View From ThE Apple House

The day had been as equally glorious on the waters of Alex Bay as the previous ones.

The sunshine was bright,  necessitating us to don our straw hats the rest of the afternoon.

The morning had been spent lounging on the boat, as any good honeymooner would do, and we were no different.

The lunch basket was empty, ice cubes just about melted in the cooler holding the last of the beer and soda.   We sat together, listening to the slapping of the waves against the side of the boat, content and blissfully happy.

By all accounts, it was the perfect day.

It is important to note five years earlier I would not have set one foot on such a vessel.  An older Sea Ray model, it was a great old boat lovingly cared for by its previous owner.  My new husband was as equally enamored of this ship, pampering it with monthly waxing and cleanings, inside and out.

I grew up on Long Island, NY;  in fact, my teenage years were spent surrounded by the Long Island Sound.  But after a near drowning incident in my early teens, I became petrified when even looking at a picture of a lake, let alone the ocean.

It wasn’t until I lived on the edges of Lake Ontario that I was slowly, yet cautiously, learned to live again in harmony with the water.  How ironic that a Pisces should meet another Pisces to finally get myself submerged in my darkest fears.

It has gotten to the point where I could even commandeer the boat from time to time, although not travelling too quickly or try to maneuver around any rocks.  That was definitely the Captain’s job.  I was content to be the first mate.   I knew nothing about nautical terms, the bough, the aft, the whatchamacallit still just  words in my mind.  I can tie up the lines on the cleats with the perfect sailors knot, but that is about the extent of my expertise on the water.  Except I know what the galley and the head are, two extremely important locations I am careful not to confuse.

My biggest fear in traveling the waterways with my new husband was this: what would I do if he somehow became incapacitated – such as a heart attack, or worse case scenario – fall off the boat.   I could not save him. I could not manage the boat.  I would be useless.

“Guess its time to head back, don’t you think?” he asked as the motor roared to life.

I had just finished cleaning up the galley and had settled into my seat.  I smiled as he turned the wheel towards home.  The breeze which had been soothing coolant all morning was beginning to turn into a slightly stronger wind.

So much so, it blew his beloved hat off his head.

“My hat!” he yelled as he quickly turned around, spying it in the water behind us.

“Leave it!” I yelled back nervously as he ran to the back, the thing still moving at a brisk pace.  “I’ll get you a new one!”

“No!” he yelled again, “It’s my favorite hat!” and to my horror started to climb off the back of the boat.

As the boat was moving.

“Back us up!” he yelled.  “Bring the aft around!”

I was still sitting in my seat, petrified.  Oh dear Jesus.

“Back us up!” he yelled again.  “The aft!  Turn the aft”!  I could still see him as he lay spread eagle on the back of the seats, trying to reach out into the water.

I sprung up to the captain chair, and slowed the ship down.  To a halt.

“Back up! Back up!” he yelled again, “I can just reach it!  Turn the aft!”

“Speak English!”  I screamed.  “I don’t know my aft from my elbow!”

“Back up, back the…..” and then he was gone.

He was gone.  I couldn’t see him.  It was my worst nightmare come to life.  Jesus God Almighty.

I screamed, and bounded to the end of the boat, which is, by the way, the aft.

He was in the water, holding on to the ladder on the swim platform with one hand, reaching for his hat with the other.

Clutching his beloved hat in one hand, I reached for him to pull him up onto the platform.  His knuckles were bloody from the fall, but his smile was victorious.

Running to the front of the boat – the bough- he quickly turned the boat towards home.

I silently gave a praise of thanks for all the things that hadn’t gone wrong, but easily could have.

He could have banged his head and been unconscious in the water.

He could have cut his legs on the moving propeller below the boat.

He could have drowned; although he was a swimmer, he didn’t enjoy it and hadn’t in years.

So many things could have happened, but didn’t.

Suddenly a text appeared on my cell phone.  It was from one of my oldest friends, who was well aware of my life and its history.

“Hey, are you still married?” followed with several smiley faced emoticons.

She would never know how close I had come to being a widow.

“So far, so good.” I texted back.

My new husband and I laughed.   I could have killed him had he not done it for me.

He promised he would never do that again.

Unless it was me in the water.