Flotilla (20 page)

My English teacher was politely interested but wasn't assigning a "How I Spent My Summer" paper so there went any potential A+ papers for me. Schoolwork has always been kind of a walk for me but they never get tired of telling me that I'm not living up to my true potential. I found myself thinking back to everything that had happened back out there.

As the months of fall passed by, my grades started slipping again and the kids who were previously unimpressed with all my experiences started coming around to hang out with me. My mom was nervous about it ... what a shocker Other than saying "remember what happened last summer" she left it more or less alone. That was weird, having her do that. Before she'd be on me like our dog, Molly, on a piece of steak that falls off your plate. You couldn't get a chance to move because she was there stopping you before you even realized you were thinking about it. Things were a little different now.

So my friends and I hung out for a while but my heart really wasn't into it. The work of the Colony, the weirdness, the hijinks ... the danger. How was getting baked and sitting on your friend's couch all afternoon going to compare with that?

I'd tell them stories about it and they were bored. Who cared about Tribe of the Burning Man doing primal scream rituals at dawn while the Gloucester West fisherman chucked empties of Steel Reserve in their general direction? We saw each other less and less.

Before the final kiss-off, I did down a couple of beers with them on one afternoon. A brownie got passed my way and, well, it probably had pot in it. I didn't check. When I got home that night Mom, Madison and Marty were eating dinner like a normal family in the dining room and ignoring me. I was lit and feeling pretty gross anyway but it really got to me how happy they seemed. It reminded me of something they said during rehab about the rest of the family working to be as normal and happy as possible. What was I going to do, pick a fight because they didn't wait for me? I blew them off to go hang with my friends. I suddenly hated myself...hated the partying and hated getting drunk or high. A moment of clarity, if you will.

But it still wasn't easy to say no the next time but I couldn't hang with the Party Kids anymore. There was some unpleasantness when I told them that I wasn't interested. I ended up cutting a few days with a fake note from Mom so I could avoid some drama. It was the last time I partied with my old crew.

It's hard to tell people the truth about the Colony. I could explain as much as I wanted but people just didn't get what a weird, wild place the Colony was. I don't think I was the only person with that problem, though. I saw this quote painted on the side of someone's boat and it stuck with me -
'What should I care if they single me out for sneers and laughter? I never truckled, I never lied. I told the truth.'

I stared at it for a while, trying to figure out what 'truckled' meant and said without realizing it, "I wonder where it's from." Not loud, really - just under my breath.

Out of nowhere, a voice shouted "Frank Norris". I turned in surprise but the nearby docks were deserted and I never did figure out who was close enough to hear me and cared enough to shout an answer back. Now that I think about it, it gives me the creeps ... who was that guy?

People's eyes would glaze over whenever I started telling them stories about doing pen patrol or running a scam. Or they would start telling me stories 'they heard' about the drugs, the weirdos and the crime. Other would simply change the subject at the first opportunity. I could never understand that.

Life on land was becoming tedious and stupid to me. It didn't have the same edge, the same rush that Colony life did. Living at home with Mom was comfortable but I felt like whatever toughness I developed out there was starting to leach out of me. I got a kick out of watching my arms and legs develop that swimmers' tone and it was a shock to get out of bed one morning and see the familiar cording of my arms beginning to blur under skin and fat.

Thanksgiving was over and we were into the Christmas season. I was looking forward to some snowboarding with Marty and Mom in Lake Arrowhead when an email from Dad arrived. The Winter Catch was coming up and he was looking for some extra hands. Mom immediately said 'yes' when I asked to go out to see Dad during Winter Break.

My Winter Break visit was a nice break from the noise back home. I thought I had sea legs before ... but I was wrong. I was queasy for the first week last summer but then I got over it. I even made jokes about seasickness and laughed at the people wearing the patch or taking a pill. I'm sure you can guess where this is going.

Going down to the dock this time, I was actually looking forward to the trip. I had the process down, joked with the guys at the dock and gave Ignacio a wave when I saw him pull up. I wouldn't go as far as saying Ignacio was glad to see me but he was less mean to me. I guess he saw me as less of an idiot.

There were other people on board the boat this time: a family of three and of course, the groceries. I really felt like an old sea dog ... I found some potatoes or rice that wouldn't crush under my weight and sat down before Ignacio could say anything. It was near the rear hatch which turned out to be a good thing. Exiting the breakwater and the 5 MPH zone, Ignacio turned the tiller hard to starboard, pointed the boat toward the horizon and gunned the motor.

When the boat topped its first big swell, my stomach suddenly put in an appearance. This isn't right, I thought, feeling the first blast of nausea. Maybe Ignacio was doing it as a prank for the newbies? I glanced up to see him holding the tiller and throttle tightly but otherwise was ignoring his passengers. Okay...maybe not a prank. The swells increased in strength as they left the coast and our forward speed was maybe half of what it might have been in a calm sea. My stomach leaped higher and higher into my throat, partly out of seasickness and partly out of fear. Would the boat hold under this kind of abuse?

I studied the passengers to take my mind off of my rebelling stomach. A man and woman, younger than Dad, but not by much. The other one was a teenage girl. I wasn't sick enough to ignore my hormones yet. The way she was bundled up I couldn't really see what she looked like, anyway. The weather turned colder, rain and spray started to splatter against the port.

"You guys new?" I asked, pitching my voice over the engines. My voice cracked a little on 'new' and it made me blush.

"Yeah," the guy yelled back. "We wanted to come out to give it a try - someone said it was easier in the winter."

"The trip out isn't," I replied and the man laughed and nodded. I jammed my fists under my armpits and tried to stay as stable as I could. My stomach was getting worse and worse. I tried to ignore it and practiced standard Colony etiquette: You introduce yourself by giving your name and the name of your ship. They mentioned the boat they were using, some shake-down shack that I hadn't heard of. Ignacio started talking as well and we managed to pass the day pretty well in conversation. At the end of the day we made the trip intact and the colony was in sight. I felt like the worst was over when the girl finally spoke up.

"I like them," she nodded toward my Ramones shirt, "the Ramones. Do you like Green Day, too?"

"Green Day?" the man said - her dad, obviously. "What do you know about Green Day?" She scowled at him and he laughed.

"I like them but I'm still going through all my Dad's old rock albums," I said. "In fact, I-" my stomach wrenched suddenly and I had to suddenly jump up and start for the back door.

"Turn the knob up!" Ignacio roared, immediately grasping what was wrong. The knob mercifully turned suddenly and I was able to make it to the back rail before heaving my guts out.

The rain had gotten heavier and my coat was in the bag on the cabin floor. I was soaked in seconds just standing out there. My teeth were chattering from cold and from barfing, all I could do was hold on and try to get my guts under control. Ignacio was less than sympathetic, his only move was to release the wheel long enough to close the door on and then return to steering.

Smooth ... real smooth, Ace.
First girl I tried to have any serious conversation with in months - becoming violently ill is a deal-breaker. I came back to the cabin after about ten minutes, dripping wet and sick. Whatever game I thought I had totally destroyed. Ignacio refused to let me near the groceries again and instead had me drive the boat. "It'll keep you busy," he said. They were sympathetic but left me alone and made conversation with Ignacio instead. They didn't even say good-bye when we arrived and I was stuck pulling cargo duty.
Just like old times.

"Who's Stacy?" Dad asked two days later.

"I have no idea," I said, around a mouthful of cornflakes.

"Girl about your age," Dad began. "Said you met on the ride over..."

"Oh! Yeah - I didn't know her name."

"Too busy throwing up to get her name?" I guess Dad heard about the Technicolor Yawn from Ignacio. I responded as only a 14-year-old can.

"Daaad!" I pulled it out into three or four syllables.

Dad grinned and shrugged. "Hey, none of my business. She came looking for you ... said to come see her."

He handed me a slip of paper with female writing on it:
'Swing by. Seas of Cheese. D-Ring.
' That was the start of our relationship - puke and a note.

It got even more awkward when I saw what boat she was talking about. It was the Cho's boat ... the one they were on until Jessica got hurt. Pacific Fisheries was indeed using it as a 'shakedown shack' as Dad had predicted.

"Shakedown shacks are boats that Pac Fisheries uses to introduce newcomers to the Colony. If they have no boat or skill, they get brought on for 2-week trial periods. If they last, they can move on to a better spot ... as soon as one opens up. It cuts down on the riff-raff. Some people come onto the colony thinking that it's going to be one way, find out that it's different and then whine about it. Reminds me of some people I know."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I demanded.

"Nothing," Dad replied innocently. "I was talking about this family that came on the colony not too long ago."

"Who?"

"No one." Dad refused to explain any further. Happily, Stacy and her mom and dad - graduate students working on her dad's thesis in anthropology - weren't the 'riff-raff' that Dad was complaining about. They were hard workers, one of the first crews up every morning to check their fish, even in the rotten winter weather we were having. None of this scored points with Dad though.

Stacy's mom and Dad decided to take up the colony life while they traded off work time on their doctorates. I think Dad was threatened by them even though he was nice to Stacy.

"Don't get used to it, Jim. Nobody on the
Seas of Cheese
stays long enough to make friends." He gave me a lengthy lecture on the subject of colony life and then stumbled off to his room with a bottle of Bacardi white. He wanted to avoid being asked why anyone would choose the life he had just got done describing. As his door shut, he mumbled something about 'yuppie fags from the Left Coast.' I realized that Dad's problems with Stacy's folks lay elsewhere.

We got together because we were two kids of the same age stuck in an unpleasant situation by our families. Over time, I discovered that Stacy was a great kisser, thought I was cute (no other girl had told me that, before) and provided a fairly calm oasis when Dad got on the warpath over something.

"You guys must have done it," Riley proclaimed on Thursday afternoon.

"Of course," I lied. We ended up making out that evening ... so it wasn't entirely untrue. Stacy's parents had a sense of humor about our relationship but that came to an abrupt end. I was sitting on their fishing porch when Ethan, her dad, walked onto the back deck with a large machete and buried it into the wood with a *thunk* next to where I was sitting. Stacy had let it slip that we made out the day before ... I guess he was concerned.

Ethan squatted on his haunches and murmured into my ear. "I like you, Jim...that's why you're getting a warning. Just remember," he said, pointing straight at my crotch. "If you value your
cajones
...not even once." He retrieved the machete and disappeared just as though he'd never been there. I never tried to get past second base after that.