“Those fellas didn’t seem very friendly,” I say.
We’re both lying on our backs, speaking to the blue sky.
“Don’t worry about it, darlin’,” she responds.
“Are you in some kind of—”
She sighs. “Look, can we leave it alone? Please?”
“I won’t ask again.”
Although I’ve only known Tenn for a short time, I’m frustrated that she’s keeping a secret. There’s something about this setting, this isolation, that puts relationships in the fast lane. If you are meant to be friends, it will be apparent very quickly. If you’re meant to be foes, that will be obvious, too. Other than Stan, I’ve made fast friends once or twice since living aboard, but nothing like what has happened here with Tenn.
“Alright, it’s your turn to talk about yourself. Tell me something about your life pre-Crazy Lady,” I say.
Tenn thinks for a moment. “Well, I made a living as a performer. I had a gig at a chophouse that kept me going for a few years.”
“Are you serious?” I ask, turning to her, my brows raising with curiosity.
“We played the classics. Country classics, like Hank and Willy,” she says, still looking at the sky above.
“What did you play?”
“Guitar, and I sang. Sometimes I would dance, sometimes I would tell jokes.”
I’m genuinely intrigued. She seems like a person that is meant for the stage. Why would someone like Tenn be alone on a sailboat so far from home? I can tell she has a story, but I guess we all do. I want to learn more about her. I want to learn more about myself; she’s bringing something out of me that I didn’t know existed. Words are gliding out from the center of me rather than the usual rolling rocks that stumble from my throat.
“I’ll make you a deal, Tenn.”
She turns to me, her cheek resting on her folded hands. “A deal?”
“If you play me a song, I’ll be your personal tour guide. I’ll show you all the hidden secrets Saturna Island has to offer.”
Her lips turn up in a closed smile. She squints in the midday sun, making her blue eyes shine. She sits up and disappears below, returning a few seconds later with my guitar in hand, sitting with her legs crossed. She looks very comfortable.
“What do you want to hear?”
I sit up and take a sip of iced tea. I look at the half-full glass in my hand, the strong light of the sun dancing off the ice and glass, then back at Tenn. She looks like a beautiful painting.
It almost feels like I’m the artist creating her.
“One of the classics.”
“Hmm, how about some Willy? Do you know the song ‘Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain’?” she asks.
“Are you kidding? I love that song.”
“I haven’t played it in ages,” Tenn says. “Alright, you better be a good tour guide, darlin’.”
She fiddles around with some chords on the guitar, then begins playing with a touch of shyness I have yet to see from her. Her voice is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard, and she strums the guitar while singing softly. She mostly focuses on the guitar while she sings, and when she looks up at me, she smiles bashfully.
I smile back.
Four
I wake early. There’s something about living aboard a floating sailboat that makes you go to bed early and wake with the sun. It gets so dark, and the gentle rise and fall of the sea rocks you to sleep. In the early morning, the warmth of the sun tells you to start the day.
I have a morning ritual that is not dissimilar to the average land dweller. It involves coffee and contemplation. On this early morning, I’m contemplating my novel. Morning is my optimal time to write. I have set everything up, my laptop is charged and ready, and steam billows from my coffee cup. I should have plenty of time to get lots of writing done before I start my day with Tenn. I sit down, close my eyes, and take a deep, slow breath.
I am ready.
“Hey darlin’!” Tenn’s familiar voice shouts from outside.
I exhale slowly and open my eyes. I climb up to the deck with my coffee in hand. There she is, in her floppy hat and a sundress. She sits elegantly in her tiny wooden rowboat holding the handles of the oars in her lap, greeting me with a warm smile. In the golden morning light, she once again looks like a beautiful painting.
“Early bird’s a fool?” I say, looking down at her, my eyes squinting in the early morning sun.
Her smile melts away. It’s a stupid way to greet a lovely lady that is here to spend the day with me. I immediately regret my first words of the day, and my mind races for a correction.
“I mean, early bird gets the worm,” I say, raising my coffee cup.
She slowly shakes her head. “What a weird guy,” she says almost to herself, looking off to the horizon.
“Yeah, I’m a little weird,” I admit.
“So am I. Let’s be weird together, shall we?” Tenn rows closer to my boat and begins to tie up, and I start to help her.
“I got it, I got it. You get down there and make me a cup of coffee,” Tenn orders with a playful bossy tone. It is clear how this day is going to go. Tenn will be the boss, and I will be the muscle.
I obey her command and make her a cup of coffee. When I return to the deck, she’s draped on the bench facing the sun.
“I hope instant is okay?” I say as I hand her a mug with a worn-out graphic of an octopus printed on the side.
She takes a sip, then adjusts her crossed legs so she is facing me. “Are you going to give me some sugar, Vince?” Her southern accent is strong and playful.
She’s flirting, and it’s my move. I try to think of a clever response, something light and funny, maybe suggestive, but not overtly sexual. When I lean back and try to find the words, my hot coffee tilts over and spills onto my shirt.
“You jackass!” Tenn laughs.
Her infectious laugh overrides any embarrassment I had. I laugh with her, I laugh at myself. It’s good to laugh.
I get the sugar from below and pour it into her coffee. “You don’t need sugar, you’re sweet enough,” I say.
I would say more, but Tenn cuts me off. “Stop! Your timing is atrocious.”
I realize this is something I have forgotten how to do; laugh at myself. It feels good. When I miss a beat or say the wrong thing, I’m normally brutal on myself, and my mind will yell at my heart until it’s racing away in fear. It’s self-sabotage, self-humiliation, to the point I am my own worst enemy. Most people catch my strange frequency and look for the closest exit, and I don’t blame them. But here is Tenn, seemingly unaffected by my odd approach.
“Okay weirdo, what’s the plan for today?” Tenn asks between sips of her coffee.
“Well, I told Stan I would take the jeep across the island to town to get supplies. It’s a rough trail, not an easy ride, but it’s the best way to see the island. When we get to town we can explore and be tourists for the day.”
“I love it. A wild jeep ride through the mountains to civilization. That sounds amazing,” she says enthusiastically.
“It’s a real mess of people over there, but there are some good restaurants. If our backs survive the bumpy road, it should be fun.”
Tenn pours her coffee overboard. “This coffee is terrible. Let’s roll,” she states.
“You mean row.” I smirk, moving my hands like I’m rowing a boat.
“Ugh!” Tenn hangs her head and doesn’t laugh.
My joke literally stopped her from laughing. Relax with the jokes, I think to myself. My mind begins its battle on my heart as it usually does when I say something stupid, but a smile begins to form on my face. I laugh at myself, and the war inside me is over.
“Oh, you’re so funny, Vince Stark. A real comedian.” Tenn responds with some polite delayed laughter.
I toss what is left of my coffee overboard, too. I’ve made this trip across the island many times, but this time it’s different because I have a companion. Of course, all adventures begin the moment you
decide to leave.
“I’ll race ya,” Tenn says as she steps into her little boat.
She quickly unties and is rowing like she’s in the Olympics before I can respond to the challenge. Thankfully my bag is packed, so I grab it and race after her.
She wins. I can’t say I didn’t try my best. That girl rows so fast I think I could water ski behind her. Tenn stands knee deep in the water, waiting for me. She is so out of breath she can barely talk.
“Dude, I creamed you,” she says between heavy breaths.
“You sure did,” I answer.
While we drag our little boats along the white sandy beach, I look her up and down, trying to understand where her super strength comes from. She notices me looking at her and gives me a shove, making me lose my balance and stumble a step.
“Good morning,” Stan shouts.
Tenn and I turn to see Stan walking toward us while eating an apple. He’s only wearing shorts and sandals as usual. Stan always looks like he just woke up from a peaceful nap, and maybe he did.
He slaps me on the back affectionately to greet me. “Come on, kiddies. I have the jeep all gassed up and ready for you. My order is ready for pickup. You just have to load it up and bring it back, easy peasy,” Stan says as we walk towards the old jeep.
“Why don’t you come along, Stan?” Tenn asks.
“I wish I could, but my back can’t handle that road anymore. You kids have fun. Make sure he remembers the cigars. Last time he forgot them!” Stan says.
I grab the frame of the jeep and swing myself in, landing in the driver’s seat. The smell of the jeep is unique; it’s been rained on and dried by the sun countless times. It smells of oil, metal, and old weathered interior.
I buckle up and start the motor. Stan stands next to me with his hand on the roll bar, smiling at me strangely. I turn to him, holding his gaze, and he squeezes my shoulder and nods his head. He’s proud of me. I know he’s happy for me because I have Tenn to share the journey with.
“You kids have fun. Be careful.” He slaps the hood as if he were telling a horse it’s time to gallop away.
I slowly pull away toward the head of the trail.
“Don’t forget the cigars!” he shouts. I can see him in my mirror, waving. I wave back.
The trail starts with a bang. It’s a very steep climb with rocks and bumps to make it even more tough.
Tenn stands up on her seat and holds the roll bar. “Woohoo!” she shouts with joy as we climb up the long, steep mountainside.
Tenn continues to stand for the better half of the journey, up and down the steep slopes, through deep puddles, and down the flat, easy straightaways. Before we know it, we are at the mango tree, the halfway mark where I always stop for a break. I have been here many times, but this is the first time I’ve had a companion.
“Break time,” I shout, turning off the engine.
The engine is loud. You don’t realize how loud it is until it’s off and you can hear the birds and wind blowing through the tall grass. We both sigh in relief. I slide out of the jeep and make my way to the tree, but rather than take my usual spot, I sit down with my back against a large rock. I thought I would leave the sweet spot for Tenn.
Tenn meanders over to me, smelling the air and scanning the panoramic view. The lush green landscape folds over itself; the line where the ocean meets the sky is not defined. It’s a blue water painting, and the lines are blurred. Finally, Tenn sits down, then lies down, nowhere near the spot I so graciously saved for her. I consider briefly explaining that I left the spot by the tree for her, but I leave it alone.
“I could live here,” Tenn says to the sky.
“I think you do,” I answer, still looking at my vacant spot by the tree.
Tenn rolls over on her side and rests her head on her hand, looking at me. I look back, neither of us speaking. I know this is one of the comfortable silences she loves so much, so I don’t mess it up this time. Tenn crawls over to me and rests her head in my lap. My hands are hovering above her, and I don’t know what to do. Finally, I rest one hand on her shoulder, settling into the moment. This is a special spot that just got a little more special.
Tenn stares blankly at a piece of grass she is rolling around between her fingers. We’re on island time, and we’re not in a rush to push on. I consider asking her again about her suspicious visitors, but I feel like it would ruin the moment.
“Hungry?” I ask.
“Starving,” she says, tossing the blade of grass away.
I had thought many times how it would be nice to have a proper picnic here, and this time I came prepared.
“Hey, check this out. I’ve tried all the spots, and you want to be over here.” I point to the tree.
Tenn makes her way over and settles in. She doesn’t say anything, but I can see she’s happy as she scans the view from under the shade of the tree.
I pile some charcoal and make a little fire. I thought ahead and am well prepared. I pick a mango from the tree and give it to Tenn to slice into pieces. Fish tacos are my favorite; they’re a rather large part of my diet.
The smell of the burning charcoal on this sunny day summons memories I can’t place. Tenn’s taking her job very seriously with the mangos, as am I with the fish and tortillas. I prepared and have the fish and lemon in tinfoil. Juice from the lemon splashes onto the hot coals, sizzling and smoking, throwing a smoldering fresh smell into the air.
We sit cross-legged, taking our time getting our corn tortillas just right.
“You know what, darlin? You’re alright,” Tenn says after her first bite.
We have a sparse conversation while we eat, mostly about tacos, laughing like children between mouthfuls.
Soon, we’re all laughed out, the food is gone, and we’re lying in the sun like animals after a feast.
“So, this is only halfway, huh?” Tenn asks.
“Think you’re going to make it?”
“Ugh, it’s nice here. Can we just stay here?” She rolls over like a child that doesn’t want to get out of bed.
I don’t blame her. It’s a fun and adventurous trip, but it’s simply too long. All the bumps, twists, and climbs become exhausting. This is precisely the reason why Stan doesn’t make the trip anymore, and a part of the reason I do it as seldom as possible.
I clean up camp. By the time we leave there’s no sign we were ever there, save the white dust left from the charcoal. Tenn doesn’t stand on the seat as much for the second half of the journey since we’re both getting tired. When we finally reach the crest of the final hill and get our first glimpse of the bustling resort village, we’re reenergized. It’s a grand payoff after a long journey. It looks like a tropical amusement park. Tenn’s eyes light up, and I feel her excitement.
I stop at the crest of the hill where we take in the sprawl of civilization. “I know it’s a tourist trap, but it’s beautiful,” Tenn says.
She’s right. It’s no accident this is the area that has been chosen as a tourist mecca. The beach is exquisite, and the water is pristine. It’s a pretty town, but there are just too many traveling families and young people partying for me to spend any length of time here.
As we drive down into the valley, the volume of civilization creeps up — the rumbling of people, the motors of cars, and the music pouring from the restaurant patios. I drive slowly down the main street. The tourists that line the streets probably see this as a remote and hidden paradise since there’s a dirt road and certainly no shopping malls. From the cities they are used to, this is a remote destination, but that is not the case for me.
Tenn smiles while she watches the crowds roll by. The smell of countless restaurants and the sound of merchants shouting from the front of their shops seems to electrify her. At the end of the strip we take a left and pull away from the action. I back the jeep toward the garage door of our destination and kill the motor.
“We made it,” I say to Tenn.
The man that helps Stan is a childhood friend of his
. I bang on the garage door and wait. Tenn looks serious. I’m confused why she is so tense, but it occurs to me this could look like a sketchy transaction from her perspective.
The rusty garage door grinds open, and I’m greeted by Stan’s friend. Tenn has her arms crossed and is looking quite serious behind her dark sunglasses. I decide to play along.
“You got the stuff?” I ask in a serious tone.
“Of course I do. You got the money?” he responds, instantly playing along.
We quickly break character and laugh. There’s a slight language barrier, so our conversations are always brief. I appreciate him playing along with my joke; I think he knew I was acting a little different because there was a lady with me. Tenn also smiles, taking off her sunglasses and acting normal again.
There’s barely enough room for Tenn and I after we load everything into the jeep. It’s a particularly hot day, and we both broke a sweat from the labor of packing everything up.
“Well, time to go back,” I say to Tenn.
“You’re kidding, right?”
“You don’t want to do that road after dark, do you?”
“First of all, that is not a road. It’s barely a trail. We’re staying here for the night, darlin’, so you might as well ask your friend here if we can park the jeep in his garage.”
I’m unsure how to respond. Tenn isn’t exactly asking. She’s tired, and I don’t blame her for not wanting to get back in the jeep. I look at him, and he motions to the garage, telling me it’s okay to leave the loaded-up jeep there for the night.
I close the garage door, and it makes the same awful grinding noise again. Tenn starts walking back toward town. She’s clearly excited to be here and takes the lead down the dirt road.
“I thought I was the tour guide,” I shout to her as she walks away.
She continues to walk toward the main drag, not answering. I have to run to catch up to her.
The moment we are on the main street, it feels like we are fish in a stream. We let the current take us. Of course, the merchants try to channel the stream into their shops.
Uncharted Waters Page 6