Drowning Out the Chorus

The waves sloshing against the aluminum hull of my boat, made a metallic sound, like a liquid metronome. I made up a song to repeat with the rhythm.

Little blue boat

Washed out to sea

Big sky and deep water

No one looking for me.

I was counting the refrains. When I got to 500, I could take another sip of water. Miraculously, the bait bucket had been attached to the tie down cleat and had survived the storm. Who knew a metal bucket would be my lifeline to drinkable water? But the bucket was nearly empty, and there wasn’t a single cloud on the horizon. As I hoped for rain that would drench me, and save me, the sun dropped into the ocean, again.

Eleven days and nights, and all I had eaten was a couple of fish, that I had caught a few days ago. I had no bait left, in my little fishing boat, and my last hook left with the last fish to break my line. Heavy and hopeful, as I tried to tug it in, the fish broke free. I wailed with fear and regret.

My GPS had died, once the battery went dead, as I tried, repeatedly, to start the engine after the storm. I had run out of gas looking for the marina, or a landmark. I had kept trying the starter, not knowing that the tank was empty. I knew the fuel gauge was broken and should have gotten it fixed.

Little blue boat

Washed out to sea

Big sky and deep water

No one looking for me.

Mistakes had driven me to take this boat out. My obvious arrogance in casting off, with an impending storm, left me, now, humbled, adrift, and bereft. I wish I could call my mother and tell her that I was sorry. I wish I could call my dad and tell him, that he was right and that I should have listened to him. I wish I could call Pete and ask him for his forgiveness, again. But I knew that none of them would be looking for me. They would be happy not to hear from me.

I had seen a couple of sharks in the past week, but my fishing boat was big enough, and sturdy enough, to keep me from being a meal. One bumped the side and the bottom of the boat, testing for weakness, looking for a victim. The boat spun a bit with his efforts, as did my stomach. After fifteen minutes, he gave up and moved on.

The next morning a seagull landed on the bow. Perching on the silver point, easily, he examined me, one shiny black eye at a time. I watched him, curiously as he watched me, and wondered if I could catch him in the bucket? What was better, a meal or the water? What if I missed and dumped the water without a meal? While I wondered what else I could use—extra line, my shirt or something else, he screeched and lifted off, sweeping over the waves, into the distance. My stomach ached.

A school of fish appeared in the evening. Their sharp fins breaking the slide of the dark endless waves. I, again, contemplated trying for a fish with my bucket, with the same dilemma, eat or drink, or maybe neither. But, as swiftly as they appeared, they disappeared. As the sun slipped into the ocean on the horizon, I thought I saw a dark shape. Was it a ship? I jumped up, nearly toppling over the side with lightheadedness. I cried out, I waved my arms, I screamed, at the shape. But, the sun drowned it , and me, in hopelessness.

Little blue boat

Washed out to sea

Big sky and deep water

No one looking for me.

In the night, it started to rain. I cried with relief, to feel the rain. I opened my mouth to the dark sky, to taste the rain. I rejoiced at the metallic sounds of drops collecting in the bait bucket, and the bottom of my boat. As the rain became a soaking-to-the-skin storm, I heard a weird thump, and then another. I felt something slimy with sharp edges slap my leg. At first, I was afraid that the boat was swamping, and as my bilge pump had quit working the first day. I was afraid that I would sink. Then I realized that it was a fish, bouncing around on the floor of my boat. I could hear it and sometimes feel it, and I knew had to catch it. Pressing the bucket against the seat post, so that it wouldn’t accidentally be tipped over, I felt around in the dark for the fish. The fish slapped against my knee, and I caught it with my hands. Slimy and fast, I held the fish down, and punched it where I thought the head would be. I grabbed it by the tail, and slammed it onto the deck. The faded carpet was thin, and hard, over the aluminum hull. The fish lay still. I opened the now empty bait box, and placed it inside. Too precious to lose, and too needed to try to eat in the dark. It was so hard to wait for daylight. I waited in vain, in the dark, for another fish from the sea. My stomach growled with the anticipation of food. I drank some of the water from the bucket, to try to hold off until morning.

At first light, I used my fish gutting knife, to slice the fish into filets. I ate the fish greedily. I picked through the inedible bones and fins carefully, looking for any last morsal of flesh. I drank some more of the water, from the bait bucket. I used my t shirt to soak up water, from the floor of the boat, where it had pooled, to squeeze into the bucket. I had a full bucket of water. This day, again, I had hope.

It’s think it's been twenty-three days, and I am so tired that I sleep most of the time. I am down to my last swallow of water, and there isn’t a cloud in sight. I yelled at another fantom ship, to no avail. I no longer have a voice left. My skin is cracked and burned. I am not sure what is worse, the inside pain or the outside pain. Did this fishing boat save my life, or take my life?

Little blue boat

Washed out to sea

Big sky and deep water

No one looking for me.

I wonder if anyone has even missed me yet? Or, are they happy not to hear from me at all? When I could call them, on the phone, there’s always a pause after I say hello. They’re waiting to see what I want. They expect me to ask for money, or a place to sleep, or to bum a ride. Well, I haven’t called them now, for weeks. I’ve never asked them for something that they couldn’t spare. I would give to them if they asked me. They’ve never asked me.

It’s the only thing I own, this little blue fishing boat. I was so happy that summer, five years ago, to have a good job with the township. I bought this boat even though I needed a car. But I deserved the boat after the long, hot days working on the road. Coming home, five days a week, smelling of asphalt and my jeans and boots stained with tar. Even though it seemed like a long time ago, it’s still the best job I’ve ever had and the only job I've had for more than a few weeks. So many crappy jobs and nasty bosses. But, that job got me this boat. I have spent a lot of time on this boat, fishing, and in good weather, I've slept on it.

If I die on this boat, the gulls will eat me, I think, as I see a few of them fly by in the distance. My body, will eventually be found and identified with the boat. The number on the hull is registered to me. My family and the people who know me, will have an answer. They don’t deserve one, if they aren’t looking for me. I don’t deserve this. They’ll all say it was my fault. I can just be gone and take away their opportunity to blame me, as they always do. I'll have to leave this boat, to float where it will, without me.

Let them wonder. Let them miss me and look for me, for years, I thought. This boat, like all my other friends, eventually let me down. I am used to it, I thought. It took three clumsy tries for me to use the last of my energy to crawl over the side of the boat, and drop into the water. Suddenly cold, I am too dry to cry and too tired to breathe.