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Page 3 of 3
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waves hit the other side of the boat and I fell the opposite way back out of
the bunk, plunking me on the deck outside and helped by a strong push from Ally
herself who used her bare arms and legs to heave me off.
“OK,
OK...my God.” I picked myself off the pitching deck and scampered.
Gun was
dozing on his lower bunk with a plate of half-eaten food to his side, insects
on it, and a battery-operated fan on his chest blowing in his face. I saw the
bugs and got angry that he would leave food like that to attract bugs in the
cabin. I flung the plate into the ocean frisbee-style.
All the
fatigue hit me and despite the heavy bouncing and splashing of the boat I could
fall asleep. Daylight lingered over the horizon. I knocked down a beer, and
decided to wake Gun. I had to nudge him hard before he awoke with a sudden
jolt. “Sorry, Gun, I wasn’t sure how to get you up. How’s the best way?”
Gun
rubbed his face and scalp up and down to orient himself. “Like that. That’s
fine.” He checked the time, wondering.
“We
might be near Bimini,” I told him. “Figured you’d want to know.”
“What
are you doing? You should be sleeping,” he answered.
“No
relief came until just now. That old guy is up there, the one who lost control
of himself on your last trip, you know...”
“Yeah.
I know. Have you been steering all night?” He seemed worried.
“Yeah,
we should be in Cuban waters by now!” I joked. “Or else, we’re heading for
Boston! I’m not sure
anymore.”
“Better
not be in Cuban waters,” Gun replied. “Why didn’t you get me up?”
“You
asked, so I did my best.”
He set
up the Global Position Finder, pressing some buttons.
“SEARCHING
FOR SATELLITES…” was the finder’s readout.
Gun
explained the delay, “It’s a real old GPS. Takes a while to lock on the
satellites for our position, speed and whatnot.” He picked a piece of food out
of his teeth and made a smacking noise in his mouth.
I got
concerned as a more time went by. Gun shook his head, pessimistic. “ACQUIRING SATELLITES...” displayed the
readout. Gun searched around the cabin for something.
“What
are you looking for?” I asked.
“My
food, what happened to my food?”
“I
tossed it overboard. What are you leaving rotting food in the cabin for?”
“You
tossed it?” He smirked.
“There
were bugs on it. You leave food out? Don’t do that.”
“I
always have food near me. I wake up for a minute and eat, then I go back to
sleep. That way I don’t have to get out of bed.”
I shook
my head at him. He was a man of few and simple needs, but such a slob living
right next to me all this time. Looking at my bunk, I told him, “There are big
cockroaches on this boat, I don’t want them in bed with me.”
Gun
smiled. “In the galley I saw one this big.” He extended his thumb and index
finger almost their full distance apart. The Magellan instrument beeped and he
was shaking his head pessimistically again.
“What
is it?” I said.
“Hmm.
Right. Almost to Cat Cay. Let’s anchor somewhere.”
“Is
that good?”
He
sprung out of bed, put a few things in his shorts and climbed up the side of
the boat, replying optimistically, “Not bad, Caleb, not that bad.”
Staggering
drowsiness overcame me after that last beer, but I managed to floss, rubber tip
and brush my teeth in cloudy water before passing out.
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