The Open Boat

 I have had such a pleasant time these last few days with Sasha, who is visiting from his home in Arizona- - telling stories, laughing, and then quietly discussing our lives, both apart and together. 

Today, he told me a story about Albert. Also known to his ex-wife, and now my ex-wife too, as fat Albert. Albert is Sasha's father, whom of course I remember very well. Sasha lives with his father and his stepmother back in Phoenix. Albert is the sort of guy who has big ideas and then champions his own ideas with vigor and enthusiasm. 

Let's go to Mexico! Albert said. We can fish in the ocean. A guy told me you can catch huge fish just off the beach! 

Sasha is a reticent sort of guy, a bit of a homebody, and, from experience, a bit suspicious of these ideas that his father comes up with. But on the other hand, Albert is a persistent sort of guy and will, and did, tirelessly press his point. 

So they took the van and went to Mexico. To catch huge fish in the ocean. 

Sasha, as he explains, envisioned a boat of some kind, you know made of wood or aluminum or whatever. What they got upon arriving in Mexico was an inflatable rubber raft with a little motor mounted on the back. 

Off they went into the sea. Having gotten beyond the breakers, they had begun to prepare their fishing gear when Sasha noticed that the raft was taking on water. Not just a little water. A lot of water. And rather suddenly so. 

Why are my shoes wet? Albert said. Oh. Oh man. F*ck

They begin to bail water, first with their hands, then with the tackle box, but it's no use. The raft is sinking. Albert tries to start the motor, and it will not start. They are now sitting in water while the motor gasps it's last oily breaths. 

We're gonna to have to swim for it, Boy! Albert says. Quick! Take off your shoes! They will weigh you down! 

Where do I put them? 

Just drop them, Boy! Throw all non-essentials overboard! 

Overboard? But the overboard is already underwater.

And so, shoeless, they swam for it, in the wide blue sea, under the pitiless Mexican sky. The open boat. Or in this case, the sunken boat. Big Albert and his little mate. The skipper and Gilligan. They swam and they swam, the tide going out, and Sasha finally out of breath, arms aching, and the shore seemingly no nearer.

Did I ever tell you about the time I almost drowned? 

This is how Sasha had begun the story. 

Well, he didn't drown, obviously, and praise God for that. At last, he washed up on the beach, like a disabled dolphin. His father more like a whale nearby. And there they lay on the sand, wheezing and coughing, contemplating this most recent grand idea and adventure.

Sasha was not laughing at the time. Not at all. And yet we were laughing now until our sides hurt and tears fell from our eyes. That's just the way Sasha can tell a story. He's a natural. And it's the way he looks at the various trials and disasters of the past. That too is a gift.