The sound of scratching above my head pulled me from a fitful sleep. I rolled over onto my back and looked up at the ceiling only a foot away from my face. Ravens, cawing and hopping back and forth above, reminded me that I had forgotten to wash off the deck last night. A weak gray light filtered down into the bow of the boat where the captain and I slept. Without looking at my watch I knew it was time to get up, but in the bunk across from me, the captain still snored peacefully so I lay there another minute listening to the birds. The day was going to be cold and wet and difficult like so many before it. A part of me wanted to roll over and fall back into the darkness, but instead, with far less than enthusiastic vigor, I slipped out of my relatively warm sleeping bag and into a pair of dirty pants and worn rubber boots. Pulling on a threadbare wool sweater, I trudged out into the main cabin of the second-hand fishing boat we called home. Forty feet of wood and fiberglass older than I was, that at this point was held together mostly by hope and duct tape.
The view out the cabin windows made my shoulders slump. A dark mist swirled around our boat. Allowing only fleeting, spectral glimpses of the craggy island behind which we were anchored. Looking about, my eye couldn’t help but spy a letter sitting on our battered wooden table The letter had shown up last night, delivered by the cannery boat that came every other day from town to buy our salmon and replenish our ice. My name was written in her flowing script and it made my blood run cold. I had been at sea for ten days, ten days since that endless night of arguing and tears. Ten days since our icy goodbye on the dock and the last sight of her fading away behind me. All that night I had stared at that envelope, turning it over and over in my hands. Taking in every detail as I ate the can of soup that comprised my dinner, but I could not muster the courage to open it and see what waited inside. Now after a restless sleep, the letter lay there on the table, patiently waiting for me. However, I still couldn’t face whatever message it brought. So, after covering the letter with a book to hide it, I left the cabin to take care of some morning business. I walked out onto the back deck and shivered, chilled to the bone by the beautiful Alaskan summer morning. No other boats were in sight and the ravens had moved on after gobbling up the scraps of fish we left behind. In those quiet moments, as I relieved myself over the back rail, it was as if I were the only human alive. I closed my eyes and embraced the frigid, sputtering rain that had started to fall around me, endeavoring to find some measure of peace in the great gray stillness. Alas, before tranquility could be achieved, the boat shook and roared as the captain fired up the ancient diesel engine which belched black smoke into the sky. I sighed and returned to the cabin while he pulled up the anchor and got us underway.
It was experience and radar that got us around the island and out into open water. A stiff wind blew beyond the harbor’s safety, taking away the mist and building up the seas. Our boat dutifully plowed through the waves while the captain searched for a spot to set the net. Most of the best places were taken by our early rising comrades, forcing us further out offshore and into the weather. While he drove and cussed, I dug through the tiny pantry in search of breakfast. Not much remained, but I did locate a half-eaten bag of beef jerky and pulled out a piece the size of my palm. I had just put it in the oven to warm when the captain stopped the boat. We didn’t speak, we didn’t have to. Each of us knew our job and it was entirely too early for idle politeness. The waves tossed our motionless boat about as we pulled on our slime covered and scale encrusted foul weather gear. On the back deck sat a massive aluminum drum that held our fishing net. I balanced myself on the rolling deck between the drum and the back rail, the captain stood at a small wheel on the side of the drum. When the captain started driving forward, I pulled the net, hand over hand, off of the drum and threw it over the back rail. The net and its floats slid against my side, snatching at my jacket and endeavoring to pull me overboard. My eyes were scrunched in a perpetual squint to guard against flying bits of jellyfish which coated our net with annoying regularity. The captain steered us back and forth as I pulled and threw until a quarter mile long line of white foam floats stretched out behind us like a giant’s pearl necklace. The set made, we walked back inside and stripped off our jackets and overalls to wait while the net soaked. I pulled my now warm breakfast from the oven and turned to the table. An aggressive wave must have slid my book aside, leaving the letter exposed. I took it as a sign and set down at the table to face whatever was to come. With a shaky hand, I pulled out my knife and ran it along the top of the envelope. I unfolded the letter, took a bite of my jerky, and started to read. Outside the wind died down, and the rain picked up.
My instinct was to rush, to fly across the page and have my answer, but with fraying patients, I forced myself into steady, deliberate reading. Her words began with fits and starts as if she were unsure of exactly what to say. The cursive was sloppy and wild, dotted with eraser marks and corrections. However, this indecisiveness did not persist, and after only a couple of wondering sentences, the penmanship grew strong as her normal confidence returned. I sat there, tense, bracing like someone waiting on a punch they know they have no hope of ducking. I read on, but the blow never came. Understanding, forgiveness, and finally love floated up from the page. There was pain and sadness to be sure, but instead of anger and blame, she had embraced hope. I shook my head not fully comprehending. The weight in my heart lifted as the meaning of her letter sank in. Our future was not lost after all.
I read the letter again and again. Then devoured another piece of jerky and read it one more time. The captain turned on some music as I held the letter idly and stared out the window. Time became lost in the endless procession of waves, while my thoughts drifted without direction across the weeks and years behind me. After ten minutes or two hours, the captain stood and got ready to haul in the net. I put my gear back on and lumbered once more out onto the deck, smiling as the damp air chilled my bones.
Just One Quick Story 