Members of the famous Hammerhead Diving and Sportfishing Club continued loading equipment, lining the gunwales on either side of the boat with cooler after cooler of food and drink. Then came the spear guns, diving gear, big boxes of hooks, lures, and fishing rods of all sizes. Many coolers had “SELZ” written on them, which I guessed meant seltzer water. This had to be the strangest place to find myself, knives, spears and filth everywhere. No doubt more unusual experiences involving violence against living things and other excitement were in store, but I wanted surprises, stuff to make me feel alive.

The Bon Voyage barbecue was well underway at 7 PM when we arrived at the marina. I waited for women passengers but got an unexpected shock instead. There were no women going on this trip except for one that I was not attracted to named Joni. She was robust and pulled up to the docks in a gold Lincoln Town Car with real estate company signs on the doors. Joni had scribbled out her own diagram of the sleeping assignments after Gun settled me into the good bunk I wanted. Worse yet, according to her diagram I would be sleeping with someone named “Jonah” in a bunk I considered just big enough for myself.

Gun glanced at my disappointed and angry face and offered to share his accommodations, the top bunk of his cabin, a cabin that was supposed to be his alone. At first I thought he was too kind. Then, it didn’t bother me if Gun felt guilty. There were no women and I didn’t even get a decent sleeping arrangement.

“Sorry, Cal.” He enjoyed mutilating my name. “This is the first I heard of it.” He handed back the bunking diagram and threw a heavy scuba tank onto each shoulder, then he marched across the gangplank with me following. “I could order them to change it,” he added. “But, the Hammerheads book all these diving trips we depend on.” With a smooth motion he slipped both tanks off his shoulders and cradled one in each arm before dropping them gently into their secure deck-slings.

“OK,” I answered. “But, I will not share a bunk with another man. I’m already bummed out there’s no women. She’s the only one.” I pointed to Joni who was expressing excitement and anticipation to the black guy, the only one in the group besides me that was neither too skinny nor too fat nor too middle-aged. This former demolition diver was a solid six feet and light-skinned with numerous faint freckles, and always a serious look. He extended a handshake to his veteran Navy colleague, old Jim.

“Don’t think we met yet. I’m Killis.”

Jim looked down when shaking hands as if taken off guard or trying to remember an earlier introduction. He replied, “Jim. Jimmy Peers.”

Gun grinned across the deck at Killis. “So, you heard about me before, eh? And you already know this bad boy Carl Iman.” Killis glared at shaved-head Carl who smirked back. With his deep tan and Mediterranean looks Carl was almost as dark as the light-skinned Killis. But those freckles around Killis’s body were unusual. I wanted to ask him about it. “And, that’s my shy young friend, Mr. Caleb Todd, hiding back there.” Gun pointed me out. “Caleb’s been my downstairs neighbor for a year, but until a couple weeks ago we never said two words to each other!” he informed everyone. “Then, a good house deal came along. So, yeah, taking the plunge, buying my own house in a couple weeks!”

“Congratulations, Gun, Really,” the divers joined in saying.

“Never figured you for a property owner,” remarked Jim.

It was true about my Gun and me, we hardly spoke for a year except for polite greetings and a superficial knowledge of one another’s lives. But now the idea of catching a trip on one of his charters had more urgency since we might never see each other again unless someone made a point of it. First, I had to get over that grouchy twang in his voice which was often kidding around, and sometimes he was cranky, but he was also a generous hard-working guy and since we became better acquainted I regretted the distance we kept from each other. His mail was addressed to “I. I. Gunderson” but he also liked the name “Gunner”. Once I asked him why and he roared, “I love gunning the engines!”

While he busied himself with the mechanical repairs diving club members kept to themselves, prepping the boat. They appeared between 40 and 60, most with protruding bellies. Joni was strong-looking but had a chunky figure. They were all talking about successful real estate transactions but now the focus was on the tax benefits of investment property. I’d never fit in with this crowd, having just sold most of my belongings because they seemed to “weigh down” my life. Now I wondered if that’s why I was alone—I had nothing to offer.