Brook Took Me South by The Sea

 

Brook Took Me South by The Sea

8/2/2016

 

            My last day in civilization was August 2, 2016. I had decided that I had had enough of the world’s ridiculousness. I decided to make an escape. I purchased a boat from an old man. He was not an old man by the sea, like in the story written by Ernest Hemingway, but the adventure was nearly the same.

            I had worked hard jobs most, if not all my life. The fingers on my hands showed their scars. My palms had beat up and tired flesh. My back was no longer in line. I was hunched, tired, and downtrodden from the aimless wanderings in search of meaning.

            I never found it through work. I never found it completely through school, although knowledge had always set me free. It was in that freedom that I felt torment. The world around me would never rejoice as much as I always would.

            So one day I walked away from work, responsibility, bills, lovers, wine-establishments, and even myself to a certain point. It was time for my divorce; my divorce from this life. I traveled down to the sea where there she stood before me. She was my first, my last, my everything. She was my sailboat.

            On her was a for sail sign. I was in much luck with the economy needed to be her new owner. I dialed up the number and exchanged words, pictures, and finally currency. She would now be called mine. I would be hers forever, or at least until the sea swallowed us both whole. We would sink to the bottom, her rolled over on her belly. I would be trapped inside with no light or consciousness to find my way out. The seaweed would swirl around my head. The crabs on the bottom of the surface would anxiously await our arrival.

            I bought her on the southern tip of Key West Florida. The sun was warm as ever. The sweat dripped down my back. The only clothing I had on was an old white t-shirt. I had worn it so many times that there were permanent sweat stains under the pits. I was wearing an old pair of jeans that I had turned into shorts. I cut them just above the knees. The white thread frizzled as some long and some short strands reached down towards the direction of my feet. I wore sandals that would eventually cause callouses between my big toe and the adjacent appendage.

            I named my boat, Brook. I named her that because that was the name of the first girl who ever broke my heart. I was a child of 15 years old. Brook was an older girl of 17. We walked into the sun, her hands in mine. I remember the blue in her eyes. The black streaks of hair amongst her blond hair. I once got to kiss her on her lips. I mostly got to kiss her on her cheek. For all that I was the most grateful young boy. I would have given anything to be in her presence.

            In her presence I would not permanently remain. She of course had a family. She had a father who was a business man. He was very wealthy, and as such he was good at chasing the money. That chase would lead Brook out of my life. My heart would swell for months as I only wished I could look into her eyes just one more time. That hope would never come into fruition. So I told myself in my heart of hearts, that if I ever found something in the world of great value, I would name it Brook. So Brook is the name that I immediately gave my new sail-boat.

            The sailboat was a long 20 feet by a narrow 10 feet. She was six feet deep. She was deep enough to have a warm comfortable room to myself under the galley. She was powered by a twin 300 horsepower engine. There was one on each of her rear sides. The top was where I controlled and drifted her towards the rest of my dreams. I was now the captain of a world that I now called my dreamland.

            Some would say it was suicide. I had thrown all caution to the wind. I was going to travel south and see where my new ship would take me. You see, I had lost everything months ago. My wife passed away of old age. We had no children. So here I am in the world, no family, no possessions, no job, and a one-way ticket to a new place.

            I left on a Sunday. For three days and two nights everything was fine. I cast out my fishing rod during the day. I would jump off of the boat and into the ocean. I read some books. I thought about my past life. At night I drank some wine. I played music on the stereo that was in the bedroom. I danced. Sometimes I pretended that I was not alone on this trip. I was with my lost love, Brook. This was our honeymoon.

            That third night, everything went to hell. The waves rose up. The rains started coming in sideways. As I stood on the deck, the rains came in with such force that they stung like wet droplets of sand. I knew it was time to lock up the cabin, with myself inside.

            As I write this, I’m not sure if I’m going to survive. There is no more electricity. I write by candle. The waters have flooded to the inside of my living quarters. The radio is not picking up any signal. I occasionally hear muffled radio voices but it sounds like Spanish. Over and over again I hear the word, gringo.

            I’m not sure how or if I will survive this. What I do know is that being this close to death has made me feel more alive than I have ever felt in my life. Even if I do survive, this adventure will not end. I must keep going. Please pray for me.

The End…………………………………………………..