My Odysseus set sail last September on a twenty-seven foot, forty-year-old, triple keel sailboat named The Albatross. I suggested he rename it Safe Passage, Home in One Piece or Mama Said No. "It's bad luck to change the name of a boat," he said, and anyway, he liked the name. He told me the albatross is said to carry the souls of dead sailors back out to sea. I didn't want to talk about dead sailors.
He had a crewmate, John, and a plan that was more vision than plan. Northwest Florida to Tampa, Key West, then depending upon the weather, either Puerto Rico and Belize or maybe the Bahamas. The destinations were less important than the leaving.
On the afternoon before their departure, I drove to the harbor and he rowed the dinghy to shore for me. I have sea legs on dry land, so I was already feeling a little nauseous by the time he rowed us back and helped me aboard. I sickened further as I took in the size and condition of the boat. She was smaller than I had thought, older, slattern in the manner of a flophouse landlady, jaded and bereft of dreams. She would not bravely carry him between the Scylla and Charybdis. At the first sign of turbulence, she'd toss him toward the beach and head for calmer waters where she could drink his booze in peace.
Odysseus, however, was smitten. He falls in love so easily – his goats, his bicycles, his car, his girlfriend, this boat. The only thing they have in common is that they are his, and so, adored. I tried to see the boat through his eyes. As he touched her bow proudly, bragged of her dimensions and history, I laid my hand down too. "Bring him home," I silently implored her. "Alive and just as he is now!" I added, closing any loophole she might craftily exploit.
He rowed us back to shore, to a pizza restaurant, and I sat next to him in the booth trying not to cry, wanting to put my foot down like I did when he was twelve and invited to an unchaperoned party. Back then, I could tell by the set of his chin and shoulders, growing manlier by the minute, this would be one of the last times my foot would be heavy enough to come down. By the end of that summer he had his own sailboat, a Sunfish named the S.S. Sassy. The next summer, a Prindle 19 named Sugaree. Thereafter, the wind carried my voice in the opposite direction of his ear, and at home my footsteps were inept, mouselike pitter pats, no weight at all.
Saying goodbye at the harbor, I hugged Odysseus. Blood ties strangle as often as they embrace, and I knew he was feeling a bit of that as I squeezed him tightly. I realized I might be one of the things he wanted to leave, an albatross around his neck, one of many. I let go reluctantly, making sure to memorize the feel of his back under my hands, just in case. I thought of Homer's Odysseus. His mother died of grief waiting for him to return home. You can miss someone that much.
We'd given Odysseus a satellite spot device and watched the blips on the map as he dove headlong into the Gulf of Mexico on his way toward Tampa Bay. Three days in, the blips stopped coming. Twenty-two hours passed. After a sleepless night, we called the Coast Guard for advice. A non-distress call was in the works when, suddenly, a blip appeared. At that moment my rib cage flexed to catch my heart. I'd been mopping the floors, preparing my house to accept funeral casseroles.
He wrote about what happened during those twenty-two hours:
"A dark line appeared on the horizon. The wind cooled and shifted....It [the storm] was a ball dropper. The first big blow dumped my spreaders in the water. 80 feet of stainless chain, improperly secured on the fore deck, plunged into the water....I wrestled it onboard. That night, I pleaded with multiple gods. They were unresponsive. By midnight we were reduced to 15 minute turns at the tiller. Sleep deprived, wasted with exhaustion, shoveling raw coffee into our mouths. The wind must have let up around four in the morning. Though I can't be sure. I woke up to a flat calm sea. The main was torn at the head, and tattered elsewhere."
Before the Storm
Their bad luck continued, damaged sails and unfortunate winds keeping them from land, which was now tantalizingly visible. By the time they reached shore, they'd been at sea seven days, and were abashed by their foolishness, their romanticized notions of sea-travel. He wrote:
"There are no words to describe the woozy euphoria I felt as I stepped onto the... pier. I couldn't walk, which was just as well. I had intended to kiss the dock anyway."
After a stay in Tampa, they sailed to Key West, where a turbulent hurricane season anchored them for three months. Then, his crewmate jumped ship with a Siren, leaving Odysseus alone amid a sea of ragtag liveaboards – swashbucklers and lotus eaters, men and women who've dropped out of society to live on decrepit boats.
In December, while riding his bicycle to a sail repair shop, he was run down by an SUV that rolled over his legs and took off. In his call home, he was euphoric with survivor's adrenalin, and angry that his bike – a stainless steel model from the 1970's – was destroyed. He adored that bike, and its death hurt more than his bruises and swollen knee.
From Key West he sailed back to Tampa and anchored there for four months, where he fell in with a group of crusty liveaboards, all with the first name "Captain." Days were spent at the library or writing and painting aboard The Albatross. At night, he rowed to the dinghy dock and walked to a nearby bar for beer and karaoke. He shared with me this bit of wisdom:
Worst karaoke song about a boat -- The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald.
Best karaoke song about a boat -- Lyle Lovett's If I Had a Boat.
He seemed content. His expenses were few, and the odd jobs he did around the marina provided ample sustenance. I worried that he had eaten the lotus and cared no more for home. The other Odysseus was gone ten years. Mine had been gone only ten months, and my hands were already losing the feel of his back. The missing felt heavier and moved into my throat, encircling my neck, an albatross.
Last week Odysseus sailed into our harbor, and on my computer I watched the satellite blip mark his final stop – the bayou less than a mile from his house.
As I ran up the steps to his porch, I stumbled over the top one and he caught me before I went down, which was just as well. I had intended to throw my arms around him anyway.
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Comments
Well done and really interesting.. Okay now I can take a deep breath,
HUGGGGGGGGGGG
"Saying goodbye at the harbor, I hugged Odysseus. Blood ties strangle as often as they embrace, and I knew he was feeling a bit of that as I squeezed him tightly. I realized I might be one of the things he wanted to leave, an albatross around his neck, one of many. I let go reluctantly, making sure to memorize the feel of his back under my hands, just in case. I thought of Homer's Odysseus. His mother died of grief waiting for him to return home. You can miss someone that much."
My own words are paltry in comparison, so I'll leave it at that. ~r
♥R
P.S. Best line ever: "If I was Roy Rogers, I'd sure enough be single, I couldn't bring myself to marrying old Dale."
Lezlie
Congrats on the EP!
R
great writing, bell. and the song has long been one of my faves. your boy has great taste in musicians.
But, islander that I am, I have a deep fear of the sea.
such gifted, gifted writing
Wow
Joan -- You CAN miss someone that much. As I'm sure you know.
Miguela -- Thanks for your kind wishes. I fear we have many more departures and returns to "look forward" to.
Clay -- I didn't mean to make you cry. But yeah, I was crying.
Fusun -- He got lost plenty. He's changed in ways I haven't quite figured out yet.
Hugs -- Relief is just the best feeling in the entire world. You can keep love, if I can have relief.
Scarlett -- Those twenty-two hours were the longest of my life. I don't take my happy ending for granted, that's for sure!
Greenheron -- I love that line as well. Also, "Kiss my ass, I bought a boat..."
Consonants -- Watching those blips was bad enough. I can't imagine living it...all that time at sea. I think maybe I got the easiest part.
Catherine -- I'll have to test your theory with adventures of my own. My children haven't yet been tested in that department.
Lezlie -- It felt like a catcher's mitt, my heart dropped like that.
Felicia -- He's a good boy. Better now that he's home.
Susie -- He gets his passion for the sea from his dad. It seems like I should have been able to pass on something as well...
Candace -- Before he set out, I joked that I'd need Ambien on a drip, and that's pretty much how it went.
Vanessa -- You and me both. It's so strange, being out of touch with the water when you are surrounded by it.
High Lonesome -- Thanks for reading!
mistercomedy -- Glad you enjoyed it!
Sheila -- With your boys, I'm sure you get every layer.
Dianaani -- That's what I kept thinking. My son. My son. OUT THERE!
lschmoopie -- I think of the Police as well. I attended one of their concerts during the Synchronicity tour!! First and last time I tried pot. But I bought a t-shirt.
Chrissie -- It's hard enough letting them go to do things you know are safe, if ill-advised. When there are actual REAL safety issues...
Fernsy -- Right now I'm in the glow of homecoming. Pretty soon I'll be riding his ass again.
Alysa -- Thanks for stopping by and reading and rating.
Trilogy -- I've felt that strangle. I think we all have.
Dirndl -- He's coming along as a writer. He came to reading (for fun) rather late, and so it's great to watch him develop. He's almost twenty-five and I still think of him as a boy, though by the time I was his age I'd been married six years and was a mother of two.
Christine -- The challenge is to keep him safe! If I figure that out I'll let you know.
Geezer -- I've always felt ill-equipped for this journey through parenthood. Children anchor you, in good ways and in bad ways. You do get the cosmic connection, but it isn't always a pleasant connection.
Maybe you'd appreciate "When does Childhood End? Mothers" by Ellen Bryant Voigt...
"When does childhood end? Mothers
sew a piece of money inside a sock,
fathers unfold the map of the world, and boys
go off to war--that's an end, whether
they come back wrapped in the flag or waving it.
Sister and I were what they kissed goodbye,
complicitous in the long dream left behind.
On one page, willful innocence,
on the next
an Army Captain writing from the ward
with few details and much regret--a kindness
she wouldn't forgive, and wouldn't be reconciled
to her soldier lost, or me in my luck, or the petals
strewn on the grass, or the boys still on the playground
routing evil with their little sticks."
Congrats on the EP too!
One of my favorites I have read on this site.
I know this has been months in the making and can only guess you had promised yourself you wouldn't write it until he was home again. I do hope the wanderlust is satisfied and stilled for now.
Helen returned from Troy for 3 weeks this month and it flew by ... B, she was wearing a necklace of birds when she left. It was given to me and I passed it to her - birds of carved shell linked by 1/2 moons of silver wire and tiny beads. I'm shaking my head over yet another moment of ... I don't know what to call it! Wonderful title, what inspired it???
Lucy -- You can't go wrong with Lyle. He's got a song for every situation, I think.
Bluestocking -- Boats are crafty, dontchaknow!
Linda -- Do we ever breathe easy? I'm just happy to be breathing a little more deeply.
Thoth -- I love the quirky-crooner quality about him, but he's got a seriously amazing voice.
Stim -- Good thing I doused him with pesticides before I hugged him! (I left that part out of the story.)
Mime -- South Africa? That sounds so so so far away. In these days of communication distance shouldn't matter as much..but it does.
S.ophie -- During my son's trip, I often thought of mothers and sweethearts who've given their loved ones over to war, their fraught-filled sacrifices. Great poem, and one I hadn't read before.
Lea -- Somehow, I think you would have handled it better than I!
Freethinker -- There are challenges on land, but it IS so nice to have him home, without hugging (and striking) distance.
Franish -- My entire family is boat obsessed, and I don't get it at all. I make sandwiches. I buy sunscreen. I fret. Those are my roles.
Gary -- I'm a worrier. At least when he was at sea I had reason to worry. Now I'm just a...worrier.
Diary -- You're such a dear! This piece meant a lot to me, and I'm glad you felt what I felt.
Pilgrim -- I've already re-mapped his back. I'm good for another three months or so!
McKenna -- Thanks so much! I couldn't breathe deeply the whole time he was gone (or at least the times I knew he was on open water). It's nice to be able to sleep a full night.
Helvetica -- I appreciate you stopping by and taking the time to comment.
Rita -- I think we are all characters in our own Odyssey. Hopefully, not strict tragedies! While writing it I kept thinking...man...where does one go to buy "lotus" these days???
Gabby -- What?? I give you this -- my flayed, grilled heart and you demand a recipe! Fine. Heat grill. Take one heart, cut in half. Rub with oil and season with salt and pepper. Sear on both sides. Throw onto the ground. Stomp! (Seriously. Glad your Helen was able to visit! The title is drawn from the albatross around the neck, how we both got one from each other -- a necklace of birds -- but I'd much rather have your literal version, a pretty piece of jewelry.)
Albatross:neck
fuckwit:gabby
Beautiful writing with your usual humor and the emotions, as ever, are spot-on.
Algis -- Once you have children, your lower lungs never get a good workout. It's all in the upper chest, panting, but at least I can breathe a little more deeply.
Sophieh -- He hasn't really "landed" in the financial sense. Do they ever? Seriously? Do they ever....?
Dear Reader -- Your comment made me smile. It's always good to see your avatar in the feed. (When you gonna do a new post?)
Angel -- Thanks for stopping by. I really enjoyed your last piece and hope to read more.
√√ MOC
He's brave. Mom's brave. Blips on radar still hold true.