The Girl                         Written by: Jem Aura ©
Chps 11-15
 
----> ELEVEN <----
Experiences in my life have made me acutely aware of coincidental events. Fifteen years ago, when searching for a college to attend, I became aware that the name of a particular school had been voiced within my earshot on five occasions in the same week. The school was in town and I had never heard of it before. Four of the five times I heard the name, It was from people that did not know I was looking for a college to attend. The fifth was a friend of the family who worked at McDonnell Douglas as an engineer. I asked him directly which school he would recommend, and Wright Collegewas what he said. When I graduated second in my class, I knew then that I had been directed there by some unseen presense that had dropped the suggestion so many times that week. I knew because I had always been a flunky throughout highschool. No-one, including me, ever throught I would graduate from college, let alone with high honors. 
A few years later, and for reasons I cannot remember, I read a book called "The Celestine Prophesy" . In this poorly written book it described a "New-Age" religion that, along with many other beliefs that I felt were bizarre, described one regarding coincidences. It rang true to me due to my experience with college and shortly after reading it, I was put to the test again:  I had begun dabbling in the stock market in response to the enthusiasm my mother-in-law had displayed having listened to a get-rich-quick set of audio tapes. The brokerage firm I had chosen had a "broker-in-training" with the most wonderful female Germanic accent I had ever heard. I had spoken with her several times and always wondered what her deal was, and what she looked like. On this fateful day, I needed to get some money into my account quicker than the mail could provide, so I went in person to deposit a check. Corinne was petite, blonde, and Swiss. I spoke with her for about five minutes while she adjusted my account on her terminal. I noticed she had some college finance textbooks beside her desk on the floor. She was dressed in a semi-formal skirt and jacket - Suitable to the somewhat less than formal business atmosphere. I had left work early due to an appointment I had that afternoon across town and it was approaching 3:00 pm. Having completed the business, I left Corrine at her desk and  headed diagonally across town about 45 miles, stopping only for gas. Just prior to reaching my counseling appointment, realizing I had skipped lunch, I stopped at a Taco Bell. At close to 4:00 pm, the restaurant was empty. As I sat down with my tray of tacos, the door opened and in walked Corinne, dressed in blue jeans and a T-shirt. I sat quietly watching her as she ordered, paid, and waited for her food. I was trying to shake loose the all of the dream-like and surreal qualities of this most incredible moment. As I plotted my conversation with her, I thought of a clever opening line.
Turning with her tray to face me, she stopped as if she hit a wall. The same dream-like surreal-ness was swirling behind her eyes as she tried to grasp the situation.
"Corinne, why are you following me?"
Not having had enough time to process everything yet, she actually took me seriously and started denying and apologizing. I smiled at her and she quickly understood, and felt even more foolish. Having her on the ropes, I stood and invited her to sit with me. We covered a few quick topics regarding why we were going the same way, how she had arrived so quickly, and in different clothes. And then I told her about the book I had read, explaining that we are supposed to investigate the coincidence, exploring the lives of those involved in order to discover the reason we were brought together, and that it states it is seldom for romantic reasons. She was intrigued and described how she had just decided a month ago that she and her husband would divorce, and that it was final today. I described how many problems I was having in my marriage and for that reason I was on my way to a counseling appointment. She was confused what a counselor was, and when I explained, she thought it was a psychiatrist, indicating that she would never go to one. Studying her, I felt that I may have found a plausible reason for our meeting. She was far too comfortable with her divorce. She was married for nine years and they divorced because he was ready for kids and she wasn't. Wham-bam it's done and I'm perfectly happy with it. Something about her lack of emotions and happy demeanor about it disturbed me. So I made her promise to see the lady counselor I was seeing at least once. Surprised that it was a woman counselor, she finally agreed, and I left. Two years later I had moved to St. Louis after my own divorce and had to transfer my accounts there. The brokerage account had sat idle ever since that day, having lost everything but a couple hundred bucks. I called and asked for Corrine. They informed me that she had transferred to St. Louis and gave me her new office number. When I spoke, I was amazed to hear that after all that time, she recognized my voice. Once convinced that I was actually who she thought I was, she screamed into the phone with happy delight that she finally was going to be able to tell me the story of her life after our meeting, that our meeting that day was certainly the most fateful day of her life. She had attended counseling sessions twice a week for six months. Everything good that happened in her life since that day, her moving to the big city, the blossoming of her social life, and her incredible happiness, she attributed to me and Sharon, the counselor I had introduced her to. Her whole perspective on life had changed because of me.
----> TWELVE <----
There have been other equally dramatic events dotting the landscape of my existence, giving it meaning. This one seemed to be speaking to me very clearly: "Pack up and go." In this case there were three simultaneous coincidences occurring at once: 1) The large number of milestones landing within a very short period of time, effectively tying up all loose ends. 2) While thinking of these, the radar picture of a hurricane appears on the TV, bringing back the promise I had made to Polly in the restaurant, which brings up the last fact: 3) Polly and I share the same dream of living on a boat.
Without Polly, I only had to worry about myself. If one of my coincidental adventures didn't pan out, I was the only one affected. But now that I had Polly to worry about, I had to measure the risks of failure more closely, and the danger of driving into a Hurricane, and I wasn't sure how she would react: if she could have understood the implications, or even remembered the conversation we had had.
Sitting at the kitchen table with a coloring book, glancing up at me periodically, and me staring blankly at her, she finally asked: "What's wrong?"
"Nothing, I'm just thinking."
"'bout what?" she asked.
"Do you remember when we talked about our dream of living on a ship?"
Polly put down the colored pencil and, leaning forward, crossed her wrists on her book. "Yes."
"Do you think I meant it?" I asked.
Gazing at the center of the table in thought she finally looked up and nodded.
"Did you mean it?" I asked.
Again she nodded.
"Would you be sad moving out of here? And going far away?"
With a long face she probed my eyes, trying to discover where this was going and how it might affect her if she continues agreeing with me.
"I'm being serious." I said, reflecting quickly on the drastic changes that had occurred in Polly's behavior since that conversation we had had only a few months prior. She displayed incredible intelligence, depth of thought, feeling, and maturity, without sacrificing her youthful antics.
"Do you mean now?" she asked.
"Yes, as quick as we can."
"Where?"
In answer, I turned on the TV to the weather channel and pointed to the hurricane. "Wherever this thing ends up coming ashore.
The hurricane had all but stopped in the center of the gulf, equidistant from Texas, Florida, and Cuba.
Studying her, I sat down and pulled her into my lap. "It will be like an adventure. We have to get there right after the storm and start looking for just the right boat. And hopefully you can start school on the first day with all the other kids."
"But what about all our stuff? Can I bring...." I cut her off.
"We will get a storage place, just for the furniture. All of your little stuff you can bring."
This seemed a little shallow for Polly. She had a very practical view of the world and had not demonstrated any great concern for material things - other than her clothes. "What about....." Again I interrupted her.
"When I did this before, I was surprised how many people needed help after the storm had passed. I felt bad that I was there to take advantage of the storm, and they had lost so much." I gauged her reaction to the reality I knew she would experience if we went on this adventure. Then I continued. "I'm planning on bringing some supplies. Things they will need very badly, like food and water. We need to leave as much room as possible for that."
Her eyes brightened and became serious. She paused studying her feelings, and then jumping up and turning to face me, "Okay, I'll go. What should I start doing?"
"Nothing right now." I said. “I have a lot of things to do that you can't help me with." Pausing to think I added: "If you want, you can start boxing up all of your books, toys, and knick-knacks."
Flashing me her newly perfected brightly shining teeth, she rushed from the room, seemingly happy to be on an adventure, even though it would be a few days before we left.
The number of things on my to-do list was overwhelming me, mainly because my to-do list was located in my head rather than on a piece of paper. And for some strange reason I have always had a very difficult time calming down enough to concentrate on a task while at home, such as planning a move and making a detailed to-do list. It seems there is nowhere your eyes can come to rest without them falling on something to distract your attention away from the task at hand - and similarly with the other senses: the smells, sounds, and flavors of home all seem to distract my mind away. So we ended up sitting in a local coffee house for what seemed like hours (Polly being as patient as a saint) while I got my head on straight and planned out the next few days.
"Mitch, can Sally spend the night tonight?" Asked Polly out of the blue.
"I don't know honey. Don't you think we should pack?"
"Well, yeah, but I'm not gonna see any of my friends before we leave then. And I really love Sally." She said, shocking me into the reality of her words, and how amazingly in tune she was to her emotional side.
"I'm sorry sweetheart, I'm not thinking clearly. Of course you can. You spend all the time you want with your friends. Here, do you want to call her now?" I handed over my phone and the girls talked and plotted their evening quietly while I put the finishing touches on my plan to leave town.
----> THIRTEEN <----
That night, after pizza and ice cream, Polly and Sally got ready for bed while I arranged the furniture and loaded a movie into the player. We had rented Harry Potter, The Magic Wardrobe, and The Incredibles from a Red Box. They let me pick, and of course I chose The Incredibles. Our familyroom furniture was exactly what I had had in storage from the last time I left town: A multi-piece sectional sofa that was well broken in and very soft. A large pile of throw pillows made nest building a breeze. I had plopped down on my favorite spot propped up by my favorite pillows, while the girls restlessly changed positions every 2 minutes until I scolded them (in a nice way). Polly ended up curled in the crook of my arm with her head on my chest - hundreds of hours of television having been watched from that exact same position. Sally stayed apart, unsure whether to snuggle with me or not, but clearly contemplating it, and wanting to. I beckoned her over to my free side and she quickly and eagerly mirrored Polly's position.
Now all was still as the movie droned on. I noticed that at certain times when something funny occurred in the movie, especially when Freezone was looking for his supersuit, that the girls didn't move, didn't laugh, did not stir at all. I had been tracing patterns on their backs with my fingertips and I thought maybe I had put them to sleep.
"Are you guys still awake?" I asked quietly.
Both heads popped up and they confirmed they were wide awake.
"You're awful quiet." I observed.
Neither said anything in response, but after a few moments Polly said "Come on!" in a whiny voice.
"What?" I asked.
"Don't stop." She wiggled her fingers over her shoulder.
I had gotten distracted away from drawing on their backs, watching the movie, and thinking they had fallen asleep. When I started up again, both girls flattened themselves onto me as much as possible, looking into each other's faces across my chest, cooing and smiling, revelling in the caresses and completely ignoring the movie. My awareness of the girls rose up, sensing something going on, and finally realizing that they were electrified with titillation. I became worried for a split second, wondering if I were crossing some inappropriate line, but then I relaxed, realizing it was no big deal - that all I was doing was scratching and rubbing their backs, everything else was of their own design, I mean the way they stretched out, pressing themselves against my sides.
It was gratifying to see the girls enjoying themselves so much. Sally had no father figure in her life, so being on the receiving end of some male adoration was probably a very healthy thing for her. Especially since it was likely she would not have a boyfriend until she was much older. Boys that age would never see past the fact that she had only one hand, terrified of the teasing that would certainly occur. Polly seemed unable to notice anything beyond the fact that Sally was an incredibly nice person and very fun to be with. I noticed the same thing, as well as the fact that she was very pretty, taller and fuller in body than Polly, and much further into puberty as well. She lived behind us, across the alley, in an apartment complex with her mom.
The girls began exchanging secret whispers, each in turn leaning across my torso to deliver their message, blocking my view of the TV. The whispers seemed to have something to do with me and their excitement and energy was escalating. Twice after they had reached some kind of agreement, they adjusted their positions simultaneously, seemingly to press themselves against me more effectively. Each had stollen a glance up at me to see if I had noticed, or cared. I just continued to draw doodles on their backs and let them play.
My eyes were just slits in the position I was in, but I could see the girls perfectly. Polly had on one of her many nighties while Sally wore pink flannel pajamas with booties attached and a long sleeve shirt that snapped down the front. I don't think Sally realized it, but the top three snaps were open and each time she bent over me to whisper in Polly's ear, her small breast would peek out. Eventually Polly noticed as well and pointed out the fact. When Sally examined herself and realized how completely exposed she had been, she looked up at me and I smiled back in a knowing way, causing them to blush, laughing through their fingers. The very next time Sally leaned over me, the snap popped loose there it was again.
The fever was growing high and the girls' antics were beginning to show signs of escalating into the realm of slumber party. They were acting drunk with excitment and laughter. When Polly got up to go to the bathroom, afraid she would pee her pants from laughing if she didn't, she lifted her nighty, pulled down the back of her panties, and wiggled her bare butt at Sally and I. Once gone, I wrapped both arms around Sally and held her tight, kissed her head and said, "It's nice to see you girls having so much fun." But she was so contented being held so closely, in full intimate contact with a safe man, that she remained silent and continued to rub the stub of her arm across the whiskers on my neck. It seemed in doing so Sally was expressing her trust in me, that I could accept carresses from her stub and not feel strange by it. I warmed to her significantly in that moment, and when she drew her arm back I took it and held it, gently rubbing her stub for a long time. When I finally stopped, wondering where Polly was, she looked up at me with intense love written on her face. I smiled warmly and pushed the hair out of her eyes. We held on to each other. 
Polly was gone much longer than she should have been. When I heard some knocking around in the back it made me wonder what she was up to. When she finally returned, she was wearing a pair of my flannel pajamas, the ones that button down in the front, and she had left the three top buttons unbottoned. Once back in her spot, she immediately began rubbing my whiskers, having seen Sally doing it. When the whispering began again, Polly had to adjust her top so that it would sag open properly. When she felt she finally had it, she looked up at me and I nodded to her that she had succeeded - and as if I weren't supposed to know what she was up to, or even be watching her, she slapped my chest and gave me an aghast look, then quickly went back to giggling and whispering with Sally. This all seemed perfectly natural as a continuation of their play, having very little to do with me, considering Polly was not shy with me at all: she frequently walked nude through the house on her way to and from the bathroom or the laundry.
At one point I paused the movie and got up, flinging the girls roughly aside. I needed a break to clear my head, having gotten more than a little drunk with the girls energy. I had been running my hands all over their backs for over an hour, and without thinking, had rubbed their butts two or three times before realizing what I was doing. They loved it, smiling wide eyed at each other, frozen stiff, and then whining loudly when I aborted the game out of fear and got up.
Feeling re-fortified against their whiles, I reclined back into my spot and started the movie. But when the girls in their turn crept back into their positions, and it lit me up far beyond where I had been before the break. It's like when you sleep with someone and wake up with your bodies pressed together, your nerves are settled and numb, masking any sense of texture or contour about their body, and since with the girls that contact had been strictly platonic at first and slowly escalated as the girls' energy grew, it still seemed like no big deal. But having taken a break, and the girls when they crawled back had immediately and ever so seductively pressed their bodies into the fullest possible contact with mine, grinding their pubic bones onto my hips and softly rubbing my face, well, it was like a bolt of lightening in my brain, and I froze, terrified. As I slowly began to relax again, determined to not display any discomfort to the girls, I resigned to the idea that as long as they couldn't sense that I was aroused by them, that it wouldn't hurt to let them have their way with me for a while longer. Fortunately that numbness eventually began to work again, a little. But then, as an indication as to how their antics and energy were growing more outrageous, after they had whispered excitedly about yet another strategy, they each purposely caused their sleep shirts to sag open completely by stealthily unbottoning them further down and not too cleverly "accidentally" pulled them open while leaning over. But to me, the breasts were nothing compared to their constant, instinctive grinding against my hips. I don't think they were aware of most of those movements.
On my way to bed, as I came down the hall, I heard the girls' excited whispers, apparently aware that I was about to pass by their room. They peeked out, the door barely cracked. "Come here." one chirped, "Yeah, we want to show you something." chirped the other.
When they saw I was about to open the door, they bolted away screaming and laughing. As the door swung open I saw them diving for the bed, naked, grabbing for covers and pillows to hide behind.
"Uhm, what did you girls want to show me?" I asked cooly, and of course they could not vocalize what they wanted, so I pulled the door closed.
A few minutes later they called me back to their door. This time they opened the door and walked around the room bravely, the flush of hormones clearly seen in the blush that ran from their cheeks down their chests.
"Yes?" I said, acting like everything was perfectly normal. "What do you want?"
The next time they called to me I ignored them. I was already in bed. But this just brought them into my room, standing beside the bed. When I asked what they wanted, they began climbing onto the bed. "Uh, If you want to snuggle some more, that's fine, but you will have to put on your jammies first."
"Awe, Mitch! Come on, we just want you to rub our backs." Polly said continuing to climb aboard, and Sally nodding agreement ready to follow. I was down to my boxers now and I could imagine how the "back rub" would end up, similar to during the movie, but with no clothes between my thigh and their... yeah, I wasn't going there. 
"You don't need to be naked. If you want to do it naked, go back in your room and give each other back rubs."
Both girls scrunched their noses at the idea, shaking their heads.
When they returned, their shirts were completely unbuttoned. "Nuh-Uh! Button up." I demanded.
Now I was under the covers, and they tried to join me there, but I headed that off as well. Eventually they ooched their shirts up in the back and I rubbed their bare backs. Certainly not what they had in mind, but it put them to sleep none the less. I thoroughly enjoyed carrying them to bed, knowing that they had woken up being lifted from the bed. It was an opportunity to show them my sweeter side, softly brushing the hair out of their eyes and carefully lifting and placing them with a strength that bewildered them. I planted a soft kiss on each mouth after tucking them in. Giggles erupted as the door closed.
----> FOURTEEN <----
The house was added to my collection of leased homes, not having time to sell it. The property management company was happy to add one more and increase their fee accordingly, but at least I didn’t have to worry about finding tenants. I did, however, have to empty it of all of the stuff that had collected there. It was amazing the number of items, especially kitchen items, that I would never have bought for myself, but for some reason felt it necessary having Polly. It was as if I had to bring her a token gadget periodically, just for the sake of...? What, to make her happy? If an apple corer or Ginsu knife could make a girl happy, I don’t know. It must be some weird instinct that makes me not want to come back from the hunt empty handed. I remember getting some strange looks from her as she tried to find the right place to store the thing.
In any case, packing was going slowly, trying to minimize the stuff we would bring or put into storage. In the end we had a large yard sale and sold much more than we should have, for much less than we should have, knowing we would be coming back some day.
The yard sale coincided with a small party that a neighbor had arranged for Polly and her very few neighborhood friends she had made over the summer. While I was checking out a line of customers carrying our stuff, Polly came up beside me, escorted by the neighbor lady who was hosting the party. She was crying.
“Oh, Polly..., What is it honey?” I asked, giving an apologizing glance to the people waiting to pay, then quickly giving Polly my undivided attention.
She sniffed and looked up at me, and then at the people, all curious to know what the problem was. She broke into sobs and buried her face in my chest.
The neighbor woman shrugged and said, “They were sitting there quietly talking, and all of a sudden she just started crying. I wasn’t paying much attention.”
Polly, too embarrassed to face the crowd, raised her hand to me, offering me a piece of paper she had clutched in her hand. It was a note, a goodbye note from Sally, with whom she had spent long hours playing dolls, house, dress-up, and more recently nudism. The note was short and to the point: “To my best friend, Polly. I will miss you very, very much. Love, Sally.” It was intricately drawn, with scenes of the games they had played together.
Reading the note, I understood perfectly. I scooped her up into my arms, asked the nice lady to take some money from the people, and went inside. Mopping her up and using my goofy antics to get her smiling and laughing, I soon had her respectable, if not a little puffy around the eyes.
“Are you going to be okay now?” I asked.
Polly nodded, but didn’t look up at me, as if she were pondering something. She said, “I want Sally and Rachael to be best friends now. But they don’t know each other at all. We never played together, all of us.” She paused, thinking. I watched the light of an idea spread across her face. She bolted from the room, came to a screeching halt, walked slowly back in having forgotten that her room was empty, and said, “I need my drawing book and colored pencils.”
Ten minutes later, sweating profusely, I produced them, having had to unpack half the trailer to do so. Polly had gone back to her friends but was soon back, sprawled out on the vast, empty hardwood floor, drawing with intense concentration. I was back outside attending to the sale when she tugged at my arm, wanting me to see what she had created. Pulling me inside the house, she handed me two notes, hastily drawn: They were the same, one for Rachael, one for Sally, and basically introduced them to each other by the common bond of being her two favorite people in the whole world, except for her dad, and that they had to become best friends after Polly was gone. Each included the other’s full name and address, phone number, and e-mail address.
“Polly, this is a wonderful idea. I am so proud of you.” He pulled her in for a big hug and kiss, Polly’s face was bright and happy. While he held her, he said, “I hope the other kids don’t feel left out.”
“Oh, they won’t even know. I’m going to give it to them in secret.”
“I should have known.” I said, smiling large and feeling deep affection for her. “You are a good person, Polly, You know that?”
Smiling, and looking deep into my eyes, she also felt the strong bond between us. She then twisted herself out of my grasp and ran back to her friends shouting, “Bye” at me as she went out the door.
----> FIFTEEN <----
Driving south was a wet adventure. The hurricane was still moving slowly, curving away from the Texas coast and beginning a march north-north-east toward the Florida pan handle. The rain was constant and heavy, making the driving hard work, pulling the trailer. The news programs on the radio were all discussing the effects of the storm should it hit New Orleans or Gulfport again.
Once we were within a hundred miles of the predicted path, near Pensacola, we camped out in a small motel room and waited for the inevitable. Again the storm deviated from the predicted path. We drove another two hundred miles and checked into another motel. This time we had guessed correctly, the eye passing right over our motel. Fortunately the storm did not cause extensive flooding or damage to the infrastructure of the coastal communities. Driving around in the mild devastation, we doled out the emergency supplies we had brought with us to groups of people obviously in need. Eventually, we were visiting the marinas where the north-west quadrant of the storm had come ashore, typically the location with the most damage.
To my dismay, it seemed as if we weren’t going to find anything. There were no larger yachts that had sustained the kind of damage that made the whole thing worth while, and the yachts we did look at were not the kind I was wanting. Frustrated, and feeling a little desperate, I headed on down the coast, getting further and further away from the storm damage, my hopes sinking further and further down. We stumbled onto another backwater marina, I found the owner in his office, in a bad mood.
“Do you have any storm damaged boats?” I asked.
“Just one. Why?” he asked gruffly,
“I’m interested in buying a motor-sailor and doing structural repairs myself. I did the same thing when Katrina hit and had some good success.”
“Well, I’m afraid this one might be over your head. It’s a 52. And it’s banged up pretty good.” He said.
A fifty-two foot motor sailor is a big yacht, unless it’s a racer, which would have a narrower beam. If not..., if it had a wide beam, it would probably have multiple decks and several staterooms. He might be right. A ship like that comes with a whole new set of problems. Like bigger, more complex engines; Harder to handle without a crew; Harder to sail, unless it’s a very modern yacht designed to be single-handed; and a deep draft that prohibits entry into small harbors, rivers, and marinas.
“What happened? Did it sink?” I asked, Polly coming up beside me. She had hung back looking at a ship-in-a-bottle just outside the office.
“No.” He said, rubbing his face as if washing it. “Christ, what a cluster-fuck! - Oh, sorry.” He said, noticing Polly for the first time. “No. It came in just ahead of the storm. The old guy was in a panic to get it moored safely. All of our spring cables and mooring stations were in use, and the wind was already making handling difficult. Like a fool I suggested we could hoist it out and leave it on the crane until the storm passed, you know, tying her off real good so she wouldn’t swing. I called in my cousin who does the scuba work for me. He fished the harness around the hull and we lifted her out. Just as I was beginning to swing her around, the keel having cleared the deck, the power went out. For some reason I can’t figure out, the safety brake didn’t catch. By the time I was able to trip the ratchet (which should have been tripped from the start) the keel was resting on the ledge and she was leaning precariously over, threatening to break the harness. Helpless, we watched as the wind twisted her around, eventually grinding away the keel enough that she slid off the ledge and swung free, banging away at the sides of the concrete.”
I had concern and pain on my face as I relived his nightmare. “What are you going to do?” I asked. Then added, “I’m afraid you’re right, a 52 might be out of my league.”
“I don’t know. I think I’m going to sue the crane manufacturer.” He said angrily.
“Just out of curiosity, what’s she worth?” I asked, taking Polly’s hand in preparation to leave.
“Let me show her to you.” He said, pushing away from his desk and standing up, not choosing to answer my question.
“That’s okay, we need to get going. I don’t want to take you away from your work.”
“That boat is my work. I don’t mind.” He said, leading the way as if we had no choice but to follow.
Once outside, my eye was drawn to the prominent crane that stood idle, it’s bright blue paint and the shape of it made it look brand new and modern. Then I saw her, sitting on a yard transport trailer painted with the same blue paint. Apparently he had just purchased this matched pair of equipment to increase the repair capability of his marina. There was also construction evident in other locations, giving the appearance that the whole place was undergoing a facelift.
I was struck dumb with the beautiful lines of the boat. Most of the damage was hidden behind the high sides of the yard transport that held her. Two men were working on a site nearby where she would be set on blocks. Looking closer, peering in through a gap, I could see some of the damage. It looked bad, but knowing what I knew, It wasn’t hopeless, unless the other side was far worse.
The three of us stood there, gawking at her. “Mitchell Wilkes.” I said, extending my hand. “Tony Price.” He said, and then, “One point two.” “One point two?” I asked. “Million” Said Tony. I whistled a long whistle, quickly rising in pitch, and then slowly dropping off. “Yeah.” He said, feeling the pinch of responsibility for it.
“How bad is it?” I asked.
“Well, it doesn’t look too bad from here, but the keel is sprung. There’s a big crack that runs up the primary bulkhead, the one that ties to the main-stays. After the first big swing, she hit the corner hard and it sounded like a cannon going off when she sprung.”
“Ouch.” I said.
“Yeah, ouch.
Against my better judgment, we hung around. As we toured the cabins, feeling the love for her forming in us, the talk wandered back to money.
“What do you think he would take for her, as she sits?” I asked.
“I don’t know. I guess the salvage of masts, sails, appliances, interior, engines, electronics... maybe two hundred. But that’s assuming the hull is totalled. Did you notice the rudder?”
I hadn’t. It’s large hinge pin had been driven into the hull, cracks emanating from the location. At the same time I noticed that one of the bronze propellers was distorted, meaning the shaft might be bent, the bearing housings cracked, etc. Tony had not noticed this, and the new information had a bad affect on him. He was falling into deeper anxiety over the situation. I took the opportunity to excuse ourselves. “Tony, it was nice meeting you, but we have to be going. Good luck with this. I hope it works out for you.” I said. He shook my hand and fixed me with a look that had a plea for help in it. Guiltily, I turned to leave.
Polly had been very quiet, respectful, and unobtrusive during the whole tour. But now she stopped dead and said, “Where are we going?”
I was taken aback by her tone. She sounded confused and a little angry. “We need to keep looking.” I said, stating the obvious.
“But that’s the one I dreamed about.” She said.
“You did? When?”
“Lots of times.” She said matter-of-factly.
I guided her away from the ears and eyes that were leaning towards us.
“Well, Polly, how do you know it’s the same one? I mean, sailboats all look kind of the same” I said, hoping this would placate her. It didn’t.
“Nuh-uh, the round windows in the bathroom... I remember I can look out while I go pee.” Polly said, very passionately. “...and the pelican on the wall in the kitchen.” She added, equally as passionate.
“Really? And they were the same?” I asked in disbelief.
Polly nodded emphatically, the way she used to do without saying anything.
