The ocean takes
Thank you, Michelle. I’ll tell you right now, folks, I might not be the best writer you ever met, but I’m real good at picking collaborators. ’Cause what happened is this…
I was writing this article, a real doozey, I’ll tell you, Pulitzer Prize–winning stuff, and I was prepping up to win all kinds of awards. Then my bubble burst. Six pages into my gem of an article and out comes The Bollard and Chris’ article about crime in Parkside, which I was writing about, too, sorta. I was going to explain why I didn’t even dare to go fishing early morning hours for fear that I’d get stuck up and robbed for my stupid fishing pole. Crazy, huh?
Now, I’m not bucking for a raise, but how could I top his excellent article? Can’t. Although, Christ, since that came out it’s even gotten worse. Crack dealers fighting turf wars with pipe bombs, drive-by shootings, a stabbing on Congo in broad daylight. My buddy Ralph’s
got a police scanner and it’s just not stopping.
But anyways, here I’m sitting with no story to write, which shouldn’t be a problem, you’d think, with all that’s going on lately: lobstermen actually shooting each other (turf wars), Hurricane Bill. However, I’m not prepared to write about any of those things, and that’s where Michelle comes in so handy. She’s like, “I’ll help you out. We’ll have an adventure.”
I didn’t even feel like going fishing, to be honest. The tide weren’t right at all and it was a rare windy day, kind of raw. But she uses her feminine persuasion and talks me into an adventure in about six seconds flat, and off we go.
It’s a good combo, really: me, the wild and crazy, her the somewhat level-headed, introspective type. She introduced me to a guy named Steve who sells oceanic sculptures on the pier. Nice guy, making a living off the sea. “The ocean gives and takes away,” Michelle said.
That makes me think about deep, profound things. From a personal perspective, boy, truer words were never spoken. From working on the waterfront to milking the ocean for all she was worth as a young lad, my tales are endless.
Ralph throws in how his family basically survived digging clams to pay the bills. My family was poor and we literally fished for our supper. Yes, the ocean gives. Christ, New England was first settled by cod fishermen, to feed the Europeans. The ocean is still the earth’s population feeder.
Yeah, she gives. And she takes.
One night real late I saw a commercial on TV about adopting an overseas child to give him a better future. Oh, people was skeptical about it, but I figured I’d check it out. Well, to cut to the chase, I ended up semi-taking-care of a boy in Asia. I called him Pompeo, as I couldn’t really pronounce his real name. He’d write to me and we’d communicate. I got to like the lad.
Then once there was a big earthquake in the bottom of the Pacific Ocean, which in turn caused a thing called a tsunami in Thailand, and no more Pompeo. Yeah, the ocean takes.
But anyway, Michelle got me pumped so I could write about these things — such an indomitable spirit.
We got no fish at all, but I’ll tell you, we had a ball. There was a band playing reggae on the next wharf over, and she’s dancing like the dickens. Having a ball, she is, which is odd, as she’s not a real partier and definitely not a toker. Just natural enjoyment. Ain’t it great? I’m on a different plane altogether.
Then after, Tyler and me go to Peaks Island, on the back side, with hopes of getting some stripers, but hell’s bells, we ain’t gonna catch anything, being that we’re in the turmoil of Hurricane Bill and the surf is un-fucking-believable. But we’re silly, playing in the waves, having a ball again.
And then the next day the headlines say three people got swept out to sea, one a seven-year-old girl who didn’t manage to be saved. And the ocean gives and the ocean takes.
