Reinventing Mike Lake

by R. W. Jones

  I remember focusing on a very scary thought to me, both then and now. I had wondered if the situation would have been better if she were dead. It was the first time I had ever remotely thought about someone dying. I reasoned that if she was just gone I wouldn’t have to put up with the ignoring from her, and I felt that the pain would be a different one. As it was, she was there, but out of my reach. If she was dead I would have known better than to think I could ever be with her again. I realized that this was the most selfish act I could ever think of, and was a result of how hurt I was. I never specifically wished death on her, but when I think of that in terms of what happened to my wife it makes it hurt even more that I had ever once entertained that scenario.

  When my wife died, sometimes during dark times, I thought of what I used to think about Abby and wishing she were dead. With my wife, I would have given anything – now, then, and forever – just to spend another moment with her. I used to go around the house, go into the closet, and just sit there taking in the smells. I used to hope that her ghost would visit me and comfort me in a way only seen in movies or you read about happening to other people.

  The ghosts would come, as they did to me that night in Key West, but only in my sleep. I wanted something real, something tangible, but I only saw her figure in my dreams, and she always went the other way. If I ran faster after her, she ran faster. If I tried to sneak up on her, she was always one step ahead.

  I would get angry when I thought about what I wanted with Abby in regards to what actually happened to my wife. I wondered if I had been punished for wishing death. My calmer self realized that when it came to Abby, I was just a kid that had had my heart broken. In a regretful moment of weakness I thought that if I were to throw away everything that ever reminded me of my wife it would take away some of the pain, and maybe the ghosts would stop coming to me in my dreams. After all, all of her personal effects were in a way a ghost in their own right. If I disposed of them, I reasoned, she would have no reason to hang around anymore. It didn’t work, as I was once again reminded that morning when I woke up next to Bahama, hung over, and sweating in the hot room.

  It had been a while since I had had the ghost dream. I tried to shake the dreams and hangover cobwebs out of my head. I rolled out of bed, sat at the desk and tried my best to hunker down and get lost in my writing. Every day for a week or so was about the same. I would wake up, take Bahama for a short walk, eat, and get down to writing. An hour or two into my writing my wife would consume all of my thoughts, making it near impossible for me to get any work done. The one thing that usually drowned out sadness – my writing – wasn’t doing it anymore.

  I felt I had to get out of the room. Here I was in one of the greatest walking towns in America and I was barely making it to the hallway of the bed and breakfast, let alone outside. I was beginning to feel that I was very close to going through at least another year of mourning, only this time I was in Florida and not in my own house with my parents close by.

  For a week or two, it took everything I could muster to not pack up the car and drive straight back to my house. Only I had the thought, a very strong thought, that if I did that I may never leave the house again, and that over time living an agoraphobic lifestyle would have been just fine with me.

  While I felt a certain amount of peace with that idea I also knew that I couldn’t waste my life like that. That would be the absolute worst tribute I could give my wife. She died trying to live. I didn’t want to live while waiting to die. There are multiple ways of dying, I was learning, and if I just sat around my house until that day came, then my theoretical death date on my tombstone could appear years before my heart stopped beating.

  After another week of attempting to write and failing, then spending the rest of the day waiting for meals, I started going on short walks with Bahama. One of the things I spent a lot time doing during these walks was to go down to the piers and watch the boats come and go from the docks. A lot of them were fishing boats, but there were also cargo ships, party boats, and people who lived in their boats. However, I enjoyed the action of the party fishing boats the most. The tourists that got on these boats always looked a bit worried as they didn’t know what to expect – perhaps fighting a fear of sea sickness. But, whenever they came back, they almost always had a large smile on their faces. Seeing them smile, particularly the kids, usually brought a smile to my face.

  Back home, when I finally got outside of my house, I spent a lot of time fishing, but that was in a man-made pond, with a 12 dollar fishing pole, and worms for bait. I had never been on a big charter boat like the ones I was spying on. I wondered how much of it was a tourist trap when I first started watching the boats, but I soon realized that the enormous size of the fish that these tourists were catching was indeed real. It also turned out that a lot of them would take the fish with them, presumably to fry them up later for a tasty meal. I learned by unintentionally following one of these families back into town, that there was a nearby restaurant that would clean and cook them for you while throwing the sides in for free. If it was a particularly big fish, I later learned, the restaurant would gladly give you your meal for free, if you would give them the leftover fish. As most people were tourists, with no way to store the fish, they would gladly accept the offer of a free dinner, enjoying the fruits of their labor. The restaurant in turn could serve the freshest fish in the area – just hours out of the sea.

  I walked up to the first dockside counter I could find with a sign for the Key West Party Boat Company. I realized that most people on this boat, and any other of the charter boats, would be going out with a big group of friends and family, but I wouldn’t have that choice unless I wanted to ask Frank and Jean, but they were homebodies, and certainly weren’t hurting for food. I was used to doing things solo, Bahama aside, so I wasn’t too uncomfortable as I approached the counter inquiring about prices and times.

  Keep in mind, fishing for me was merely a time-waster, and I could tell you very little about the ins-and-outs of the sport. With the pond, I knew I was catching trout mostly, because it was stocked with them a few times a year, but every now and then I would catch a fish having no idea what type it was. It was all relative to me anyway, as I always threw everything back. So, when Tommy at the Key Largo Party Fishing Boat Company told me the types of fish I could catch if I went out it was all lost on me.

  “There’s mackerel, a few types of snapper, yellow tail, and trigger fish, but you tourists like to catch the big groupers the most,” said Tommy, wearing a tan long-sleeved T-shirt, a darker tan, and wraparound sunglasses.

  They can always spot the tourists, I thought.

  “When do you go out again? What do I need to bring?”

  “We go out again tomorrow morning at 9, and at 2; the 9 a.m. boat is pretty subdued, usually families. The 2 p.m. is usually a little wilder, we let them bring beer, and then when they get back their party just continues down the street. As far as your other question, all you need to bring is yourself.”

  While I was turning into a little bit more of a drinker than usual down here in the Keys, I didn’t think I could hang with a group of guys that were most likely going to party way more than I ever could. Plus, they’d all be friends. With the families I felt I could fit in a little more, or at least stay out of the way.

  “I’ll take the 9 a.m.,” I said while handing him my credit card.

  14

  I started keeping my window open nearly 24 hours a day a few weeks into my stay. The cat that had caused so much disruption the first night was now a regular fixture on my bed, and came and went as it pleased. Bahama, seeing that I was cool with the situation, accepted the new visitor, and would often times lay right next to “Keysey” on the bed. When Jean told me the calico’s name I sort of chuckled, thinking it little more than a play on words, when she once again educated me on something.

  “Being ‘keysey’ is how we describe the way of life down here. In other places they may describe it as being laid
back, or taking it easy, you know—just chilling out. Down here though, it’s ‘keysey’. As you can see,” she said, pointing to Keysey, completely out of it, and sleeping on her back, “she’s keysey.”

  During my time there, from Jean, and other locals, I learned that they absolutely detested the people who make up the imposter keysey group. It turns out that a large group of people coming to The Keys think it is okay to do nothing – opting to drink in bars and partake in drugs and walk around zoned out. Yes, they live here, technically making them locals, but the long time locals don’t have these frauds in mind when they are talking about what it’s like to be keysey. The real keysey ones know how to relax, but they also know how to work hard and be a meaningful member of society. Listening to some of them, you can’t help but think civil war could be raged in The Keys at some point. It would be the most laid back war in the history of civilization.

  I instantly liked the idea of being keysey but doing such a touristy thing as going on a fishing boat didn’t seem like such a keysey thing to do, and mentioned it to Jean.

  “No, doing a party boat isn’t very keysey, but you can argue working on one is. Anyway, have a nice time, and it’s nice you’re getting out,” she said, ending the conversation on a motherly note.

  After a breakfast of star fruit, and a couple of other goodies, since Jean had pretty much given me free reign of the house, I headed for the party boat.

  I arrived a bit early, so I watched the boat prepare from my usual spot when I went on walks, but it was different knowing I was going to be on the boat I’ve spied on for a few weeks. I can’t say I was nervous, but I had never gone fishing for such big fish. I hadn’t weighed a fish before, but I’m guessing the biggest one I ever caught was around eight pounds. Eight pounds was about the size of the bait we would be using on the boat.

  At about quarter ‘til, I saw families gathering on the dock, so I headed over. In a bin attached to the outside of the office where I paid for my party boat ticket yesterday, was the most random collection of things I had ever seen. At first I thought it acted like a junk drawer, like one would have in their house, because there were hammers and wrenches, but upon closer inspection there were also broken golf clubs, knifes, fishing poles, and even a bachelor party blow-up doll. Tommy, apparently reading my thoughts, or just used to curious tourists looking in that bin, enlightened me.

  “Those are just a few of the things people have caught while out on the boat. The more expensive things people have taken with them.”

  “It’s so big out there, how often do people catch something that isn’t a fish?”

  Expecting the question, Tommy answered as soon as I sputtered the last syllable “More than you would think,” then announced to the rest of the collection of people, “Okay, everyone onto the boat!”

  After bringing the gear on and releasing us from the dock, Tommy got into the spiel he’s probably told a million times. He told the adults they can wear a life-jacket if they want, but don’t have to, but all the children are required by law to do so. He also introduced us to Bob, a man with long black hair and wearing a tie-dyed long sleeved shirt, and Casper, the boat’s captain. All told there were about 15 of us on the party boat that morning.

  When we had been cruising for about 20 minutes, Tommy began to set up the fishing rods, and started talking to the party.

  “We haven’t caught too many record-breakers out here, but other boats in the dock have. Now here’s the rule about that – in order for the fish to be considered a record-breaker you have to catch the fish by yourself. For nearly everyone on the boat, and especially the children, that will be hard, but, if you think you have a huge one and want to try to be a record-breaker, you have to do it yourself. If me or Bob here helps you drag her in we can still take a picture and get it cooked up for you, but sadly, your name won’t make it in the newspaper. Anyway, let’s fish!”

  There wouldn’t be any record-breakers that day, but everyone on board seemed to have a lot of fun. Some of the parents and I spoke lightly between bites about how our vacations were going, our professions, and the like, but for the most part I was left alone. After reeling up a grouper that I was happy about, Tommy brought me back down to earth.

  “Nice catch, but every Johnny and Jane on this boat could have brought that guy up unassisted,” while laughing at his own joke and giving me a hearty pat on the back. I laughed, and asked him how long he’s been working on this boat.

  “This boat particular, just a couple of months, but I’ve worked on all kinds of boats around the country.”

  “Are you like a party boat master – work for hire type deal?” I asked, also laughing at my own joke.

  “Not quite like that. I have my own boat, and I like to just float around mostly wherever it takes me. Only sometimes if I float around too much I run out of food so I have to come back ashore to make money so I can do it all over again. No wife or kids, I have a few lady friends on shore here and there, but this is the life I want and wouldn’t want it any other way.”

  A man I can relate to, I thought. Only problem was he was living it, and I was just stopping in for a visit. When I was deep into my reading of adventure stories while I was trying to get out of my funk, boating stories were always some of my favorite to read.

  “Have you written about any of your adventures”? I asked, wondering if I had read anything he had written.

  “I have a journal that I think about trying to get published at some point, is about it. Say, how are you enjoying your stay here? I’ve seen you sitting up on that dock a few times. I’m guessing you aren’t a tourist, cause most tourists don’t spend their time spying on boats from the dock,” laughing again.

  After I assured him I wasn’t spying him, or anyone on the boat, and instead just passing time, I told him, “I guess I’m doing something similar to you, only in a car. Just driving around and checking out parts of the country I’ve never seen before, with my dog. I’ve liked it here so much I haven’t been in a hurry to leave.”

  Between Tommy helping the other patrons drag fish up on to the deck, and talking to me, I explained to him that my wife died, and that I was a writer, though lately I haven’t been much of a writer and that a lot of my hanging out at the piers was just my attempt at trying to break up the monotony. I was surprised at how openly I had talked about my wife’s death with him. It was the second time in just a few days, when you include my late night chat with Jean. I thought me being more open was a good thing, though I still felt myself holding back on some things, afraid to open any hallways I was afraid to go down. After all, on the boat, I was a few miles away from shore. It’s one thing to walk home from a bar when I start feeling badly; it’s another to have to jump in the ocean to get back home.

  Tommy stared out into the ocean for a minute, thinking “If you’re really bored you can come work on the boat if you want. Bob here is leaving in a few days so we’ll have an opening.”

  “That’s a very nice offer, but I don’t know the first thing about working on a boat,” I replied.

  “Well, I saw you bait your own line, that’s about half the job. The other half is being a nice enough guy. You seem to have that covered too. It’s very low stress, and we’ll pay you under the table, though the pay will be mostly in fish,” Tommy said, laughing, and then added, “If your dog’s nice, she can come too.”

  I immediately wondered if Bahama would jump into the ocean when she saw a fish, but the walls of the boat were probably tall enough to alleviate most of those concerns. I answered, “Let me think about it. You said Bob is leaving in a few days?”

  “Yup, couple days, just show up Thursday morning if you want on.”

  When we got back to the dock, empty handed, having just caught a few small ones and tossing them back, I walked back to my room thinking Jean will be proud of me. This was indeed very keysey of me.

  15

  On Thursday I started my new job. I arrived at about a quarter to nine. I came solo, which I did
the entire time I worked on the boat. The thought of Bahama jumping off the side of the boat and ending up who knows where – maybe the Bahamas – was too big of a concern for me.

  Tommy smiled when he saw me. “I was hoping you’d come. Welcome to the team!”

  Casper gave me a slight nod from the wheel, and said, “Welcome aboard, matey.”

  “Should I get here earlier, I wasn’t sure?” I asked.

  “You can if you want, but I won’t dock your pay if you don’t show up till later,” laughing, he continued. “I get here about an hour before we head out just to get things going, if you want to help, cool, if not, no worries, matey.”

  “Oh. Okay.” Feeling nervous, I stared out into the water.

  “Remember what Bob did a couple days ago? He just went around being friendly and asking if anyone needs help when they got a bite? If any of the little ones need help with their life vests or anyone asks for a drink, there’s a cooler in the back. They are free – they should be for as much as we charge them to go fishing for a few hours. That’s all I really need you to do. If you have any other questions when we are out there, just let me know.”

  Quickest training I ever received for any job, but, then again, I hadn’t had a “real” job since college—if pizza delivery is considered a real job, that is.

  We pulled away from the dock. Tommy told me that I would only be doing the 9 a.m. because they had a full crew for the 2 p.m. That was fine with me because I didn’t want Bahama’s entire day to be cramped in the room. Also, it gave me time to write before it got too late, should I have chosen to write.

  The group was very similar to the 9 a.m. boat I had done just a couple of days earlier, lots of families of three to six, vacationing, and hoping to catch Moby Dick, or at least catch a big one to take a family photo with to put back on their office desk in Real World, U.S.A.