The Long Journey Home

The Long Journey Home
So here I come. An old fat man on crutches. Moving slow. I use the crutches like sperate legs. I walk with them, moving one crutch at a time. People on the pier taking pictures of themselves move out of my way. Other people leaning against the railing looking out at the boats turn to look at me. The dock workers smile at me and call me Papa as they hurry past. They feel sorry for me. All of them. The tourists too. They all notice me. How could they not feel sorry for me? An old fat man on crutches making his way so slowly down the pier. It’s a long walk for anyone. For me, it’s also a painful one. Swollen legs. A blood-circulation thing.

I live on one of the many boats the railbirds admire. If you saw me right now coming toward you on the pier, you’d say, I bet that old fat man on the crutches is a sailor. And you’d be right. I have a beard like a sailor. I dress in wrinkled clothes like a sailor. I even swear like a goddamned sailor. I just don’t take the boat out anymore.

Don’t get the wrong idea. I am not unhappy. I’m not a scowler. It’s not great being me, as fat as I am, or as old as I am, and have two bum legs like I do, but if you got to be those things, the place to be is Panama City, Panama. The Panamanians go way out of their way to help me.

I reach the end of the dock. Jonny says, “Listo?”

“Listo,” I say back. I wait for him to bring the panga closer to the dock. Another passenger gets on with great ease then looks at me. He helps Jonny bring the boat closer to the dock and hold it tight as I step down with my crutches, off balance, I’m also wheezing with the effort. Once I get my feet aboard, I shuffle around to sit down.

“Gracias,” I say, nodding at the other passenger.

Jonny takes us to my boat first. Once there, both men repeat the same maneuvers as on the dock, and I throw my crutches up onto the deck of Revery. I get one foot onto the first wooden step and feel Jonny’s hand on my ass. With a great push I can make it the rest of the way home.

I wave my thankyous and sit back thinking it’s time for a cocktail on deck. Watch the sun go down. There is something so wonderfully sad and lonely about watching the sunset by yourself. Maybe you have to be a salty old sailor to really appreciate it.

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