Tomorrows Window

Tomorrows Window



Somewhere a Pelican soars, flaunting golden hooks that cling to the soft part of his bill. They are like lip rings. Around his slender throat, an invisible line restricts the passage way. His throat is smaller, so his prey becomes smaller. His character keeps him fat. He settles on a piling for a bit. In an instant, age catches up with him, as his body goes limp falling head first from his perch. As he breaks the surface tension he is dead.



Many will never outlive the belief  that life is predestined by God. And there are those who will. Neither matters. Lifes clock collects dust, as we struggle to assess our life's course and through our judgements we make decisions that inherently alter the future. Human existence is plagued by fear of time. For this reason, we often bypass a slow-most fulfilling life. This thing we call life flashes by, as we calculate existence focused on our satisfaction with the selfs journey, our achievements weighed against our failures. We revel in recollections of our youth when our little faces showed emotions bigger than life. Times rusty shackles scrape us with our eyes wide, as we count our distant memories. In desperation we ask for strength, but it’s in us all along.



A typical pink stucco one story home, sits at the end of a well-worn street. The Asphalt is almost snow white, like the rest of Florida’s sun burnt concrete. Inside, the air condition is lacking. A few dust encrusted fans provide mediocre circulation. Frankly the climate is comparable to the feeling of lying down on a wet towel plastered to scorching summer ground, but to a Floridian it’s paradise. In a well-lit room a man sits tapping his foot on the metallic frame of a glass desk. A backwards baseball cap is fixed tight to his head, revealing bits of wavy brown hair dispersed around its edges. A lean athletic build supports his disproportional head. His sharp jaw line is covered by a well-groomed beard. Small patches of grey whiskers sprout from the cleft of his chin, making him look older.



The shadow of his chair points to the clock on the wall. Three long hours stand between his feet meeting the plush white floor of a boat. He didn’t intend to wake before six. Behind him the bed is unmade and sits alone, separate from the clumsy backboard that lies splintered in the next room. The bed rests several feet from the wall, because the locks on the bed-frame wheels were broken during the move. Above the bed, a colossal fifty-five inch Cobia hangs from the wall. Below the belly of the fish a thin oval of gold plating reads NIck & John - High Seas 10’. The shiny gloss on its eyes reflects the fluorescent light, drawing observers toward the gaping mouth that looks wrong. Fishing rods fill the corners of the room and hang sideways across three of the marked up walls, painted light blue.



He peers through a magnifying glass, while scrutinizing a knot that he fashions to a large black circle hook. A drop of saliva drips onto the desktop as he secures the knot. To his right rests an overflowing ashtray. It was a birthday present, given to him by his younger brother Jacob. On the underside it reads “To Nick Love Jacob” in crude cursive. His brother is seventeen now and Nick hopes he’ll go to college and become more successful than himself. He collects a burning Newport and takes a heavy drag, then exhales and wets the workings of another knot, connecting the braided mainline to the heavy fluorocarbon leader. He’s that fisherman who puts the line between his teeth, tugs, and bites clean through, then scrunches as the pain recoils and bounces around in his mouth. A giant tackle box is placed on the floor to his left, where he tosses several handcrafted rigs. He struggles with the zipper then diverts his attention to his computer screen. The laptop was purchased for college. It’s a shame that he never finished. He pinches himself often and recalls the times when he was driven. As he explores the contents of his email, a piece of spam links him to a strange website. It’s familiar, but he’s never been here before. Nick squints his eyes, trying to invoke a memory.



In his head he repeats the name of the website, chatroulette.com. He clicks agree. A green light signals on. The computer shows his face in real time, as he looks at the screen. The “start” button reveals another man starring back at Nick, who looks puzzled. For a moment it seems like a stare down, then his strange face disappears as quick as it arose. A blue window transforms into another face, as he selects “next’. This man is much older. With his pale hand he makes an indiscernible gesture, then waits as if expecting a response. Nick gives the man a strange look, before the blue window appears again. His next encounter jogs his memory. On the screen appears the lower torso of a mans bare body. Nick gasps and shuts his eyes. The faceless person is masturbating for the camera. An image of a limp body lying nude appears in his mind, as he rushes to hit “next”. He does not recognize the lifeless body, but the face is unmistakable, it’s too distinct. It’s his friend Robert. He died at eighteen. Nick imagines that when Robert’s mother discovered his naked body the walls closed in around her, as she collapsed on the basement floor. Nicks eyes swell faced with this painful image. He gulps hard, while clenching his teeth. The sadness rushes over him. In the past he would have smoked weed to numb the sadness, but he’s kept clean from it for two years. As he focuses on his breathing, he feels calmer.



He returns to the screen. And some thirty penises later a cheery girl, sitting at a desktop appears on the screen. She is attractive, especially the way she smiles. Nick is happy. It shows in his face.



“Hi.” In the bright room Nick sits proper and smiles back at her, while he clutches his knee, as if bracing himself.



“Hi.” She blushes and pulls her hair behind her ear.



“I’m Nick. What’s your name?” He looks around the room, behind her face. It is small and quaint. It looks like the closet door is just a few feet behind her pleasant body.



“Anne. Where from?” Her eyes look intently into his. She can tell that he is feeling a bit awkward.



“Ohio, how about you?”



“Holland.” She neglects the fact that American men are often enthralled by foreign women.



“Wow, that’s awesome. I must say, I am a bit jealous. How are you doing today... or is it night?” He bites the loose skin on his lower lip. He never thought a normal girl would be surfing a site like this, especially not one fully clothed.



“It’s okay. There are other places that I might like to stay for a year. It’s day time in Holland. I’m fine, how are you?” She touches her hair again.



“Finally, I am feeling much better. I didn’t think I’d find someone normal on here, until now that I see you. I hope you didn’t have to see as many penises as I did.”



“(:” She laughs and makes certain that he knows.



“This is my first time on here.” He almost forgot to tell her. She really doesn’t look like the type who surfs video chats looking to stumble across a few oddball strangers, dispersed between hundreds of exposed genitalia. He hopes that she’ll laugh and say that it is hers too.



“Mine too.”



“How old are you?” He feels a bit like a dateline NBC predator, but goes on.



“20 and you?” She types quickly and feels confident in her English.



“I’m 26. I moved to Florida several years ago, after leaving college. Are you a student?” He regrets mentioning college as the words appear on the screen.



“Yes. This is my third year at the University of Amsterdam.” She finds his smile adorable, but wishes he’d show his teeth.



“Very cool. Do you have a focus of study?” He searches for questions.



“My focus of studies is English Language and Culture. What did you study in college?”



“I was majoring in English also...” He recalls his passion for writing, and wishes that he could feel the artists fire again. In his head he knows it’s not too late to go back and finish. If only his heart were in it.



“I dropped out sophomore year. I was having a really hard time with the death of a close friend.” He’s honest, but feels she might still think less of him.



“I am Sorry.” She doesn’t know what to say.



She tells him that they haven’t taught her how to respond to some things. They talk about American culture. Her glow shows in her cheeks and laughter. She expresses her passion for cycling and he finds it unique. Cycling is not as popular in the states. He’s invigorated by their small talk. It appears that she enjoys the conversation also. She doesn’t have a boyfriend. Nick feels strange, but addresses her with warmness and requests her e-mail for “more conversation”. They exchange emails and wonder if they’ll ever be face to face again. A projection of her face dies out, as Nick admires some sort of hopefulness that warms inside him. He can’t help but smile.



Around the world darkness conceals the movement of nature, as waves clash with concrete where sea walls mark our defiance of mother natures unbridled spirit. This is everywhere. The tide rolls in, carrying bits of life and remnants of the dead. Beyond mans waterfront backyard, yellow shoals become hidden beneath the encroaching blue. All is black, except for a white transparency sparkling in the moons reflection that dances, rolling across the incoming current. Palm leaves sway above tiny lizards that scatter, flinging sediment with their scaly limbs. In unison with the tide, a mild breeze carriers fish odor, masked by the muskiness of sea salt. Some sixty yards offshore a pod of Bottle Nose dolphins face off against a nervous school of Mullet. Several dolphins propel themselves into the school, while a half dozen work together to keep the isolated ball dense. They make toward the shoals. Their innate mastery of group effort is shown brilliantly, as they take turns feeding upon shiny mullet and guarding the perimeter of the frantic school.



Natures sound is not loud, rather quiet but it fills the air. Around the world it silences the noises of mans machinery. Though negligent to earths collective business, his incessant thinking becomes paused as his stare fixates on the stillness that he deems definite. Having been relinquished of the minds concerns, for a brief moment he is enraptured by an unprecedented beauty that surrounds every-day-life. Awe of this sort goes unnoticed on most accounts. As he succumbs to his bodies senses, admiring a mere ordinary expanse of plain sky, a happy numbness settles within him. He stops making choices and processing thoughts concerned with his future. In this flash moment things feel slow and peaceful.



In this small fishing town, the morning arrives bringing fisherman together. Several hours from now, the local boat ramps will be swamped. Birds make their way, floating over gritty roof tops as they anticipate the sun. John lies in bed with his wife, whose silk pink nightgown protrudes from the covers. Her soft chin presses against her down pillow. It smells like lavender. Together they live with their fourteen-year-old son, occupying a two-bedroom home in a small neighborhood. It’s a well-off part of town, prided on its well kept nature preserve that borders their home. Outside the eerie stillness of morning is interrupted, as an oversized raccoon rummages through plastic trash bags in the garage. He exposes an empty fifth of Vodka, as he tears at the fullest bag with sticky paws. The mangy coon tugs at the bag till the bottle comes loose. And the glass makes a crackling sound as it rolls past the jarred garage door. It peters out as it struggles over bumps and divots in the porous driveway. Hungry for garbage brunch, the big coon departs as it came.



The brown comforter shifts as John stirs, anticipating the incessant ringing of the bedside telephone. A sliver of light peers in around the edges of the drawn curtains. It’s still dark out, but John forgot to turn out the porch lights before falling into his slumber. Outside moths flutter around the glow, while others transfixed by the light become entrapped. The family dog, Tanner lies stretched out between his legs. He begins to yawn and stretch as John twists his legs in effort to rouse him. Tanner’s whiny yawn disturbs Melinda. She extracts her arm from the covers, reaching to grasp John’s bare arm as the dog plops onto the wooden floor. Clumsy Tanner scurries as his claws fail to grip the slippery wood. The coldness of the room sends a shiver down her arm. Melinda rolls over and weaves her arm around Johns, pulling herself close. John contorts his head, so that his breath won’t catch Melindas detection. He lifts her delicate hand and moves it toward his tight lips, giving it a gentle kiss. Her soft hands are thin and veiny, like those of a fragile woman, whose age shows through the changes in her skin. With his right hand John places Melindas hand on her hip and edges out of bed. He tries to be quiet.



“Honey?” Melinda sits up as she rubs her eyes.



“Yes dear.” He looks down at her hunched over the bed.



“Where are you going?” She whispers soft with eyes almost shut.



“I’m going fishing.” His mind travels elsewhere, as he imagines a Tarpon crashing on the surface of the still water.



“Oh, this early? I thought we might have a family day. What if you took Ethan with you?” She wishes he’d lie back down and stay with her a little longer.



“Sweetheart, you knew I was planning this. And Ethan doesn’t like fishing, you know that. I’ve tried before. I’ll be back before dinner.” For a brief moment he wishes his son liked to fish, but he accepts that he doesn’t. His lips smack against hers then depart as he makes for the closet. He fingers through searching for an older shirt. On one shirt a half dissolved sticky name tag reads, “John Miller - Green Oaks Tournament Director”. On the floor his golf shoes sit bottom side up, exposing bits of dirt and sand.



“I love you too.” She murmurs in a sad voice, as she feels an annoying sleepiness overwhelm her body. She turns on her stomach and calls for the dog, but he doesn’t respond.



“Hey, I love you too babe! I’m not leaving just yet, you ought to know i wasn’t going to leave without saying it.” He struggles to find the right words as he feels bothered by her attacking him. He hurries back to the bed and hugs her petite frame, as she lies wrapped in the covers.



“Go back to sleep dear, I'm sorry for waking you. I’ll be back before you know it.” His lips touch her ear as he tries to whisper soothingly.



Tanner wags his tail, smacking it against the corner of the wall. The thud of his tail is loud and sounds painful. John heads toward the door when the phone sounds. Tanner barks at the sound. Melinda groans, as John answers the blinking cordless phone.



“Hello.” John sounds excited and leads the dog onto the bed with his free hand.



“You ready to go?” Nick speaks a little more peppy than usual, but John assumes that he hasn’t had much sleep.



“Just about.” John closes the bedroom door behind him, as Tanner slips through.



“Meet at the ramp in twenty?” Nick closes his laptop and gathers his tackle box along with a handful of rods.



“Sounds good.”

The dog leaps through the doggy door in the kitchen. He barks several times, letting everyone know that he is awake.



“Catch you in a bit John.” Nick hangs up the phone.



Tanner hurries back inside and looks up at his master. He’s the smartest dog John’s ever owned. It’s obvious he’s going fish too. John trained Tanner to use the restroom at the bow of the boat. There is no toilet, just the sea.



The black truck sits in the garage, covered in bird poop from the other day. John lets Tanner in first then makes sure everything is there. He pushes a red button on his visor and the door sounds, but stops. Now it’s closed. Another click signals the garage door. Its mechanics are loud, vibrating noise drones out the radio as Tanner settles into the seat. The truck rolls into the street and crushes the vodka bottle lying in the driveway. John curses as he connects the boat to the hitch. He doesn’t have time to clean it up, so he heads out anyways. He’ll have to call Melinda later to let her know.



Nick pulls up to the parking lot and lights a cigarette, as he leans against a 92’ BMW. It was passed down after his grandfather died. He owned a law firm and left behind a fortune, dispersed equal amongst family members. However, the car was something extra, something sentimental. Nick always knew it would be his. Grand-paw promised him, as they road home from each lake they fished on Sundays when nick was still a kid, before he opened the firm. They were close, a little like father and son.



John backs the boat down the ramp, as Nick walks over to assist. The stern breaches the water and disturbs a slick metallic pool that remains on the surface from the last boat. Nick lays his gear in the boat, removes the trailer straps, and signals John. In his rearview John acknowledges the thumbs up and gallops up the hill, letting loose all four hundred horses. He parks and heads to the boat with Tanner strutting at his side.



The trio makes for a nearby marina. At the center, sits a dockside bait-shop surrounded by plush boats. The small buildings exterior has seen better days. However, its collection of trophy photos has never been as incredible as it is today. In front of the shop, John slows the boat as it approaches a well scuffed buoy that floats astray. Nick collects the lost buoy and they exit starboard. Tanner mans the ship while the men head inside to purchase bait. Nick sets the buoy on the counter.



Johns phone rings. It’s Melinda.



“Hello.” He answers wary. And begins to speak.



There is no response.



“Melinda, I forgot..” He pictures her having found the broken bottle in the driveway.



“John.” She interjects and pauses, pressing her nails into her forehead. Her face scrunches.



“What’s the matter?” He senses the distress her in her voice.



“Ethan told me he’s gay. I won’t believe it. I won’t believe it John!” As she pities herself she begins to sob.



“What do you mean he’s gay? He’s not gay.” Johns voice clamors as he tries to defend his son.



“He wants to be a fag John!” She yells as tears well-up and run from her eyes.



“Melinda you’re crazy, don’t talk about my son that way! What has gotten into you?” Anger fills his voice as he presses the phone hard against his ear.



“I’m crazy? No, I think our son is crazy.” She’d like John to come home and prove her wrong.

He hangs up on her and crams the phone in his pocket. Nick pays for six dozen live shrimp and slides a cigarette between his lips as he exits the store.



“Is everything okay?” Nick looks at John, who stares between the planks of the dock fixed on the dark water below.



“Sure, everything is fine. I’ll meet you on the boat. Start the engines.” John feels embarrassed and worries that his voice gives him away.

A minute later John returns and hands Nick a six pack, as he stumbles into the boat.



“Do I need to drive?” Nick jokes.



“May be best.” John is nonchalant and Nicks smile fades. He feels overwhelmed.



“Alright then, let’s get on with it” Nick pretends all is well. He doesn’t want to nag him. He thinks a man sixteen years his superior deserves the right to self contemplation.

John nods and they pull away from the dock. Nicks hair blows left as a gust carries from the starboard side. It strikes John’s face as he looks into the sky. The bow cuts through water, as Nick accelerates into the horizon. His parter sits to the right of him, half his butt hanging from the boats edge. Salty water hits his face as he looks over his right shoulder. His vision blurs into nothingness as he stares at a fixed point in the horizon. An array of gorgeous birds can be seen, intermingled between the tops and crevices of the green shoreline mangroves that stretch as far as the eye can see. They travel several miles, then Nick begins to taper the throttle.

“This is your first marker on the GPS. Wanna give her a shot?” Nicks leans in and yells then cuts the engines, thirty yards out from the tangled mangroves.



“Might as well. You wanna beer?” John asks convincingly, though he knows Nick isn’t a drinker.



“I better have one. Thanks.” Nick accepts the cold beer that John extends behind him, as he faces the mangroves. He figures he might need it.



“Sure thing.” John speaks slow. His eyes fall onto the patterns of the white floor.



“Conditions look good. Do you spot anything out there?” Nick imagines a big snook, lying under overhanging limbs where it waits to ambush an unsuspecting school of thread fin as they move toward him.



“Earlier, my wife tells me something tough to swallow.” Johns looks at Nick and reveals himself. His face is serious, but his eyes wander.



“What’s that John?” Nick sits down slow. Tanner leaves Johns side and looks for Nicks hand. He strokes his brown coat.



“She tells me my son is gay, course I don’t believe her.” John speaks to him as if he’s in a dream. His throat goes dry.



“That’s a lot to take in.” Nick is surprised. He feels compelled to say certain things, but holds off a little while.



“Sure is!” John agrees with vehemence, as if Nick just stated some universal truth.



“Your boys got good health, right?” He tries to prod at some things that John can be thankful for.



“He does.” John admits without conviction.



“And that’s a blessing to be thankful for. If his health was awful bad, don’t you suppose that would be pretty hard?” Nick hopes his comments don’t make him seem up to no good.



“Sure would, Ethan’s my only son.” John cracks open a second coors, while Nick tries to finish his first.



“You think I’m wrong to be upset that my son is gay?” John recollects Ethans birth, envisioning the moment that he appeared. They had the same nose, the same eyes, and the same ears. It was the proudest and happiest moment of his life.



“You’re a father, I’m sure the best a son could ever ask for. Every father expects his son to marry, make babies, and live long. You’ve thought about those things before, yeah?”



“I have. But I’ve never had reason to doubt any of those things happening, till now.”



“It makes sense that you’d upset. You want for Ethan the very things that you have wanted for yourself, and that is happiness. I would too. But if you really look at it, you’d see that your dreams for him can still come true and they will. Your son loves you, don’t he?”



“Sure, my boy loves me. Ethans a good kid, real polite. He does well in school too.” John pauses then starts again.



“ You know, he has always been different than the other boys his age. Come to think of it, I probably should have figured him gay long ago.” John feels less mangled by his inner torments, as he breaths in a healthy dose of fresh air. He glances at his watch, noting an hour has passed since he spoke to Melinda.



“Come on lets fish Nick.” John lifts a heavy lid and drops their empty cans into the storage compartment.



They rise from their seats. Tanner prances around them, jumping up and down from the bow where he surveys the water. John swoops a dip net through the live-well and raises his hand under the weighted net, as he lifts it above the bubbling water. From the red tinged mass, he selects a lively pair of transparent shrimp. And hands one, a tad bigger to Nick. Together they toss their shrimp to the edge of the shadow, cast by the mangrove foliage. Their casts are perfect. Seconds later, Nick reacts to a fast pull. He rips the rod back, pulling it over his shoulder to ensure that the hook is set well. Excitement increases his heart beat. His pulse throbs in his neck. The fast clacking of his reel is joined by a similar sound coming from Johns reel. Nicks fish empties line in a hurry. Several times it changes direction and clears the water, shaking its head to escape his delicate hold. It’s a snook, a bit over fifteen pounds. Johns fish pulls heavy and slower. It moves along the bottom and keeps to one direction. He pulls his redfish boat-side before Nick, then assists in landing the snook.



They revel in their catches. They shout at one another, while taking a moment to admire their beauty. Nicks smile shimmers like a flashy lure, as its worked toward the surface where it becomes most visible in the light. To be safe they must revive the snook, so they bend over the boat and guide it back and fourth beneath the surface. Water rushes in its mouth and through its slow flapping gills. It comes alive. The large tail smacks water in their faces, as it propels its torpedo body below their line of sight. Laughs echo against the shoreline, as water drips from the faces of these overjoyed fishermen. They’ve caught much larger fish before, but today the first catches feel more rewarding than ever before. John smiles, and in silence thanks the lord for this moment.



Their emotions were immersed in their battles. An abnormal exhaustion relaxes their shaking jitters. Pulled by gravity, they find themselves coming to sit on the edges of the boat, as it drifts a safe distance from the shallows.



Nick points the tip of his rod toward the horizon. He looks through the rod eyes. Johns black stare settles on his rough hands, folded in his lap.



“You know, I’d like to tell you about a friend of mine. I think it may serve both of us well.” Nick looks over at John who seems open to the idea.



“Alright.”



“My best friend is the same age as me. We both love canned tuna in olive oil.” Nicks pupils dilate. He tries to look John in the face, but his eyes lock, stuck above Johns right shoulder. John is puzzled, but looks unmoved.



“He is selfless, he is an incredible listener, gives the best advice and when he can’t, he makes me laugh so hard my stomach hurts, sometimes I cry.” The sun forces sweat down his brow. Nick pauses, then continues.



“It’s important that I describe him well.” Nick harnesses his emotions and fashions them to his words.



“Go on.” John nods.



“My friend is gay, and has gone away. At eighteen, the strains overwhelmed him.”



“Do you mean...”



“He killed himself...hung himself in the nude.” Nick sighs. His eyes water, but keep from spilling.

John looks surprised. He doesn’t know what to say. Nick goes on, before he can say sorry.



“Most of the time he seemed pretty happy, but he was really depressed. It’s tough being gay. Someone who is openly gay is predisposed to social issues, you know. ” He thinks John is still engaged.



“Roberts parents were extremely accepting of him, more than that I think they loved him extra for being honest. Most people accepted him and loved him for who he was. Some people called him ‘fag‘ and looked at him different. Sometimes he wished he was straight, because he wanted a ‘normal’ life. Really, he was a lot like us. He enjoyed the relaxing moments in life, like right here on this boat. He wanted to fall in love, like us. I wish he had, but he didn’t get to.” Nick looks at John, whose gaze stares back.



“You’ve been through a lot. I’m sorry to hear about your friend. I’m glad you told me his story Nick.” John looks him in the eyes.



The wind dies out. Birds talk as they coordinate aerial dives. Both men look out onto the water. John feels absorbed by Nicks experience. He’d never thought much of suicide, and hadn’t know anyone who’d done it. The thought of loosing his son terrifies him. He imagines the pain and it is there. His chest feels heavy and his stomach uneasy. John wants to accept his son but doesn’t how nor where to start.



“Down the shore there is a dock that holds goliath groupers, you know of it. Wanna try for something big?” Nick breaks the silence, changing the subject as he bites his fingernails and spits them overboard.



“I’m in.” John takes the wheel.



The sky is so clear. It makes John feel uneasy, as the boat putters ahead. Nick ties heavy rigs to the two biggest rods. Their open face reels are spooled with more than two hundred yards of eighty pound line. On the one hundred pound leader, red beads are fixed at both ends of a six ounce egg sinker, held in place by metal clamps. The giant hooks are rugged. As they near the deserted dock, John signals for Nick to drop anchor. John wields a lighter rod that sports four hooks baited with shrimp. He drops it below the boat and reels in two frantic pinfish then slings them into the live-well. He baits the hooks again, drops his line, and reels in two eight inch grunts. They’ll work well for what they’re after.  Nick carefully flips his live grunt about five feet from the end of the dock, followed by John.



If the grouper aren’t here, then they’re running deep. Through polarized glasses, John spots a giant shadow emerging from between the pilings that are covered in scratchy barnacles. He assumes the bottom is eight feet underneath the dock, since the depth finder reads sixteen where they are anchored up. Nick hooks a behemoth and it holds fast to its shelter. He leans back with all his weight. His knees are bent, as he tries to force the fish. It seems to give. The magnificent creature allows himself to be towed a bit. It bats its huge tail with tremendous force and breaks him off on the piling. John gets slammed as Nick reels in his shredded line. He stumbles to set the hook as the fish makes off with his bait. When he attempts to set the hook, he pulls the bait from the groupers giant mouth. He lets it sit where it settles, then reals in the slack. As he reals in the slack, his hook feels stuck. He lifts the rod tip and a cumbersome weight becomes mobile. It gets heavier as he reels in slack and tries lifting it off the bottom. It’s not a fish. They’re curious. At the least, he might try to retrieve his rig after loosing the other. Nick spots a thick chain rising from the bottom. They maneuver so that they may remove the anchor. After pulling anchor, they inch their way toward the chain.



“Help me!” Nick pulls the chain as John comes to help.



“Is it an anchor?” John can’t see it yet.



They pull together and an anchor appears. A strange object follows behind. It’s much larger than the anchor. Neither one can make out what it is. As it reaches the surface, the men become revolted. It’s a body. Like seaweed, her hair is clumsy in the current. Their limbs move instinctually, reaching for her. They feel sick as they wrap their arms around her waterlogged body and pull her aboard.  The dog gets in close to smell her, but John shoves him back.



“No Tanner!” John shouts angrily.



No words can express the feelings aboard the boat. Her feet are bound by the chain, fashioned close to the weight. A gray shirt clutches tight to her skin. Tanner sneaks over and licks her face, before he could be stopped. His tongue brushes her hair to one side, exposing a pale, young face. John throws up as Nick restrains the dog. She looks younger than twenty, a teenager. It’s gruesome. It’s too awful to look at. They tie the boat up to the dock and come ashore to call the police.



The weight of life crushes their hands into their faces, as they stand silent leaning against the railings of the pier. John thought his life had been turned upside down, when he got news of his son being gay. He was mistaken. This strangers tragedy silences his concern of all things that aren’t pertinent to the maintenance of life, but he doesn’t realize it. He thinks of his love for Ethan and Melinda. He begins to cry. He needs them here and now, but knows he can’t have them seeing this horrid scene, as he has.



As the police begin to arrive, Nick comes over and embraces John. Nick had never seen the aftermath of a suicide first hand, of course nor had John. He is reminded of Robert. The frailty of life enraptures him. Though things are moving slow, he feels a new sense of urgency. At the edge of the pier he scribbles on a piece of paper, beginning a story. In fine print, words flow onto a crinkled section of notebook paper. His hand struggles to keep up with his thoughts. As the police question him, he feels disturbed by having to contain his ideas.



Once released, the men board the boat and head home. Between leaving the crime scene and arriving at the boat ramp, not a word is said. They are distant from one another. From the parking lot their lives fade in separate directions, John’s a little more sooner. Nick gets off the boat and enters his car. He continues writing immediately. The sun fades and lulls him to sleep. The pen slips from his hand and gets lodged under the floor matt.



Several days later, John picks up the paper as he sips a potent cup of coffee. Ethan is getting ready for school, while Melinda lies in bed. An article catches his attention. It’s about the dead girl. He thinks aloud, as he rewords the text that he reads in front of him. Sixteen years old, Brittany Glass took her life by mercy of the sea. He feels startled by her age. He realizes what has mattered most all along. He makes for Ethan's room.



“I love you son.” He squeezes Ethan tight and kisses his head.



“I love you too dad.” He’s surprised by his fathers sudden embrace and tries to squeeze him back.



“Mother mentioned what you told her.”



“Oh.” Ethan begins to look away.



“I want you to know that I’ll always accept you. More than that, I’ll cherish you forever for exactly who you are.”



“Thanks dad.”



“If you are gay, then I love you for being gay, because that is a part of you. I will always be here, whenever you need me. And just so you know everyone in this world is unique, no one person is alike and that’s the way it’s meant to be.” John looks down at his son and their rapture permeates the still room.