6
I kept a lookout behind us. There were hardly any other boats out on the water, at least none close by. Before I knew it, we were rounding the southern tip of Key Biscayne. The Cape Florida lighthouse looked to be less than a mile away. Once we passed that point, we would be officially sailing in the Atlantic ocean. There was already a chop on the water. They weren’t large waves, but enough to move the boat up and down a foot or so while we motored.
Sunglasses was sure to report us within a few hours, but the further we pushed into the Atlantic, the harder we would be to find. The thought of sailing into the open ocean made me nervous as hell. Especially since I would be looked at as the sailor guy. But I didn’t remember half of what Sam said, maybe more than half. We only went out a few times, never more than a mile from the marina. Now we were already a few miles away and I felt like I was in over my head. I watched the standing rigging that held the mast. Several of the cables looked a little slack and needed to be tighter.
“Forest, can you check the rigging on the starboard side and make sure it’s tight?”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“The cables on the right side of the boat,” I replied.
“Why did you say Starburst?” asked Forest.
“Starboard. I don’t know, man. They have all these code words you are supposed to use. The front of the boat is the bow, back is the stern, left side is port, right is starboard. These cables are called the standing rigging. That’s the mast.”
I pointed to the large metal pole in the center of the boat.
Forest shook his head and started pointing around the boat. “Let’s cut the crap. Front, back, left, right, pole, and cables.”
“Fine with me,” I said.
The engine suddenly coughed. We all looked back at it and hoped it meant nothing. It was still going but coughed again. A puff of smoke and the engine stopped. I quickly pulled the choke out and yanked on the rope. Nothing.
“Where’s the gas tank?” asked Forest.
“Check that line. Probably under the seat.”
Forest pulled up the hatch where there was a small five gallon red, plastic tank. He lifted it up a few inches.
“Empty. Shit,” he said.
Something else had to go wrong. Forest and I looked around for any other gas tanks while Becca opened the door and poked her head inside the cabin.
“Is it supposed to look like this?” she asked.
I took the two steps below to find the interior had been gutted.
“No,” I said, which was followed by an echo. She walked out, and I looked around for anything useful. There was one small cabinet without a door, some raised fiberglass platforms that were supposed to be beds but no cushions. Where the sink and toilet used to be there were empty spaces and plugged holes. At the front of the cabin was a large raised fiberglass platform in the shape of a piece of pie. No cushions, blankets, nothing.
I popped my head back out of the cabin and was greeted by Becca’s bad ass legs. She was standing at the center of the boat tugging at the long bag at the base of the mast that stored the sail.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Putting up the sail, right? Isn’t that what you do now?”
Technically it was, but it kind of shocked me that she just started doing it.
“Yeah.”
“It won’t unzip. It’s all rusty,” said Becca.
Forest pulled out his knife and sliced open the large bag to free the sail.
“How’s it look?” I asked. Becca shrugged.
I got up on the deck and looked it over. Terrible. It was flaky and almost brown. It seemed to almost be stuck together in some places.
“It’s really old,” I said.
“Will it work?” asked Forest.
I attached the clip on the rope to the top of the sail. “Probably for a while.” I began hoisting the sail up the mast. Within moments the faded white fabric had reached the top of the mast, the sail immediately filled with wind, and it flapped furiously.
“It works!” said Becca.
Wait. Shit. I was forgetting something important.
In an instant the large metal boom that should have been locked into place beforehand, swung violently toward me. I felt my left thigh throb with pain and found myself swimming in the bay before I even knew what had happened. I came to the surface, and the O’Day was already ten feet away from me.
“What do we do, man?” yelled Forest, with his hands in the air.
“Turn around!” I screamed.
The gap between me and the boat was now 30 feet away, even though I was frantically swimming after it. It was no use. I gurgled, coughed, and screamed again.
“Turn the damn boat around!”
“Stupid boom vang thing,” I slapped the water. The boom vang locked the sail into place so that the boom, which was an eight foot long horizontal metal beam, wouldn’t suddenly and violently swing to the other side of the boat.
I tried to catch my breath and tread water for a second. I couldn’t catch up to the O’Day. It was now at least fifty yards away. I watched them scramble. Becca was ducking to avoid the boom and Forest pushed the tiller back and forth in a vain attempt to turn around while he fought the wind and momentum of the boat.
The nearest land was the Cape Florida Lighthouse, but I knew I couldn’t make that swim because of one huge problem - the current. It was swift and taking me straight out to sea. No boat could spot me, and there were hardly any on the horizon.
I slowly treaded water and let the current carry my body. The O’Day was sailing off to the south. Even if by some miracle Forest and Becca managed to turn around, it would be nearly impossible to locate me. I felt tears trying to well up and then a slight sting behind my eyes when I prevented them from appearing.
What was drowning like? I had no idea. It might be one of the worst ways to go. Too much shit to remember on a sailboat.
I felt a strange sense of peace come over me, which probably had something to do with the shock. Now my face was the only part of my body exposed to the air, and I slowly moved my arms and legs back and forth. With my ears submerged it almost felt like I was in another world. A calm world in between this life and whatever was next. The nagging thought of toothy sea creatures below me, perhaps watching me, gave me chills.
It was going on at least twenty minutes since I went over. My muscles ached and my throat was dry. The reality was sinking in. I thought about death and was beginning to feel at least a little at peace with it. Just a little. I could have died in the foster home on Elwin Road when it burned down. I should have died when I was 3 and left alone in the woods. Besides, after Havana I probably would have ended up on the streets like most of them. No one lasted long out there anyway.
There was a small shape on the Horizon that I thought could be the O’Day. Saltwater filled my mouth for a moment. I coughed and spat out the salty water. I saw orange. A big white floating thing with an orange diamond on it was in focus about 50 yards from me.
A buoy! I remembered Sam talking about them. They told boaters shit.
I was headed directly toward it, or at least close to it. It was anchored to the ocean floor or something because it wasn’t moving. A sudden burst of energy came over me.
I was getting closer, closer, within ten yards. I violently swam toward it, surely attracting every shark and big fish within a quarter mile of me. The water was swirling in front of the buoy. It started to push me to the side, but I quickly latched onto a big wide lip all the way around it, and with everything I had left tried to pull myself out of the water. The awkward shape made it impossible. But my luck hadn’t run out yet. The current was pretty damn strong, and I had to hold onto that thing tight, really tight. If I let go that was it, for sure, game over. It was a big floating orange thing, but it felt like one last angel that happened to be out in the ocean waiting for me. I centered my body on it while the current pushed against my back, pressing me onto the buoy. I was able to slightly r
elax my arms. The upper half of my body was now exposed and I figured I had a solid chance at being spotted by another boat.
It felt incredible for the tide to turn and escape the fear of drowning. I thought about Forest and Becca and wondered if they would make it by themselves to the Bahamas. I hoped so. I knew the show was over for me. It was bittersweet but I was glad that I had made it that far.
In the distance there was a school of dolphin chasing baitfish. Their fins surfacing and then sinking in a circular motion. I thought back to being on the boat with Sam and yelling for him to grab a gun because I saw a shark coming for us. He thought it was hilarious. But I was glad he explained the difference, especially then.
My shoulders and arms were running out of strength when I heard the sound of an engine. On the horizon there was a small boat headed my direction. I frantically waved, not knowing when I would get another chance. A faded white boat with busted metal rails drew close to me and slowed down. There was an old man standing up in the center of the boat smoking a cigarette. He wore a floppy hat, and his skin looked like a belt could be made out of it. He put the boat in neutral so that it drifted slowly toward me. He left the steering wheel and flicked his cigarette into the water. He began rummaging around his boat.
“Grab on!” he shouted as he reached toward me with a long pole that had a big ass sharp hook on the end of it. It was freaky, like something out of a horror movie. It made me wonder if I should tell him I would wait for the next boat. Instead I grabbed it carefully.
“Don’t touch the point!”
It seemed obvious, but I nodded, and he pulled me to the side of the boat. I lifted my right hand up and he tried to heave me aboard.
“You’re a big boy,” he said without managing to get me high enough so that I could grab the side and pull myself into the little boat.
He motioned for me to swim to the back. “Climb up the motor, son.”
I struggled to swim to the back of the boat while trying to avoid the hull crashing down on my head. There was a small ledge where I could put my foot. I managed to pull myself aboard and then flopped to the deck like a big fish.
Then it dawned on me. I thought I’d be picked up by the coast guard. Now I might still have a chance to find Forest and Becca if I could convince him to help me find the O’Day. I struggled to catch my breath.
“Thank you sir.” I looked to my right and saw some old, rotten squid, or something sloshing around and quickly got to my feet.
“Thanks a lot,” I said.
The old man coughed up a big loogie and spit it overboard. “How’d you end up there?”
“I fell off my friend’s sailboat. They should be south or southeast of here, less than a mile. Any chance you can help me find them?”
“You know what I heard on the radio? No more than five, ten minutes ago.”
“No sir.”
“Some kids escaped from a detention center a few miles from here. You know anything about that?”
I was too tired to lie, and my brain went totally blank. The old man could see it and he slowly turned the boat toward Miami. “I used to do stupid things too. Well, still do I reckon. But I need to bring you on back, son. You won’t make it out here.” He pushed the throttle, and we started ramping the small waves off Key Biscayne, headed back home.
“You grow up here, sir?” I asked.
“All my life.”
“My friends and I have lived all over. On the street. In foster homes. In sheds. We don’t have families. If we go back, it only gets worse for us.”
“Sorry about your draw. But stick with a foster home. The ocean can be cruel. Next time you might not be so lucky,” he said.
I held up my right arm so he could see the scar on the inside of my bicep from a box cutter.
The old man slowed his boat and took his eyes off the Horizon to look me over. Hell, I had a couple more. I started to lift my shirt up and the old man held out his hand for me to stop. He shifted the boat back to neutral.
“Where were you boys heading in a sailboat anyway?” he asked.
“The Bahamas,” I said. The old man started coughing and laughed.
“Really?” he asked.
“Yes sir. Up until now it looked like we may have a shot.”
The old man pulled out a pack of cigarettes from a pocket on his chest. He took one out for himself and handed me one.
“Thanks,” I said.
The old man nodded. He lit mine, and I took a drag while the boat slowly rocked in the middle of the bay.
“What are we doing now?” I asked.
“Thinking,” he said.
I watched a flock of pelicans fly south in a formation that made them look more like fighter jets. Then a small shape caught my attention as I squinted. It was a sail. The O’Day.
“That’s it!” I pointed to the sailboat about a quarter mile or more from us.
“You sure?” asked the old man.
“Positive.”
The old man could barely make out the sailboat on the horizon. He seemed to be biting his lip, and I could tell he was dealing with some inner turmoil of his own.
“You were sixteen once. Sir, help us.”
Suddenly he throttled forward and turned the steering wheel 180 degrees. I almost flew into the bay again. We were headed toward the O’day. I couldn’t help but yell, “Woooooo!”
“I’m just dropping you off at your boat. You never saw me, got it?” asked the old man.
“Yes, sir.”
We neared the old sailboat. Forest and Becca were scrambling around the deck trying to figure out how to control which way they were going.
I waved my right arm wildly in the air. Forest seemed to squint, and Becca immediately waved.
“What should we do?” I asked the old man.
“They have to stop the boat. Do they know how?”
I shook my head as I walked to the front of the fishing boat and yelled, “Stop the boat! Stop the boat!”
Forest threw his hands in the air.
“Take the sail down!” I yelled. Forest couldn’t hear me and put his hand over his right ear.
I made the motion of pulling the rope down from the pole. He nodded then quickly ran to the mast.
The old man positioned his boat to the side of the O”Day.
“What’s your name, sir?” I asked.
“They call me Bobby Bones.”
“Thank you Mr. Bones.”
He smiled, revealing some missing teeth. “Grab on, son.”
Right before the boats came together I grabbed the rail of the O’Day and jumped over. Becca stood directly in front of me. I felt like I should hug her but knew that would be awkward. Then I thought maybe a high five. Still awkward. So I just said, “Hey.”
“You made it,” she said and I nodded.
“Your motor work?” shouted Mr. Bones.
“No sir. Ran out of gas an hour ago,” I answered.
Mr. Bones walked to the back of his boat and opened up a hatch. He pulled out a small red gas can. “Here. There’s about 3 gallons in it. You know how to fish?” he asked.
“No.” said Forest.
“That cabin must be stocked with food,” said the old man.
“Some cafeteria roles,” said Forest.
“Good Lord almighty, what do we have here?” asked Mr. Bones as he blew smoke from his cigarette.
He rummaged through his boat again and pulled out two fishing rods and a plastic box. “Here. These are my backups. Take ‘em.”
“Thanks!” I said.
“Now you look at me. All of you.” The three of us stopped what we were doing and faced the old man, who blew out some smoke and lowered his cigarette.
“You don’t know about the ocean. It’s okay. I told my grandaddy I don’t know how to drive an automobile. He said well you about to learn, cause you’re fixin to drive me to the hospital. When we drove off that bridge, the last thing he said to me was, ‘Bobby you done good. You tried.’ The ocean and thi
s boat is about to teach you in the same way. Don’t be stupid or proud. The ocean isn’t kind to such people. You know you don’t have any business being out here, but I respect you. You know why?”
We shook our heads.
“Because you aren’t afraid to jump on the bull and hold on. So work together, stay positive. Who knows? You might make it. Crazier things have happened before. But remember, things usually go wrong on boats. On this boat you can count on that. You may be bobbing around out there for God knows how long and end up who knows where. Keep the sail down until you get offshore. It’s too easy to spot. That should be enough gas to get you ten miles out or so. No one will be looking for you out there. Put up the sail and head east. Don’t go southeast. Cuba is a different animal. Watch Miami. Once you can’t see the buildings anymore, you’re about fifteen miles offshore. It’s time to take out one of those rods and throw a bait behind the boat. You need to eat. Good luck to ya.”
“How do we fish with these rods?” asked Becca.
Mr. Bones pointed to me and Forest. “They will know how to use them.”
We both awkwardly looked at each other.
“Oh Lord,” said Mr. Bones. “Tie one of those lures to the end of the line. Flip that switch and let the bait out behind the boat. Let it go for about fifty yards. You will know when a fish hits it. When it does, reel it in but not too fast. You don’t want the line to break. Hopefully you pull up a fish we call Mahi Mahi. You will know. It will look like you’re reeling in a rainbow. Best fish you will ever eat. Push hard and try to find one of the less crowded islands. Eleuthera, Exuma, some place like that. But it will be a journey to get that far. You get caught, don’t mention me. I’ve had enough problems with the law.”
Mr. Bones pushed his boat away from the O’Day and headed back toward Miami.
The Less Fortunates Page 6