the area until I felt the full weight of the net slowing the boat down. I ordered Ryan to retract the net. He complied and I stopped the boat as soon as I heard the power block moving. I dropped the anchor, then joined the crew on the deck. The catch had filled a large portion of the net, as Ryan couldn’t retract very much of the net that we had cast out. I folded my arms over my chest with a heavy sigh, and Ryan came down and joined me.

“That was a pretty impressive school, Adam,” he said, nudging me with his elbow. “We really don’t have to deep sea today. The weather’s looking bad.”

“I’m not worried,” I replied soberly. “Klaus took us out in harsher weather and we survived.”

Ryan grimaced, then signaled the crew to gather in the cabin. Only after I was alone on the deck did I turn to join them, shutting the cabin door behind me. The men were passing out waters from the cooler and arguing over how to split the potato chips equally. Ryan did not maintain his role as a leader when not faced with a task immediately at hand, but the rest of the crew still looked up to him. We were all nearly the same age, though, although the hierarchy was very apparent. Gregory went to high school with Ryan and I, and had graduated with our class, and had joined the crew the year after we did. Michael and Benjamin had joined two years after us, and had both just turned nineteen. Jason was the youngest; he was eighteen. I was reluctant to hire him at first, because he had little nautical experience, but I figured he had to start somewhere.

I sat in my chair and took up the anchor. Ryan passed me a bottle of water; I opened it and drank a bit, but lost interest in it quickly. I sped the boat up to the most responsible speed that I could maintain without busting the net. It took us almost forty-five minutes to get out to deep, so after the others had obliterated the chips, they began to play cards. Once I had gotten out as I far as I wanted, however, I brought the boat to a gradual halt and anchored it. Ryan immediately left the cabin and hurried to lift the net of fish from the water and lowered the net onto the deck. The rest of the men grabbed their fishing poles and lined up in their assigned places along the edges of the boat. I removed the bait from the cooler and chopped it up, distributing it amongst the men. We spent several minutes in one spot, catching smaller fish and tossing them on ice. Once the fish began to come in more slowly, I displaced the boat by a few miles. We caught a few more small fish, before I returned to the cabin again and moved the boat out several more miles. This was the point where we would begin to catch the larger fish, throwing back the out-of season breeds and icing the in-season ones.

It would be monotonous to detail the rest of the day, as this process made up the remainder of it. By lunchtime, I decided to end the day. The men secured comfortable seating on the deck as we made the journey back to shore. It took roughly an hour and half to reach shore. Halfway through the trip home, Ryan joined me in the cabin again. The men were laughing raucously over their lunches on the subject of vulgar humor. Ryan’s spirits had been lifted and he seemed less concerned about me than he was this morning, which made talking to him much easier than before.

“The clouds broke up,” he said with a laugh. “Imagine that. I have a little more faith in you, Captain.”

I grinned and glanced over at him. “I know what I’m doing,” I said, my ego dripping from each syllable. “It runs in the family.”

“You numpty.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk about that lassy you’ve been pinin’ over?”

“I’m sure,” I muttered, clenching my fingers tightly over the wheel.

“I don’t think ye are.”

“I am.”

“I don’t care. Tell me who she is,” Ryan insisted.

“Fine,” I groaned, slumping into my seat. “Her name is Ondine. She is a ballerina at the Teagan School for Ballet, and she’s brilliant.”

Ryan cocked an eyebrow at me. “Brilliant, ye say?”

“Shut up, you wanker,” I snapped. He laughed at me, and I couldn’t suppress a grin. We moved away from the subject of Ondine and talked about the football games yesterday and other mindless topics. When we finally reached the docks, I slowed to boat into a park in our dock and anchored it. The crew outside tethered it to the boards. Ryan climbed up to the fly deck and emptied the net onto the docks, and I joined the crew on the deck. Jason drove his pickup to the convenience store for ice, and returned quickly. We began to pack the fish we had seined into ice crates and loaded them onto the back of Jason’s truck. Once we had cleared the deck of the mackerel, Ryan took the truck to the various places we sold the fish to; the supermarket, the processing plants, and a few seafood restaurants we had partnerships with.

The rest of my men threw their deep-sea fish into our freezer on the dock. After all the fish had been removed from my boat, I told my crew they were free to go. They left without protest, but Jason lingered behind to invite me out to the pub.

“Aren’t you too young to drink?” I asked. I usually only went out with Ryan on nights after fishing to play his wingman.

“I was talking to Alfred Schroeder,” he told me. “He owns the Seal Club. He’s on the good side of the police department. Greg, Michael, and Benjamin are going tonight.”

I smirked. “Don’t let those guys get you in trouble,” I chastised. “It’s not worth losing your job.”

“Would you really fire me for that?” Jason asked, taken aback.

“You would be arrested,” I scoffed. “I’m sorry, I can’t fish with convicted criminals. Just be careful.”

“I’m not worried,” he said, brushing me off. “I’ll be fine. We’re meeting up there at nine, if you end up wanting to join us, Captain.” He spun on his heel and walked to the bench by the convenience store to wait for his truck. I chuckled a bit, but I was really disgusted by his bravado. It wasn’t that I didn’t like him; he just reminded me of myself when I was his age, and I couldn’t believe I’d never noticed how much of a dick I was at the time.

I turned back to the boat with an exhausted sigh and began to hose it off. Ryan returned just as I was turning off the water. He approached me and handed me a wad of cash. “They’re not paying as much,” he told me with a grimace. “But we still got it all off of our hands. At least we’re not stuck with a quarter ton of mackerel.”

“Yeah,” I chortled, shaking my head as I counted the money. “I don’t think the dock owner would be thrilled about us paying rent in fish.”

“We always have the same damn banter,” Ryan observed with a grin.

“It’s always damn funny,” I pointed out, putting the money away in the cash pouch.

“The boys were talking about going out to drink tonight,” Ryan said.

“I’m not really sure if I’m up for it, Ryan,” I sighed, zipping up the pouch and tucking it into my jacket.

“I could go for a drink,” he argued, “but not with those dimwits. I’m going to the Clam at 9. I need a wingman.”

I groaned. “Why?” I protested. “Why can you not just get a woman for yourself?”

Ryan lifted his hands up in the air. “I’m sorry, Adam, but us other men don’t all meet mysterious ballerinas.” He grinned at me, but I punched him in the shoulder. “Don’t get so defensive, Captain.” I couldn’t really get mad at Ryan for being Ryan, but I also couldn’t help that his joking was making a mockery of something that was much more serious than one of his one-night stands.

“I’m sorry,” I muttered, walking towards the sea fare office. “I’m just stressed out with my mom and whatnot.” I told the woman working I was paying rent. She began to ask who I was, but I interrupted her with my last name and the name of the boat. She was very obviously taken aback by my lack of manners, but didn’t appear offended in the slightest. She turned to find my file.

“I hate when they hire new people to work the rent office,” I told Ryan.

“No you don’t,” he argued. “Last month, when Gwyn quit, you said you wished you had gotten to know her more.”

“I just thought she was attractive,” I told him, furrowing my brow. The lady slipped my file and a white envelope through the window.

“I believe that,” Ryan chuckled, shaking his head. I rolled my eyes at him and pulled out the cash from earlier, putting a hundred of it into the envelope and tucking the rest away in my jacket. I sealed the envelope and wrote my name and my ship name, as well as my dock number, onto the front of it, then opened my file and signed and dated that I had paid my rent. The woman took both of them back, authorizing my signature and slipping the envelope into a locked ballot box, and then ticking my number off of a chart.

“I might have to file a rain check on tonight,” I told Ryan as we left the docks. “I have a lot on my mind. I don’t want to steal your prey by appearing ‘sensitive.’”

“Fair enough.” We went our separate ways, waving each other goodbye. I headed to the bank and deposited the remaining money into the business account, then headed home for a shower and a much-needed nap. I ignored the putrid scent of alcohol when I entered my home and hung up my coat. I wasn’t particularly interested in taking care of my drunken mother this evening. I quickly showered and garbed myself in clean clothes, tossing my dirty ones into the laundry basket, then collapsed on my bed and fell right to sleep.

12

The rest of my day passed by slowly and painfully, but was not nearly interesting enough to account for here. I went to bed early, and woke up early. After eating breakfast, I dressed and went out to the docks to wait for my crew. I got there at 4:00, an hour earlier than I usually did, and I’m not really sure how I managed to for an hour on the fly deck doing nothing.

Ryan was the first to arrive. I climbed down from the fly deck and met him on the dock. He handed me the pouch we kept business money in, then began to give the ship an inspection and set it up for sailing. He was unusually quiet today, but I didn’t bother him about it. None of us were really morning people, anyway. I don’t think anyone’s a morning person at five in the morning. The rest of the crew came in one by one, and our entourage was complete by five-thirty.

“Aye Adam, I hear the water’s s’posed to be rough t’day,” Jason, one of the newer men, yelled at me.

“We’ll be fine,” I told him, waving him away. “None of us are married, anyway.” The men laughed, and I plastered a fake grin on my face, but felt it fall the more I thought about Ondine. I groaned and gave the ship a final once-over, then motioned for Ryan to unhitch the ropes. I went into the cabin and lifted the anchor. “Are we ready?” I shouted out the cabin door. Ryan nodded, and he joined me in the cabin, shutting the door behind him. He joined me in the skipper’s chair, where Ondine had sat when I took her out to sea.

“How far you plan on goin’ out today, Adam?” Ryan’s lilt made me feel like I was in a movie or something.

“Thirty, but if the sky looks badly, I might just stay at twenty-five,” I answered dryly, smacking my lips and staring out ahead of me.

“You alright, Captain?” Ryan asked, furrowing his brow at me.

“Yes,” I muttered. “I just have an idiot for a mother, is all.”

“Is she still living off of that pension?” Ryan asked, baffled. “How much was your damn father worth?” I frowned, and he shook his head. “Not what I meant, sorry.”

“I guess he just got good coverage because of his job,” I said with a shrug. “The premium is damn high, owning a boat and using it often though, I’ll tell you that.”

Ryan smirked, looking in front of him. “Are you sure that’s the only thing bothering you?”

“I never said it was the only thing,” I replied starkly. Ryan grimaced, but shrugged me off, and we were silent for the next few minutes. I could feel the distance between the boat and land growing behind me, and I could feel the weight of the heavy clouds above us, and I suddenly felt something I had never felt before in my career.

I was afraid.

Ryan looked over at me, and surely noticed the expression that had crossed my face. “Adam?” He sat forward in his seat and leaned over to get my attention. “What’s wrong, captain?”

I began to slow the boat. I could hear the men in the back questioning the change in speed. I looked over to Ryan and shook my head. I couldn’t find any words. I looked at the floor, mouth agape, stricken with something I was so unfamiliar with.

               “Adam.” I looked back up at Ryan. His concern had turned to sympathy. His gaze was calm, but sorrow, and mine frightened and frantic. I was so conflicted and he just had to watch, at the most inconvenient of times. All of the sudden, the intensity in my chest and the confusion it my brain lifted, and I breathed again.

               “I’m…I’m sorry,” I gasped, shaking my head. I sped up the boat, and heard cheering from the deck. “I don’t know what’s gotten into me.”

               “Adam,” Ryan said soberly. “You can’t just pretend this is something that doesn’t exist.”

               “I’m going to have to try.”

11

I learned that day that Sunday afternoons were the perfect day to take the bus; it was hardly crowded, and most of the stops could be barely stopped at or even skipped, because everyone was home, cooking dinner or cleaning or doing whatever businessmen do when they’re not working. The bus driver was still as unfriendly as ever, though. He was a bald man of short, stout stature with a white moustache and a wrinkled frown plastered on his face. He made paying bus fare uncomfortable and if you were ever the only one on the bus, he would probably drive it off of the bridge. At least, that was the attitude he always seemed to have.

               I pulled the line to signal that it was my stop when he drove into town square. He stopped abruptly, making it apparent that he was irritated that he couldn’t have just driven off. I hurried off, giving him a curt wave and a snide smile. The bus coughed and sputtered as he drove off, emissions climbing out of the exhaust pipes like smoke signals to other bus drivers or something. I sighed and began walking home.

               The Sunday crowd in town square was lighter than a weekday crowd; most people who worked did not usually take a liking to being home after lunch hour. Besides, most of the small shops and restaurants were closed after lunch hour, anyway. Witchgum was one of those towns that were anal about not doing anything but attending church and having family time on Sundays. It always bothered me, since I was young. I did believe in God and didn’t mind attending church on the holidays or when I was down, but being religious to the extent that most of the older generation was seemed a bit overdone to me. If everyone did it because everyone did it, was there really any meaning to it?

               I felt my stomach rumble, and realized I hadn’t eaten lunch yet. I hurried my pace home. None of the stores were open except for the convenience store by the docks, but I wasn’t particularly interested in a gas station ham sandwich. My mother actually abstained from alcohol on Sundays for whatever reason. It wasn’t like it excused her alcoholic behavior the other six days of the week. I have heard that seven is a lucky number. Maybe when you die, and stand at the golden gates of heaven, you’re put on a scale that measures your behavior throughout your whole life as a believer. Oh, you were an alcoholic? You didn’t drink on Sunday, did you? That’s okay, you only have to live 1/7^th of your life as somewhat of a good person. But god forbid it’s 2/14^ths. Nope, not getting into heaven.

               When I got home, my mother was not sprawled out on the couch or falling out of a kitchen chair, so I wasn’t too concerned about her. I took my coat off and hung it up, then slid out of my shoes and took my keys out of pocket, tossing them on the end table. I walked into the kitchen and took a beer from the fridge. My mother always bought cans instead of bottles, which I wasn’t a fan of, but at least they were easier to open, or something. I sat down on the couch and emptied the can quickly, then turned on college football and sat back with a heavy sigh.

               “Adam?” My mother’s yell was shrill and irritating. “Are you home?!”

               ”Yes,” I called back, sinking deeper into the couch.

               “Where were you this morning?” You missed church again!”

               “I was out, Ma,” I groaned, turning up the television.

               “Don’t you dare try to ignore me!” she shouted, stomping into the living room. She turned the TV off and stood in front of it. “I’m worried about you.”

               I glared at her. “What’s wrong with me?”

               “You’re so distant,” she retorted, “and you never want to spend any time with me!”

               “Well I’m sorry if you always reek of alcohol and never have anything interesting to say,” I muttered, trying to turn the game back on.

               “Excuse me!” she scoffed, snatching the remote from me. “If you’re going to live under my roof, you will not speak to me that way!”

               “It’s not your house,” I said quietly, narrowing my gaze at her. “You’re paying for it, as well as your alcoholism, with Dad’s life insurance money. I haven’t taken a penny from you since he died.” I did buy the groceries, with the exception of the alcohol.

               A look of pain struck her face, and part of me, the considerate and rational part of me, wished I hadn’t said it. But my anger was more important to me at the moment, I suppose, so I got up and went to my room. I hurried in and locked the door behind me.

               My sketchbook was on my bed. I had left it here this morning. The last thing I wanted was for Ondine to think that I was stalking her or something outrageous like that. It amazed me how something that was admiration and tribute to beauty in my eyes could be interpreted as obsession to others. I didn’t think Ondine would think I was obsessed with her; she wasn’t that self-centered. But I knew it would put her off, especially considering how little we actually knew about each other. She didn’t know my father was dead, and there was a lot about her that I never would have expected.

               Regardless of my premonitions, I still continued to edit the sketch. I opened the book to the drawing and lifted her cheekbones and tilted her sober mouth into a smile. I opened her eyes up a bit and gave a bit more clarity to them. Again, all of it was trial and error. I didn’t purposely execute these changes; things would just stand out to me as wrong, and I would adjust them until they looked right. For once, however, I only drew for around fifteen minutes before turning past the sketch and began to write.

               I listed the things about her that made me smile:

1)      Her smile

2)      The way she pouts

3)      The look in her eyes when she thinks of tiramisu

4)      How her hair is never done but always perfect

5)      Her will to dance, despite her lack of self-value and the circumstances of her education

I stopped after five. It wasn’t that there weren’t any more things that I could think of – there were far too many. But they were clouded with the ambiguity of who Ondine was. I knew that every time she showed me something knew, I would love her for it. And in a way, that frightened me. Was I obsessed with her? I didn’t think so. I hadn’t done anything along the lines of a stalker that I could recall, and she didn’t seem afraid of me at all. I was just so infatuated by her.

I closed my sketchbook and put it on my nightstand, then fell back in bed. Sunlight shone through my window, but I wished it was night. I didn’t care that I was hungry or should have apologized to my mother. I wanted to sleep until morning so all I would have to do was get up, eat breakfast, and go fishing with my crew. When I was at sea, I didn’t have to worry about who I was as a person. I just drove the boat and yelled orders over the sound of waves. It didn’t matter that I couldn’t get a girl off of my mind, it didn’t matter that my mother was milking my father’s death, and it didn’t matter that I didn’t know who I was. I was the captain.

I began to drift off, but was stirred by the sharp hunger pains in my stomach. I frowned. It wasn’t like I hadn’t eaten today. With a disgruntled groan, I forced myself out of bed and walked to the kitchen. My mother wasn’t there, and I figured she’d locked herself in her room. She always did that when we argued. The only reason we ever argued was when she was sober, because she treated me like a child when I was the one taking care of her. It was a shame that Sunday was the only day she didn’t drink, because we never had time to make up before she got drunk again.

Unfortunately, all of my rotten thoughts didn’t spoil my appetite. I really didn’t feel like eating. I poured some milk and cereal in a bowl anyway, and ate it in silence, thoughtless but irritated.

I didn’t enjoy a single spoonful.

10

We spent almost a half an hour sprawled out on the grass in the garden, looking up at the sky. At first we didn’t say anything to each other; we just watched the leaves fall from the trees and listened to the tiny waves the wind stirred in the pond. I could smell her perfume every time a breeze blew past, and stole glances at her when she wasn’t paying attention.

               “Are you going to be a captain for the rest of your life?” Ondine asked, after what must have been at least ten minutes.

               “As long as I can,” I answered. “Why do you ask?”

               “I don’t know. I mean, I can only be a ballerina for so long,” she replied. “Eventually my bones will ache and my skin will sag and the world will no longer call me beautiful.”

               My eyes widened at her statement. I turned my head to look at her. She was staring at the sky, and her eyes were cloudy, but she was not crying. “I’ll always think you’re beautiful, Ondine,” I told her. She looked at me and I saw her expression falter a bit.  She didn’t smile, and I wondered if I’d made it worse. “I’m sorry,” I said softly.

               “No.” She shook her head and looked back up at the sky. “It hurts to know people care because then I can’t say no one cares. I have no reason to be sad.” She laughed a bit, but I could tell it was in pain.

               “What about the other girls?” I asked. “Are they your friends?”

               “Not really,” she said. “I mean, we don’t hate each other, but we’re not close. It’s too competitive there. If we were friends, there would be too much drama. Too much backstabbing, and bitchiness, and shit. We’re adults. We should be past this.” She threw up her slender arms and let them rest on her face.

               I smiled at her. “Well at least you acknowledge that it’s stupid.”

               “If only that fixed it,” she grumbled, rolling over on her side, facing away from me.

               “Hey,” I prodded, shifting onto my side. “Where are you going?”

               “What?” She rolled back over and faced me. “Nowhere. I’m not a freaking hot dog. I can stop myself from rolling when I want to.” I laughed at her, and she finally laughed, too.  All of the weight from our conversation that had occurred only moments ago seemed to lift off of our shoulders the more we laughed together. Eventually, we ran out of breath, and our laughter died down. She looked at me soberly.

               “We just laughed for two minutes about the word hot dog,” she muttered with a smug grin.

               “No, we were laughing about you being a hot dog,” I corrected her, “which is inaccurate. Hot dogs are made of pig pluck and other disgusting things. I don’t think I could live with myself if I even put you anywhere remotely near the tier that hot dogs are on. You’re more of a tiramisu.”

               “Holy shit, Adam,” she said breathlessly. “You’re making my mouth water. Do you know how long it’s been since I had something that rich?”

               “What do you usually eat?” I asked with a scoff.

               “I don’t know. Pasta, but never with the good flour. It’s always whole wheat,” she answered. “Oh, and never sauce. Always sautéed vegetables or pesto.”

               “Well, props to you,” I said. “If I had to eat like that for any longer than two days, I’d give up on life.”

               She laughed. “It’s not that it’s bad,” she explained, turning back over onto her back. “It’s just… We never have any of those foods that you could eat for days and get so fat and hate yourself for it, but keep eating it anyway.” I saw her face fall into a smirk.

               “Why don’t you eat it on the weekends?” I suggested.

               “It just makes the food here even less satisfying,” she retorted.

               “That’s a lame excuse, Ondine.”

               “I don’t care.” She sat up and hugged her knees to her chest. I sat up as well and watched her look around the garden and down at her feet, in front of her, and then rested her forehead on her knees, hiding her face.

               “Are you going to stay here for the rest of the day?” I asked.

               “I don’t know,” she said. Her voice was muffled and distant. “I don’t want to pay bus fare to get back.”

               “So you’re staying?”

               “Yes!” She lifted her head and looked to me. “But can’t you stay?”

               “I have to go home eventually,” I told her with a grin.

               “Boo.”

               I stood up and offered her my hand. She grabbed it reluctantly and pulled herself up,  then crossed her arms and began to walk out of the garden. I smiled at when she wasn’t looking and trailed after her as she walked me back to the bus stop.