Flotilla

by Daniel Haight

  But don’t tell Mom that.

  She attacked the problem like everything else in her life: she made it her full-time job. Paperwork, calling offices, sending letters and even threatening to call every TV station in LA – she made sure that they didn’t let Madison down when it came to getting any kind of decent care. Mom became rabid on the topic and it’s something I’ve never forgotten. I remember that look in her eye when she reached across a counter and grabbed an oncologist by the front of his shirt. I have no idea what she said to the man, I saw all this happen through the glass in the door of his office, but it got him to switch out Madison’s meds.

  As Madison’s treatment started and she was miserable, cranky and tired all the time – it really threw our house into a mess. Her little curls started falling out and she cried because it hurts to lose your hair. I was a pill myself because all I really understood was that my younger sibling was getting 100% of the attention and all I could manage was what was left over when she fell asleep and just before someone would collapse in a weary heap on a bed or couch. I threw tantrums, I started acting up; I just wanted someone to pay attention to me.

  Mom, Grandpa and Grandma all realized that I needed some more information about what Madison was going through. They told me that she was sick and every sniffle or stomachache would have me running to Mom, “Mom – do I have what Madison has?” They got a few books for kids about being sick but I didn’t make the connection until the sixth or seventh time through one about kids and cancer. It finally dawned on me what was going on and I asked Grandpa, who was reading to me: “Does Madison have cancer?” Grandpa’s eyes welled up and he was unable to answer.

  Not one of my prouder moments.

  My little sister had a serious, possibly life-threatening disease. I had no reference for this and the problem went from “Mom doesn’t love me anymore” to balloon into some big, huge issue that I couldn’t wrap my little head around. At this age, though, kids have marvelous coping mechanisms. I asked Mom one day, ‘could I shave my head?’ and she looked at me oddly: why did I want to do that? I just shrugged and said “I dunno … make Madison feel less weird, I guess.” Her eyes filled with tears and she pulled me close. She kissed the top of my head and sent me to Grandpa.

  I thought he might be upset at the request; he’s been cutting my hair out on the back porch every month for several years. For some reason, though, he just smiled and said “Sure, sport.” Grandpa drew on the old bed sheet that was my barber apron for the longest time and then took the guard off of his old Wahl clippers. In the warm evening air with the smell of lemon blossoms all around us, he shaved my little head back to a fuzzy cue ball. Mom and Grandma laughed and cried at the same time – I held Madison up and we took a picture of the both of us chrome-domes. Mom keeps the picture in a scrap book somewhere.

  I’m just telling you this so that later on, when you ask why I’m freaking out because the Colony just turned into the Wild West, I can say “I love my little sister” and you’ll understand what I mean. I guess I love her. As much as anyone can … Madison can be kind of a pain.

  Where was I …

  The last 24 hours sent me into a complete panic when I suddenly realized how dangerous the Colony had become. Pirates, guns, drugs … that crazy Trash Man … somehow it was all connected and it was all bad. Now my sister was walking into this thinking she was going to spend her summer making fun of the Children of the Burning Man and scoring free sodas off of me at the Phoenix Grill.

  I had another one of those moments where the problems go completely sideways and you have no context for it. Just like when I realized my sister had a disease that might kill her when I was six. This time, however, I didn’t have someone around to laugh and cry at the same time or read a book to me that explained what was going on. I was in over my head and now I was bringing one of the most important people in my world to be a part of it.

  To the phone.

  After the pirates paid the Colony a visit, I spent the rest of the day going from boat to boat trying to beg a phone call. Any of my customers that might have some minutes they felt like lending, anyone who had a phone for emergency purposes – I paid them all a visit. I didn’t want Dad to know what I was up to and he liked to sniff my cell bill for calls to the mainland he didn’t feel like paying for. Either way, nobody wanted to let me call.

  I felt like I was on the Bizzaro Colony by the way everyone blew me off. Nobody could help me. Every single person I asked either had no minutes or no phone or both or was just unavailable. What was going on?

  Even if I had no phone, I could send email to her phone and catch her on her way to deliver Madison out to the dock in Long Beach. I sent emails to her and to everyone else I could think of who could call her and tell her to get back to me ASAP. Dad saw me running around frantically and was suspicious. He cornered me and asked what was going on but I spun a story about asking Mom to send my new camera out. “What new camera?”

  “My new one, Dad,” I said, exasperated and pitched to make it sound like there was nothing else going on. “I got a new one for my birthday – Auntie Sue gave it to me.”

  “First I heard of it,” he grumbled. “Whatever. Your sister arrives in a few hours and I want the place to look nice. Get cracking.” He was still surly about the Trash Man and was hiding out on the Dixie rather than being in a place where I might feel free to ask embarrassing questions. He disappeared again into the docks and I was left fuming: how was I supposed to make the phone call when I had a boat to clean? I decided to take my chances and put the phone call through on my cell. Rushing back to the boat, I started looking for it. I stashed it here in my stateroom, plugged in and charging, before I left in the wintertime. Dad never came in here anymore (the words “disgusting” and “barnyard” kept coming up) and I figured it would be ready for me when I returned. I grabbed it and punched the power stud.

  No power…

  I let out a little scream of frustration and then started tossing my room for the DC-inverter. It was an old beast, leftover from the Mitch Cutter Discount Electronics Emporium. No juice, it refused to light up when I plugged it in. I threw it at the wall in frustration but it rebounded to land painfully across the top of my right foot. This day just wasn’t getting any better.

  A few minutes of swearing and massaging my foot went by and I kept trying to think the problem through. I couldn’t stop my sister from jumping straight into this hellhole. I was out of options to try and stop her from coming. Only thing I could do was watch out for her and hope that Dad would be more protective of her than he was of me.

  I rushed through the cleaning job in record time. Dad spent so little time here so he wouldn’t notice the difference. With his hours on the Dixie, he was rarely home before midnight. He’d get up again in the morning and disappear just after breakfast. There was one other option I wanted to try.

  “You’re worried about nothing,” Miguel said, after I asked him to let us stow away on a grocery run.

  “What’re you talking about,” I tried not to whine but I couldn’t help it. “You guys had machine guns out!”

  “So?”

  “So? So? That’s all you can say?” Was I going crazy? Miguel did understand that this was no place for kids, much less 10-year-old cancer survivors, right? “She’s 10!”

  “It’s a little crazy, I’ll admit,” he said. “Those guys are just getting their ya-yas off by acting tough. Nobody’s gonna do anything to your sister.”

  I decided to take comfort in what he was saying. What choice did I have? I muttered a “yeah…thanks” and disappeared back to the Horner where I had just enough time to spot check and make sure Dad wouldn’t find anything wrong. Everything looked fine … unless he broke character and really started looking around.

  They would leave the docks at about 7 and it would take eleven or twelve hours to get here. Around 6, I picked a spot on the Phoenix and waited for Maddy to arrive. Dad wanted me to tell him when she was getting close so he could ke
ep working on the Dixie as long as he could. The ‘Viewing Deck’ up on the second deck was deserted at this hour. No one would hassle me while I watched and waited. The sun was dipping low toward the horizon when I finally spotted a small speck on the horizon. That speck slowly turned into Ignacio’s old scow and long before it entered the maze Dad and I were down at the receiving dock to meet it. Ignacio was taking his sweet time getting up to the dock and I could see a small face in the pilothouse window with an ear-to-ear grin.

  “Daddy! Jimmy!” She was waving and laughing and so were we. The three of us had a nice little reunion hugging like we were shrink-wrapped together down there on the dock. She kissed Dad about a hundred times and even deigned to give her older brother a small peck on the cheek. Ignacio eventually started complaining that I was making him late delivering groceries.

  I didn’t mind … I halfway figured he was going to do this to me. Dad had to get back to the Dixie but he promised to bring home some dinner. We had the place to ourselves and I helped her unpack and settle in. Madison spent the time bringing me up to speed.

  She started talking about what life was like after I’d left in June to come out here. A few fights about how Marty had handled my ‘treatment’ but then things calmed down and life returned to normal. Mom didn’t talk about me for about two weeks and then she suddenly started discussing letting Madison come out to visit like nothing had ever happened.

  That was weird and upsetting. Mom deals with being upset with me by getting buzzed on cheap boxed wine with her friends. She blows up at me in private because all that Mommy talk had focused her frustration.

  I swear I could go from zero to hero in a week, join the Marines and win a Nobel Prize but I’d never hear anything but “Good, you got it together … finally” from her. I put it out of my mind and decided to just be happy for Maddy … first night aboard is weird for anyone and I was determined to make it much easier for her than Dad did for me. That’s what big brothers do, right?

  Dinner that night was some take-out from the Dixie. Dad actually went to the trouble of ordering dinner and bringing it home in those expensive foam containers I never got to use. Whenever he brought leftovers home for us he would use oversized freezer bags that are a nightmare to scoop anything out of. Still – I understood what was going on: Dad’s little girl was here and nothing was too good for her.

  Dad being Dad, he noticed that the house was a mess and it took him all of a half-hour to boil over. “You were supposed to clean this place up!” he hissed at me at one point while she was in the head.

  “I did,” I shot back.

  “Oh, yeah? What’s this?” he asked, bringing up a handful of Cheeto dust, candy bar wrappers and an old sweat sock out of the depths between the sofa cushions.

  “That wasn’t there an hour ago!” I protested and he shot me a look.

  “Give me a break,” he said, his tone was dripping with contempt. “Your old socks magically spawn inside couches?”

  “Say that three times fast!” I suddenly said. It was like grabbing the cheese off of the mouse trap before it snaps your fingers. He suddenly choked with laughter, snorted and he had to hold back some loud ‘haw-haws’. Dad’s lecture hour was over before it started. When Madison returned, we were all talking and laughing together. It was one of the best family dinners I think the three of us ever had.

  Over the next several days, we put Madison through a boot camp on mariculture and seasteading. Whatever passes as boot camp for an 11-year-old girl, that is. She sat watch on pen patrol while Dad or I snorkeled our way through shimmering clouds of fish. She tried snorkeling exactly once … she choked on the hookah rig and went on strike. Dad didn’t force her and made her the permanent line tender. Aside from Pen Patrol, Mad was a good sailor. She didn’t mind helping me swab the decks, haul fish feed or keeping the Horner together. Stacy came by, introduced herself, and three minutes later it was like Maddy was her long-lost little sister.

  My only complaint was the cooking. Madison’s started experimenting with different recipes when she was bored. I would come in from pen patrol dead tired and panting … there she was chopping up some of the last of the Cooger & Dark produce.

  I immediately flipped…Dad was known to be cranky about a lot of things but he was positively rabid about preserving any fresh produce we got. She was making a salad and actually had put together some kind of dressing out of some ancient vinegar and oil that I didn’t even know Dad had.

  This produce thing wasn’t a joke, either. I was hungry one afternoon and decided to have a carrot or two instead of waiting for dinner. We have all kinds of snacks and cheap bowls of ramen…I just grabbed the carrots instead making a healthy snack choice for probably the only time during my adolescence. Dad came home later, found the carrots he was going to make as part of dinner and flipped. I got the ramen I was supposed to have for lunch for dinner while he enjoyed the tri-tip sandwiches he’d brought home from the Dixie. It was a pretty twisted thing to do to me but then I guess I had it coming. Whatever.

  So anyway, back to Madison’s salad. Well … I was concerned. That’s another way of saying that I was freaked out. I was running around trying to figure out how to replace the vegetables and hide the evidence when Dad walked in. He was supposed to be on the Dixie until much later but he decided (without telling anyone, I might add) to take the afternoon off.

  Dad was wearing a pair of oil-soaked dungarees … maybe someone needed an extra pair of hands for engine work. My heart sank and I was trying to figure out a way to take the blame when Madison marches up and asks Dad to try her ‘salad dressing’. Dad dips a finger in and tastes it. I winced and waited for the explosion.

  All Dad did was grunt with approval. “Nice work, kiddo. Guess that’ll go well with the pasta I’m bringing home. I’ll be back in an hour – be ready to eat when I get here.” He disappeared into his room to change for something on the Dixie and I heard him ask me from behind the door: “Why don’t you do stuff like this, Jim?” My jaw fell to my ankles and I looked at Madison. She gave me one of those evil little-sister grins in response. This kid could get away with murder, I swear…

  Back on the Horner, where there was plenty of legitimate work to do after I was done running scams or errands for Dad, I would see her with some of the Children of the Burning Man or the Gloucester kids. She always made friends easily. I’m not going to lie … it made me a little jealous.

  Somehow, Jeb got the Grill concession back on the Phoenix and Riley wanted me to come along for the ride. He appeared late one morning and said "Mom says you can have your old job back. Interested?" I was surprised – I thought I was banned for life after the Streaking Incident. While it didn't earn me the notoriety I was hoping for I had no end of grief from the older women who giggled and whispered when I was around. I got some attention, just not what I was hoping for. Cougars ... yeek.

  "So what do you say?" Riley asked. He was attempting a one-cheek sneak but stopped when I gave him a stony look.

  "I'll think about it," I replied. "Get outta here before you cause a biological disaster."

  "I'm fine!"

  "Whatever."

  "So you'll do it?"

  "Sure ... now go!"

  "I'm fine," he said. "I gotta-" he stopped and his face suddenly changed. Standing quickly, he said: "I gotta go."

  "Dude..."

  "I'm okay, I just-"

  "That's nasty!"

  "I didn't do nothing!"

  "Get outta here!" I was laughing my head off. His face was the deepest shade of red … almost purple. Riley leaped through the door and was running faster than I'd ever seen him go, disappearing back toward home for a change of underwear. In one single move, he topped my most-embarrassing moment of last summer. Bravo!

  Riley never busted my balls after that. I had a juicy (no pun intended) piece of gossip that topped any stupid thing I ever did. Dad refused to let Mad go to work with us – no work permits out here – but she hung around a lot. I didn’t want
Riley to start messing with her the way he did with pretty much anyone else. He stopped making lewd comments about the female side of the Colony folk whenever Maddy was around and I think our productivity shot up as a result. His mom was so happy that it made Riley miserable.

  She was ecstatic about our newfound industry and her response was to give us more hours. Riley’s response was probably at an inverse proportion to what his mother expected: he started actively looking to get fired. His theory was that he was a kid and at some point, there wasn’t enough money to justify spending your life working a cash register while your friends goofed off. I had to admit it – he had a point.

  Anyway, Riley started showing up late and leaving early for starters … not easy when you sleep 10 feet from the boss. He’d leave the at the right time, but he’d take such a long time getting there that we might have been open for 2-3 hours before he finally strolled up. I’d yell, threaten to call his mom and he’d just shrug, only to leave maybe a couple hours later and I’d have to handle closing up. Charming.

  “Why don’t you just quit?”

  “She’d never let me,” he said, constructing something evil out of a bucket of grill goo, rotting meat and a flat Coke. “She says I need to use my time effectively. Be a productive member of society.”

  “What’s with the bucket?”

  “Nothing ... just my pink slip,” he said happily. He disappeared maybe twenty minutes later and in another fifteen minutes I started hearing screams.

  Eventually, he made his way back and I found out that Riley was painting the words “EAT AT THE PHOENIX GRILL” on the side of their house using the noxious mixture he was concocting back in the kitchen. Not only did it stink, it drew every fly in the Colony to their boat.

  Riley got all the way to the “THE” when his mother found him and promptly lit into him with her left pink house slipper. In flight, he dropped the bucket o’ goo on the deck and her angry shrieks turned into wails as she quickly tried to hose the mess off into the fish ponds before more flies were attracted. Riley was made to clean the mess – he needed a salt-water hose and a heavy scrub brush before the greasy stink finally drifted away. Of course, he was fired.