Twelve Months

by Steven Manchester

  Chapter 15

  By spring, Bella’s second set of brochures had unexpectedly appeared. It was the information needed to live my last dream and complete the honey-do list. It read:

  Cape Cod Deep Sea Fishing – Fish in the heart of New England’s largest natural habitats. Beginner and experienced anglers alike will enjoy the deep sea fishing aboard one of our climate-controlled boats. Catch codfish, pollock, haddock, mackerel, wolffish, flounder, and even the occasional striped bass and bluefish. From a four-hour excursion to an overnight marathon trip one hundred miles offshore, we offer a wide variety of deep sea fishing venues. We’ve been fishing these waters for over forty-five years, so we know where to get you hooked in. Whether you are a beginner or an old pro, come and experience deep sea fishing excitement at its best! Each trip is limited to the first fifty people so don’t wait.

  I had just breathed my way through a barrage of pain – one, one-thousand…two, one-thousand…three, one-thousand – when I closed my heavy eyelids and let myself drift away…

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Being prone to seasickness, I popped two motion sickness pills and three pain pills an hour before the boat left the dock.

  On board, I was a sponge, listening to every detail of instruction and advice that the captain and crew offered. I definitely did not want the big one to get away. I asked more questions than anyone. “Can we bring home whatever we catch?”

  Randy, the first mate, nodded. “You can bring all your fish home, as long as they’re legal size. We’ll even clean them for you.”

  “But I don’t have a fishing license.”

  “No license needed to go saltwater fishing,” he explained.

  While the captain allowed the boat to drift from one spot to another until he found the best fishing ground, I took a seat along the railing and prepared my rented gear. We anchored and began bottom fishing using whole clams for bait. At first, the fish didn’t bite.

  “Patience,” Randy said with a smirk, reading my frustrated face.

  Things changed in a hurry. My first catch was a codfish. It took me almost ten minutes to land the thirty-pounder and it was at least four feet long.

  “It’s a baby,” Randy said, as he ran over to help me take it off the hook.

  “Baby?”

  He nodded. “These guys get real big. The annual catch of cod amounts to tens of thousands of tons every year.”

  Baby or no baby, I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face.

  We caught pollock next. It ran in schools, measured no more than three feet and weighed an average of ten pounds. But oh what a fight!

  Haddock ran in deeper waters. Out of the fifty people onboard, only one guy landed one. It was three feet long and all of thirty pounds.

  As the sun rested on the horizon, a large school of mackerel found their way onto our lines. Maybe ten pounds, a foot long each, we took hit after hit. As I landed my fourth, Randy talked about bluefish. “They’re voracious creatures,” he said, “feeding on squid and schools of small fish. They’re reported to feed until their bellies are full, regurgitate, and feed again as long as there’s food. They’ve even been known to attack swimmers. Bluefish are exciting to land though, and they’re real tasty if you eat them when they’re fresh.” No one caught a bluefish, though.

  As I took joy in ravaging the school of mackerel, a guy sitting next to me landed a rare wolffish. It had large jaws and sharp teeth. Randy was careful unhooking it. “These critters have a bad habit of attacking people in the water and when they’re caught they’re just as dangerous,” he warned. The demon fish was five feet long and must have weighed more than fifty pounds. It bucked and fought for its life for a long time on the deck. I understood its desperation.

  While other anglers had luck catching a few flounder, no one saw fin or gill of any sculpin, sea robin, or spiny dogfish.

  And then it happened – the big battle I’d been dreaming of my whole life; I felt something grab my bait and the line ran under the boat, bending my pole in half. Randy rushed over, but I waved him off. I let the fish run for a spell, gradually tightening the drag on my reel.

  “It’s a big one!” Randy yelled and everyone stopped what they were doing to watch.

  I reeled. He fought. I reeled. He fought. A good twenty minutes went by and my hands began to throb. I was sweating, but I still waved Randy off. “I want this one alone,” I told him. Two jerks and one quick reel later, the monster leaped out of the water. It was a striped bass and easily seventy pounds. I worked him a few minutes more before placing all six feet of him into Randy’s extended net. Some of the folks on the boat applauded. Randy helped me take the whopper off the hook and I struggled to hold it in mid-air for a few precious moments. Its body convulsed for the water. My arm throbbed from its weight. And then to everyone’s surprise, I dangled it over the side of the boat and let it go. Splash!

  “Are you crazy?” Randy squealed, looking over the rails for the disappearing fish.

  I smiled. “What can I say? It was his lucky day.”

  As we headed back to port, Randy cleaned and filleted my fish for a generous tip, but he still refused to speak to me. He didn’t understand. My dream had come true. My list was complete…

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  I emerged from my daydream and shuddered. I looked down at the brochure and caught the caption at the bottom: “Adult trips only. No children allowed.” A slap of reality struck me hard. The hourglass is running out, I thought. We’re only given so many moments and once they’re spent, they’re spent. Making the most of each one became so much more important when there were only a few left. And besides, I thought, I’m too damned tired to go fishing!

  I got up from my chair, went to the refrigerator and put a huge check mark through the entire list. Enough, I thought. It’s time to get to the important stuff. Terminal illness had a brutal way of rearranging priorities.

  I picked up the phone and called Riley’s house. Madison answered. “Wanna go on a picnic?” I asked her.

  “Yahooooo!” She dropped the phone and screamed her joy all the way down the hall. I listened as she and Pudge celebrated, their telephone dangling from the kitchen wall.

  I palmed a handful of pain pills and washed them down with a gulp of water. I then called Bella at work and told her that we’d be by to pick her up in an hour. As I gathered my car keys and wallet, I thought about calling Riley and inviting her along, but figured it would only make her feel bad when she couldn’t go. She was working a lot and couldn’t spend much time with me. I could hear the guilt in her voice each time she said, “Sorry, Dad.”

  “That’s the funny thing about kids,” I told her. “You’ve got to feed them.”

  With whatever energy I had left, I spent as much time as I could with Madison and Pudge – scheduled around the daily cat naps that helped me retain my strength. I was almost to the car when my neighbor, Beatrice Goran, caught me in the driveway.

  I didn’t care much for the spinster Goran. She was the type of person who spent so much time dying that she never actually lived. But she’d been our next-door neighbor for decades, so I gave her the respect due anyone. I listened to the “mind vampire” lecture on the words “integrity” and “truth.” It didn’t take long for me to realize I’d volunteered to listen to the foolish babble of someone who didn’t grasp either. All the while, I thought, If I cared any less, I’d be sleeping.

  As she went on, I fought to hold back the yawn, but it was a losing battle. The hum of Ms. Goran’s nasal monotone was a fierce enemy and I quickly discovered that my will was no match.

  I seriously don’t have time for this, I thought.

  “But I told Mr. Feeney, years ago,” she said, “that Melissa was a hussy…”

  I hid the yawn behind my hand and looked away. The catty woman was the cure-all for insomnia. Appearing interested became my greatest challenge, but every few seconds my mind wandered and I drifted off. I wonder how the Red Sox are doing in spring
training?

  “But of course, no one listens to me,” she went on.

  Shoot, I thought, I forgot to drop off the movies at the video store. That’s all we need, more late fees. I should own that store by now.

  “So what do you think of my new hair style?”

  Hideous was the first thing that came to mind, but I smiled. “I think it looks great. It really frames the features of your face.” I couldn’t help it. I drifted off again, my eyes still staring straight into hers. Was I supposed to get milk or bread this afternoon? I couldn’t remember. To hell with it. I’ll get both.

  Several minutes were lost to oblivion when Ms. Goran called out, “Donald?” brutally dragging me back into the present.

  “Yeah?”

  “I just asked what you thought of all this?”

  I shook my head. “You know…I’m standing here…thinking…what a predicament.”

  An eternal moment later, the vicious hen nodded and grinned. “I know. I know exactly what you’re saying.”

  I went for broke. “I guess what really matters is what you think, right?”

  She kept nodding and a look of satisfaction crept into her beady eyes.

  Though I was starting to feel like an RV salesman myself, I was relieved with my clever save. She wasn’t about to let me go, though. Without mercy, she forged on and covered topics of conversation that couldn’t have been less interesting. “And I heard that Gus and Jodi might be splitting up…”

  I tried hard to stay with her. Just to stay sharp, I shook my head, occasionally smiling and replying to each comment with something silently sarcastic in my mind. Before long, my internal defenses took over and my mind mercifully whisked me away. I need to call Dewey. It’s been over a month since we’ve talked.

  After several minutes of ignoring Ms. Goran to her face, I emerged from my fog. Without thinking, I blurted, “Yeah, right!”

  She immediately ceased her ramble. “Excuse me?” Her face contorted.

  I could almost smell the embalming fluid boiling in her veins. I couldn’t believe I’d just slipped and spoke aloud. “Oh, I’m sorry. I was just thinking about something else.”

  “Well then, I’m sorry to be boring you,” she said, auditioning her sympathy face for me.

  You have no idea, I thought. “No, not at all.” I then put on the biggest smile, hoping to end our painful dialogue. Actually, it was so much more than hope. It was a prayer.

  “Well, okay then. I can see you’re busy,” she muttered, and with a snooty nod my prayers were answered. The deadly conversationalist moped away.

  Thank God people can’t read minds, I thought. Ms. Goran’s “truth” would take on a whole new meaning. I suppose she did serve a purpose though. She reminded me of the people I did want to spend my time with. I rushed off to pick up three of my favorites.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Once Bella and I grabbed the kids, she promised them a trip to Newport, Rhode Island, to see the mansions. On the ride there, Madison squirmed in her seat. “Tell us a story, Poppa,” she said. “Tell us a story about when you were a kid.”

  I looked in the rearview and smiled. “My brother Joseph and I got into our fair share of fights growing up. He was the tough guy but I could hold my own. We boxed in our bedroom and wrestled in the mud, but being the bigger brother, he always enjoyed it more than me.”

  They each laughed.

  “I was eleven years old when some bullies jumped me and beat me up. And the worse part was they scratched up my new bike – The Blue Devil. When my father got home from work, he asked me what had happened to the bike. I told him and he yelled at me, telling me never to let anyone pick on me, and that I needed to stand up for myself.

  “Although I was still afraid of those kids, I figured my dad was right and I couldn’t let it happen again.”

  Peering into the rear-view mirror, I shrugged. “And then, one day Ronnie Forrester – the worst one of them all – began chasing me home from my paper route. I was scared to death. Ronnie was a big kid who was a little ‘touched in the head.’ I told Joseph about it. I think he was afraid too, but he was also very angry.

  “That next week, Joseph rode along with me on my paper route. For the first time in a long time, I felt relaxed. And that’s when Ronnie showed up at the railroad tracks and stopped us. As he walked up to us, he kicked my bike and smiled at me. I was so mad – but really scared too. Ronnie stared right at me and told me it was a mistake to bring my brother for protection; that he was going to still get me.

  “Joseph’s face was bright red and he started really yelling at Ronnie, telling him to stop picking on me.

  “Ronnie got right in Joseph’s face and said he was going to beat us both up.

  “I couldn’t believe it, but Joseph just smiled. That’s when Ronnie’s face turned red and he started screaming, telling us to finish the paper route and then meet him at Lincoln Park under the old roller coaster in an hour. He said he was gonna kick both our butts. He started to turn around when he stopped and warned us not to be late or else he’d get us both alone.

  “Even though I was angry that Ronnie had kicked my bike, I was so scared. I remember with each paper I delivered, that fear kept getting bigger and bigger until I was in a full panic.”

  Madison and Pudge were sitting on the edge of the back seat, their mouths half-opened.

  “When we arrived at Lincoln Park, there was a circle of bikes and scooters waiting for us. The whole neighborhood was there. I jumped off my bike and followed Joseph into the crowd. That’s when I knew – with all the kids watching, there was no way I was gonna back down. While my best friend, Dewey, patted me on the back and the neighborhood cheered Joseph and me on, I felt like I was gonna throw up.

  “What a nightmare! Ronnie was waiting and he looked real mad. Joseph walked right up to him and that’s when the crowd began to yell, ‘Fight…fight…fight…’ It didn’t look good.

  “While Ronnie and Joseph started calling each other names, my knees began to shake and my shirt was already soaked in sweat. My heart pounded in my chest and I started to feel real dizzy. That’s when Ronnie said he knew us DiMarco boys wouldn’t fight; that he knew we were chickens.

  “Right then, Joseph jumped on Ronnie like a jungle cat. And without thinking, I followed my brother in. Before I knew it, they were both on the ground and Joseph was pinned under Ronnie. The good news is that Ronnie was looking straight up at me, while Joseph had the bully’s arms pinned behind him. I didn’t know how it happened, but I could see Ronnie had no way to protect himself. That’s when Joseph began yelling at me to pound him. And I did. I started pounding away.

  “While Ronnie screamed bloody murder, I punched his face. He cried and I punched his face. He bled and I kept punching. ‘No one kicks my bike!’ I screamed, and with each one of my punches, my fear of him became smaller and smaller.”

  The kids were still wide-eyed, but now they were grinning.

  “Eventually, I got off. And when Ronnie rolled over, I saw Joseph smiling. I reached out my hand. My big brother grabbed it and jumped to his feet. The crowd went nuts – clapping and hooting and hollering. No one expected to see the bully get beaten.”

  I paused for affect. “As we walked away, I felt so proud – first, because I really believed my brother was a hero; and more importantly, because I’d faced my worse fear and was able to walk away with my head held high.”

  “Wow, Poppa!” Pudge said. “That’s a great story!”

  I nodded. “And the best part of it is – no one ever touched my bike again.”

  Madison and Pudge were grinning when I noticed Bella staring at me with that disappointed look I despise.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Nice story to be telling these kids.”

  I looked back in the rearview mirror. Their young faces were beaming with pride. I felt stupid. Bella’s right, I thought. Even if I am running out of time, they’re still too young for some of my tales. It’s inappropriate. �
��Sorry,” I whispered, realizing I wasn’t through making mistakes.

  Bella laughed and grabbed my hand. “You big goon,” she teased.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  We spent the morning on Bellevue Avenue checking out The Marble House, The Breakers and Rose Cliff. The kids were too young to appreciate them.

  We ate our lunch at the Brick Alley Pub – a table of fried, cheese-covered appetizers for Bella and the kids, a bland salad for me. I ate two bites of lettuce and thought I was going to puke up my pancreas. As we finished our lunch, I spotted a baby – maybe a year old – looking at me from the safety of her mother’s shoulder. I made funny eyes at her and she started to laugh. Her mother snapped back around and looked at me.

  “Your baby’s beautiful,” I told her, hoping to put her at ease in this scary day and age.

  She smiled and turned to the little girl, “Say thank you, Paula.”

  The baby placed her hand to her chin and signed “thank you” to me.

  I was taken aback.

  The woman chuckled, explaining, “I work with babies and small children, teaching them sign language. Kids actually pick it up quicker than verbal skills.” She looked at her daughter and winked. “The downside is she’s too lazy to talk now.” She then told Paula, “Tell this man what you think of the Red Sox?”

  The little girl pumped her arms into the air in a show of victory.

  “What about the Yankees?”

  The little girl puckered her lips and let out the loudest raspberry.

  Bella and I laughed. Only in New England!

  It was a beautiful day. Children played tag and old people fed pigeons. Madison and Pudge, however, wanted to hit the cobblestone streets where we took in the arcade and a candy shop. Pudge nearly crashed through the front door.

  By dusk, we lay on a blanket at Brenton Point. With my head in Bella’s lap, I watched as grown men skillfully maneuvered large, expensive kites on the gale ocean winds. As if I’d forfeited my remaining energy to the sun, I felt exhausted. It was a good tired, though, and I thought, What a shame this day has to end.