my first semester of college, I had an english lit professor named "Professor Dan".... i couldn't tell you the man's last name, but to this day, I'd still like to go back and shake the man's hand because he helped me navigate what i'd later refer to as my favorite literary piece ever written- E. B. White's Once More to the Lake. moving on.
decommissioning my boat this week has been both a practical as well as symbolic catharsis. back in april, she chose me. those were still cool days. we'd all wonder when the summer would grace us. when it would get warm out... the fog hung- suspended over the harbor most afternoons waiting for the sun to come and burn it off. and i'd be on deck quietly inhaling and exhaling through the silence- occasionally broken by the fog horn. familiar metronome set forever to largo. my mind returns frequently to life during those days. the winter was slowly melting, and the harbor was seeing life return to it.
it took me two days to install the seizings to the shroud rollers. we needed those on there- that's for damn sure. when that heavy number one comes around, there's no mistaking. for whatever reason, that week sits at the bottom of my chest- a memory that is so fresh that it pulls a nagging feeling straight down into my stomach when i summon it. so there i was. making coffee. feeling whatever feelings i felt while standing in my kitchen that morning. maybe it was love. my heart was relaxed and full. and i can still taste the kisses, and smell the smells. and hear the birds. and the radio. and the squeaking screen door. i can see my leatherman on the shelf. my leatherman. and the yacht club was beautiful that day. the day i put the rollers on. one by one. the feel of my leatherman in my hand. that heavy, reliable feeling. that automatic motion my hand goes through to flip it from pliers mode to knife mode. knowing where it was on my belt as i rode home at the end of the day. home to cook dinner.
but it is freezing out. and that same blade that i used to create this beautiful ligature effortlessly destroys it. undoing hours of concentration. undoing hours of thought. undoing the very reason i woke up that morning months ago- but may as well have been yesterday. the bits fell to the deck, and the rollers came off. a few dried tears clung to my cheek. i could tell my eyes were red. i swallowed hard. and i put the leatherman down.
it's the same leatherman. that's about it.
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