Captain Jack

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Memoir  |  House: Booksie Classic
Adventures are out there. Waiting.

Submitted: November 08, 2011

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Submitted: November 08, 2011



It was a fine day for sailing. If we could ever get to the marina. A sun-soaked west side community. Traffic backed up. Expected.

"We're on our way, it's just this traffic here is fucking ridiculous!"

We got over there, after we picked up the sandwiches and something to drink. I couldn't help but notice the girl walking in with her Japanese passport.

The captain looked like an old school type of guy. He had the black beret. Liked to talk shop. It was a nice little yacht-plenty of space, until you get out on the ocean and the space gets smaller.

We sailed to the tanker. Our goal was to get over to Redondo Beach so we could go to some seafood place. Cruising out of the marina we noticed the chicks on the surfboards. With the paddles and the bikinis.

The tanker buoys had seals on them. Not safe from my point of view. If the seals are up-they are either soaking or staying away from danger. The Pacific is blue and deep. Very deep.

The intermission was a guitar solo. Played on a smaller acoustic that had a deep warm sound. The breeze was perfect-sailing at a steady 7mph, just past the tanker. Yes, the sailboat captain tuned the radio to the jazz station which prompted me to pick a little on the guitar. Same old same old-not this time.

We get to the harbor. "Harbor patrol! Harbor patrol! Can you hear me? I repeat, harbor patrol-we are coming in too close and we are going to hit the rocks."

I was laughing-because we weren't really in a serious situation where we were going to crash. We were moving at less than 5mph and I had the bow with a prod to keep us away. The concern is the motor just isn't reliable. So we fill up with gas and get put up in a commercial slip. We decide to head back-forgeoing our lunch trip over concern about the engine being able to steer us back in at the marina.

On our way back we hit stronger winds and bigger waves. I took a hit of the captain's. "Smoke em' if you got em'." Then it all changed for me-I looked over to the shore somewhere close to LAX airport. I can see the waves of heat coming from the shore. Only some scattered palms and a rocky, coastal scrubby shore-the shoreline that reminds you that you are on the edge of a desert. My thoughts wander. My eyes fixate upon the endless rows of colored houses, that go back farther and farther. That was America-that was where I was. Hard to believe in fact.

A balloon floating in the water next to the sailboat. "Of course, any balloon that leaves the city ends up out here."

A plastic scene. The few clouds played their shadows across the ground. Everything seemed unreal.

Coming into the harbor at sunset would have been magical, if it weren't for everyone else doing the same thing. We get off the boat and I leave the Old Man and the Sea behind.

That's when we found out we had a flat tire.

Je ne sais quoi.

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