It’s not the love she has given me, it’s that she has shown me how to love. It is witnessing how she feels about herself and learning from her unique approach to life. Basically, how I feel about Tenn is how she feels about herself. It suddenly makes sense why I have been on the receiving end of so much spite and hate over the years; it was how I felt about myself.
The world has simply treated me how I treat myself.
I fall back onto my bench; for a moment I miss the comfort of the bottle in my arms.
I’ve been craving something from Tenn, something I can’t ask for. I want her to tell me she loves me. I’m a grown man and I have never had a woman say it with any level of sincerity. I feel like if she looked me in the eye and said those three words it would be like a hit from a perfect drug.
The best I can do is show her I love myself. I will prove to her I am worthy — not because of how I treat her, but because of how I treat myself. I close my eyes tight and try to burn the sentiment into my memory.
I feel like I have had a revelation that is beholden to the drunken thoughts that polluted this dark night. I try to fight it, but I drift off to sleep.
When I wake, it is as dark as it was when I fell asleep. I don’t have to look at my clock to know I have only been sleeping for twenty minutes. I trained myself to wake every twenty minutes when I sailed alone, and my old habit has come back. I would usually just take a quick look around and go back to sleep.
Unfortunately, my battle isn’t over tonight. I thought I chased away all the demons, but clearly there is still one that has lingered.
I hear the voice from down below, in the cabin, and I know it’s not Tenn. I try telling myself it isn’t real, but it sounds so clear that it cannot be denied.
And it’s calling my name.
“Vince!” the familiar voice shouts.
I sit on the edge of the bench and cover my ears with my hands, but I can still hear the voice coming from below. I have no choice but to go into the cabin to investigate.
“Vince!” The voice becomes clearer as I climb down the steps.
Thankfully Tenn is sleeping in the aft cabin and not in her usual spot at the table, so hopefully I can take care of this without waking her.
When I discover the source of the familiar voice, I question my sanity more than I ever have before. I fear my mind may have completely gone.
“Vince!” the familiar voice shouts again.
The source is clear. Without question, the voice is coming from the wooden parrot we had bought from the market. The familiar voice is Stan’s.
“Stan calling Vince. Over.”
I look the parrot dead in its black, wooden eyes.
“You’re not Stan,” I say in a quiet drunken voice.
The parrot repeats the same words again, as parrots do. “Stan calling Vince. Over.”
I carefully pick up the figurine, covering its beak with my hand so it doesn’t wake Tenn. I breathe heavily, terrified that Tenn will discover what’s happening. I won’t let this damn parrot ruin everything.
I struggle up the steps, I don’t dare remove my hand from its beak.
I get on deck and clutch the parrot under my arm. I am overwhelmed with complex emotions. It is clearly the voice of Stan. I want to throw the parrot overboard, but it is the voice of my dear friend and mentor, and I miss him.
Tears flood my eyes. “I will not let this happen. This is not real. This is not happening.” My voice is cracking like a crying child.
“Stan calling Vince. Over,” the parrot says again.
“THIS IS NOT HAPPENING!” I yell as I throw the parrot into the dark sea.
The tears are flowing, and I feel my body shake. I can no longer hear Stan’s voice, and I suddenly feel like I may have thrown him into the sea.
I lean over the edge and try to look through the black night, but it is hopeless. I have thrown the wooden parrot too far and it is long gone.
“I’m sorry,” I say into the night.
I’m thrown back into reality by the feeling of a hand on my shoulder. It startles me and I twist around quickly to see Tenn standing behind me. She looks frightened.
I’m out of breath, and I don’t know what to say. I’m not sure how long she has been watching, and I can’t be sure if she heard Stan’s voice coming from the parrot or not.
I try to say something, but I can’t find the words. I try to say something, but nothing comes out but air.
“Come here,” she says, pulling me in for a hug. “Oh darling, you’re having a rough night, aren’t you? It will be okay. It will be okay,” she says, holding me tight.
I am embarrassed. I’m a grown man and she is consoling me like you would console a child waking from a nightmare.
I can see a shadow over her shoulder, and I know it is the demon I failed to chase away. I look at it and feel it looking back. I can tell it is gloating, like it won some kind of battle.
I will keep my eyes open from here on out.
I will be sure never to let my demons run free again.
Especially this one, the one that likes to wait until I think I’m safe and strike when I’m most vulnerable.
“Come on baby, it’s time for bed,” she says, leading me down into the aft cabin.
She tucks me in and gently runs her hands through my hair as I fall into a deep sleep.
Eighteen
It is day seventeen of our crossing.
We’ve been through many squalls, some stronger than others, but none have been a concern. In fact, we’ve been using them to bathe. We shampoo our hair and wash our bodies in the hard rain. The fresh-water showers wash off our salty skin.
The blustery weather brought strong winds. We have mostly been sailing on a beam reach, causing the boat to heel considerably. It has been a confused sea for the last couple of days. At this moment, the wind is violent, and the sea is showing its relentless power. We are in a storm.
I’m hand steering. My hands are on the wheel and I try my best to take the large swells at a forty-five-degree angle, but it’s not always possible. I’m not concerned about the wind, I have the sail on the third reef, and this heavy boat will not be knocked over by high winds. It’s the massive waves that have my full attention.
Both Tenn and I have our life jackets on, and we tie ourselves down when we are on deck, so we don’t get washed away. The sea is constantly threatening to wash over the deck but has yet to do so. With each swell that approaches, I swear it will take us over, but we float up like we are climbing a mountain and slide down the other side with relative ease. If one of these waves breaks over us, it could be devastating. I try not to think about that.
Up and down these mountains of water we go. The large adjustments I make on the wheel have very little, if any, effect at all on our heading. We’re almost completely at the mercy of the sea.
This storm has gotten the best of Tenn. She’s been below for the last several hours. I assume she has wedged herself somewhere, bracing for each impact that happens when we land at the trough of each wave. The scariest part is when our large boat surfs down the large swells. This boat is not meant for these speeds, and if the bow digs in, we will pitchpole.
Then it happens.
A large wave approaches from the portside. It’s steep and there is nothing I can do but brace for impact. I take the line that is tied to my waist and wrap it around the bottom of the pedestal the wheel is attached to. I hug the pedestal with my legs and arms and close my eyes.
The force and the powerful sound of the hit are biblical. It’s as if Crazy Lady screams as all the wood of her deck and hull bends and twists from the force. We are knocked over and I’m ripped away from the pedestal. All I can see is the green of the water. I submit. I wait — at least until I have some sense of what is up and what is down.
I don’t know if I’m twenty feet below water or only inches from the surface. To my surprise and relief, I feel the surface just above me. I gasp for air and try to take stock of my surroundings
. It’s raining hard and the wind is blowing the surface of the sea into fine mist that makes seeing anything almost impossible. But through the violent spray, I see another massive, steep swell coming. At the same moment, I notice I still have the line around my waist, and Crazy Lady is on her side, close by. I’m grateful she is not completely overturned. I think of Tenn and hope she is doing better than I am.
Then it hits.
It’s like slow motion. I have time to think about what brought me here and where I was heading. I’m not afraid. Death is inevitable, and if this is my time, I am ready. A sailor going down with his ship is a good death. I think of Tenn — if I knew my life would be taken by the ocean like this, I would still have agreed to this doomed voyage so I could have shared all these moments at sea with her.
It hits me, and again, I submit. I feel like I am being dragged by a thousand horses by the rope around my waist. I am ripped through the water like a ragdoll. Crazy Lady is righting herself, and I am being pulled toward her as she does.
I am in a sea of green. I smash into the hull, or maybe it smashes into me. I try to swim away from the boat. Although it is my only hope for survival, at the moment it is my biggest threat. It rises and falls violently. I can’t imagine how I will climb aboard without her hull crashing down on me, but I must try.
There is a moment between waves, and the transom is about twenty feet away. This is my only chance. I swim hard to the back of the boat and get my hands and feet on the ladder.
Another wave hits.
I don’t know how, but I’m able to hang on. At the crest of the wave I look down, and it seems like I’m hanging off a four-story building. Then, after a wild descent to the trough of the wave, I am back in the water fighting to hang on. Frantically, desperately, I climb aboard.
The cockpit is full of water but is slowly draining. We broached but she did not roll, so the mast is still intact. I look around for the next wave but there does not seem to be breaking waves around at the moment.
Tenn pokes her head out of the companionway. I’m beyond relieved to see she seems unscathed.
“Are you okay?” she yells over the storm.
“Yeah, no problem at all. Just a little wind, I’ve got it all under control,” I say with a thumbs-up.
“Okay,” she shouts, and disappears back down below, closing the hatch tight.
I’m shaking. Something deep inside of me has been rattled. I feel like the sea needed to show me its force, so I don’t get too lazy. Or maybe I’m being punished for my illicit cargo. The sea could have taken me, and the only reason I was able to climb back aboard is because it allowed me to do so. I sit in my seat and look at the sea like it’s an angry god whom I’ve upset. I try my best not to upset her more.
I give up my battle and take down the little sail that is up, and I heave to.
I do not go below where it is dry and warm. I stay on deck, feeling like I’m standing my ground with a predator. The moment I run for safety is the moment its predatory instincts react with a final lethal blow. I lie there watching her as she watches me, and we try to find peace. I try to show her the respect she deserves, but I also want to show her I will not be turning my back on her. So I stay on deck, like a fighter going the distance to the twelfth round.
It’s hard to believe this is the same water that we were becalmed in for days. This sea has an evilness to it. I lie there, rattled and beaten, wet and cold. I am at her mercy; we climb up and down the swells, up and down we go. I feel like I should have heaved to much earlier. Perhaps this is the lesson — don’t fight nature, she will always win.
I wrap the rope around the rail that is close by so if we are knocked over again, I won’t end up so far away from the boat.
I’m concerned that I may not wake if I fall asleep, but this storm has taken all my energy and I need rest, even if only for a moment. I feel the misty rain on my closed eyelids. I will just rest for a few minutes, then continue my watch.
Maybe even just twenty minutes.
Like a switch has been turned, I disappear into a dreamless sleep with the rain pounding on my cheek.
I hear the sounds of Crazy Lady, the halyard banging on the mast, the familiar groans of her wooden hull. But it is as if I am not here. I feel my body, I feel the breath in my lungs, I feel the hard, wooden bench on which I lie.
I wake. At least I think I’m awake. The world around me is surreal. The water is black and calm, the moon is full and larger than I thought possible. It casts a yellow glow on the black reflective water that is broken by the small waves rippling along its surface.
My body is heavy and I can barely move. There’s an electricity in the air that only a storm can produce. Crazy Lady seems to attract and absorb all the wild energy in the air. The boat is electrified by the spirits of the sea — both good and bad.
I hear a sound that cannot be mistaken for anything else. You don’t have to be a seaman to know this sound; it doesn’t matter if you are land-locked and have never seen the ocean, you instinctively know it when you hear it. A whale taking a breath.
I hear it over and over. Then I see them. The distinctive shape of sperm whales breaching the surface. I lie here, exhausted, and watch the marvelous animals take their breaths then dive down again. One of their tails is completely out of the water for a moment before disappearing into the black for a deep dive. I can barely lift my head and I’m still unsure if this is a dream or real.
It’s as if the sea and I are having a conversation. She’s letting me know her power, she is telling me that the only reason I survived the storm was because she allowed it.
Tenn slides open the companionway door and crawls over to where I’m resting. She, too, has been beaten down by the sea and has been left in a similar broken state. We don’t say a word to each other, and neither of us react externally to the whale that is next to our boat. It’s too magical and special to ruin with words, and it would seem almost sinful and at least dreadfully immodest to run for a camera. So we quietly let this special moment happen and experience it together.
Tenn lies in front of me, and I wrap my arm around her. We both look over the sea, perfectly lit by the moon, and watch the three whales surface and dive. The sea has put a spell on us, forcing us to relax. I’m completely void of fear or worry, and even though Tenn and I don’t speak, I can tell she feels the same. I think of what Tenn said before the storm hit, that love should be felt, not spoken.
The whales have all left the playground we have been drifting past. I feel like the show is over when a massive animal surfaces right next to our boat, so close I could touch it. I hold Tenn a little tighter, as if she could fall off the deck and end up in the belly of the whale.
With its large black eye, the whale watches us, seeming to look into our souls for a moment before it retreats back into the sea. Somehow, I know that concludes the long discussion the sea and I had been having.
Tenn and I lie together and watch the moon fall into the sea. I don’t have to tell her I love her — I know it is felt — and I feel it from her.
Nineteen
It’s day twenty of our passage.
It’s taking longer than it should. My dreams of never seeing land again have changed. The storm didn’t break me, but it left me with more respect for the sea. I still want to be on the boat with Tenn, but a safe anchorage, or maybe some land-time, would be nice.
It’s been three days since the storm. Our dynamic has changed slightly, not for the better or worse, just different. We’ve been a little less silly. I hate to say that it aged us; we’ve simply grown up a little.
I have been quietly questioning the accuracy of our position, and at times thought we were basically lost at sea, but the sperm whale sighting was a good sign that we are heading in the right direction. It’s not uncommon to see them closer to Azores. I can’t be sure how close we are, but both Tenn and I are beginning to look over the horizon differently. We both are craving land.
The serious, all-business tones o
f the last few days have finally eased and Tenn is experiencing some much-needed joy. When she is happy, it’s contagious — I feel her joy, too.
Tenn is on the wooden pulpit that extends far out from the bow and is laughing. We have some delightful dolphins accompanying us. They jump and swim with excitement. It really does seem as though they are focused on Tenn and want to show off for her. I trim the sails to get more speed, as if I’m racing the pod.
I drink in the moment as much as I can. I close my eyes and try to think of the darkest, most depressing night-shift memory I can, back when I would dream of this kind of moment, then I open my eyes as if I’ve transported from then to now. I do this over and over. Close my eyes and open them. I think of Lydia smoking one of her long cigarettes looking at me like I was her dog, then open them. I close my eyes and think of the longest, most miserable night shift, then open them again. I don’t know why, but thinking of my darkest moments makes me appreciate this one even more.
My darkest moment is one I don’t think of often. I regret thinking of it now because I’m getting lost in that memory rather than watching the dolphins swim right next to me. It’s an unusual time to get lost in a daydream, but I’m locked into the dark memory of the day I tried to take my own life.
I’d thought of ending my life more times than I can count. I was at the point where plans were being made. The only reason I hadn’t pulled the trigger — so to speak — is because of her. When I say it was because of her, it is not for the typical reasons a man’s wife might have him reconsidering killing himself. It was because I didn’t want her to have the satisfaction. I didn’t want her to have the story to tell. I didn’t want her to milk it for all it was worth and always have the victim card to play when she needed it. I didn’t want to become her perfectly sad Instagram or Twitter post. My wife, her family, and her closest friends would all pretend to be heartbroken but would be privately celebrating my death. That was the only thing keeping me alive for years.
Uncharted Waters Page 19