Please note, there might be exaggerations to the actuality
of this story, however in the moment, it is what I felt…and so that is what I
will write.
It was a gorgeous summer weekend. Jon, Rosie, Mikey and I had decided to hide out at a yacht
club on the boats in Rockport. We
spent two days lounging in the sun, swimming, tooling around in the skiff,
sipping on cocktails, reading, napping, laughing…being. Although we were only a matter of miles
from home, it felt like we were a million miles away. For a moment, life was quiet and perfect and peaceful.
As Sunday began to come to a close, Mikey and I decided to
head back. Leaving the placid
waters of the inlet that had protected us for two days, everything turned.
When we got out into the open ocean, there was no
peace. There was no calm. The ocean had turned. A southeasterly wind kicked in,
slamming 6-foot swells sideways against the boat. There was no choice but to get across, unprotected in an
open Sea Vee. We were too far out
to turn around and ultimately, what was the point, we were already too deep
in. It felt as if we were in a
fucking tornado spinning us sideways.
For anyone who has ever been on the boat with Mikey, you
know that he is the most solid and safe of sailors. Nobody knows or interprets the sea or the land better than
him. I have always had the ultimate
faith that he will protect me. But
in that moment, with the boat flying in the air, with water filling and
covering the boat sideways, I was terrified. My hands were melting from gripping the bars of the boat so
intensely to stay grounded. Tears
were streaming down my cheeks and for a moment, I believed the one thing that I
have always loved the most, the ocean, was going to be the one thing that would
destroy me.
For the first time in all of these years on the water
together, Mikey turned around and looked at me and said, “T, I think you should
put a life jacket on.” My heart
stopped. So this is it….I thought.
This is how it all ends.
“If you aren’t going to put one on, neither am I,” I said back. And so I sat there, gripping, holding on
for dear life as the boat was throttled from side to side being pounded and
assaulted by waves.
Mikey has always been an anchor for me since I met him. A source of calm and peace. The intensity of which he was
navigating us through this moment and his silence more than anything was all
too telling of the severity of it.
His normal sense of humor and ease was lost and I felt nothing short of
complete dread.
And then, there was strange peace. In ultimate fear, I found this ironic peace. I looked around me. Sailboats toppling on their sides, the
Sea Vee crashing against waves, my skin and body drenched, and I felt peace. There was nothing I could do but hold
on. And when you have nothing
else, that’s what’s you do. Hold
on.
Every minute or two Mikey would shout out how many minutes
more we had to go through this to get across and so I counted minutes and held
on. I had to have faith in
something so I had faith in minutes.
After all, anyone can get through a minute. So each minute we got through.
About 40 minutes later, we had made it across. We waited for a bridge to open across
the other side of Gloucester Harbor - the boat still being slammed but closer
to shore I had found grounding. And then the bridge opened and we crossed.
What happened next, seemed almost surreal.
We crossed underneath this bridge. This seemingly simple understated, quiet, small bridge and
there, the water was placid, quiet.
The sun was shining and there wasn’t an inkling of evidence that there
had ever been even a remote wake.
All was calm. In my mind,
we had almost died and then there was this? How could this even be? I looked at Mikey, and all I knew to say was, “Drinks?” and
I turned to the cooler to grab anything that would imbibe me with a sense of
calm.
We traveled quietly through the waters of the Annisquam and
said nothing. Each of us I believe
unraveling from the chaos. At
times, there are no words, when you feel such intensity and come down to
realize that you had in fact survived.
Once we passed through the river, we had one more pass of
open ocean to find our way home. I
was afraid, and Mikey looked at me and promised it would be easier. And it was.
We drove home across the ocean with the sun setting in the
West and Mikey did something he never does. He left his Captain’s stance. He sat beside me and drove the boat with his feet. And we laughed. A delirious, holy shit we made it laugh. The ocean was calm again and we were
silly and insane and we toasted to our survival and we mocked my fear and
breathed sighs of relief. We had
made it and the sun was guiding us home.
For all of the chaos in life over the past many months I
think of this moment often. Making
it through the storm. Finding
calm, the sun shining on my face.
Isn’t it so symbolic? This
is life. Terrifying, confusing,
breakable, but then you have these glimpses of placidity.
Isn’t this the past many months? A tornado that we’ve all been flying and spun in? And here we are, waiting for the bridge
to open, to bring us to the other side.
To calm, quiet waters and sun shining on our face…..isn’t it? You just have to hold on. Grip as hard as you can. But don’t let go. Because there is
another side. Promise. The waves will calm and the sun will
always guide you home.