tour South America with Chris. You can work for, for your friend with the touring boats. Or you can go to Caracas and live with that girl and make jewelry like a gypsy. It doesn’t matter. Whatever you do, everything will turn out fine.”
We drank, listening to the halyards tap their masts and the water against the hull. I finished my drink and stood to leave when I realized our conversation had ended. Donatien stood and walked to the cabin door. He opened it and turned back to me, “Come visit me if you ever get to Miami. I always stay the summer in the Coconut Grove Marina. Find me. We will sail to Bimini.” He went inside and closed the door.
On the Sirens' Song, Captain Joe was still up watching HBO. We picked it up in English as a UHF channel on the boat’s little black and white television. He lay in the starboard berth with a plate of fried plantains on his belly and a Polar in his hand. Captain Joe passed out that way every night. “Did you figure out what you’re going to do?” Captain Joe asked.
I nodded. “I’m not going to be able to sail her home for you,” I said. “I couldn’t make it work out.”
“That’s alright, Kendall,” Captain Joe sat up. “It doesn’t make any difference if I sell her here or at home.”
I grabbed my sea-bag and went to the head to get my hygiene kit.
“What are you going to do now?” Captain Joe asked.
“I’ll stay down here for a while,” I said, coming back into the main cabin and stuffing my kit into my sea-bag. “I’m going to see what runs out first, my money or my visa.” I clipped my sea bag shut and grabbed my backpack. I found my sunglasses, hat and rigging knife and put them in my backpack.
Captain Joe handed me an envelope. “Here’s the money I owe you for the trip. I went ahead and paid you for the whole thing.”
I put the envelope into my backpack. “Thank you,” I said, throwing my sea-bag up into the cockpit.
“And here is something extra,” he said and handed me a few US bills from his wallet. “I know this wasn’t what you signed on for.”
“That’s okay Captain Joe,” I said and put the bills in my back pocket. I shook his hand and climbed out into the cockpit. “Thanks again.”
I hopped from the Siren’s Song to the dock and walked back by the Jollie Justine. Donatien was still below deck with his lady for the evening. I hoped to see him in Miami. On my way through the gate, I gave a final salute to the marina guards.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Matt Peters has an MFA in Creative Writing from the University of New Orleans and a BA in English from the University of Central Florida.
Matt is the managing editor for Beating Windward Press. He's worked as a marketing coordinator, bookseller, layout editor, copywriter, tech writer, drug counselor, social worker, university professor, high school teacher, tow-boat crew, and sailor.
His non-fiction has been published in IMPACT!; Axis Magazine; Writing Choices: Shaping Contexts for Critical Readers edited by Dr. Kathleen Bell; and Voices Rising: Stories from the Katrina Narrative Project edited by Rebeca Antoine. His fiction has been published in Keeping Track, edited by Yelizaveta P. Renfro, Bits of the Dead and Skeletal Remains edited by Keith Gouviea; There Will Be Words, Burrow Press Review, Burlesque Press Variety Show, and 580 Split by Mills College.
He can be reached at:
[email protected] www.BeatingWindward.com
@BeatingWindward
www.facebook.com/BeatingWindward
https://www.linkedin.com/company/3281438
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