Maturing

Word count: 745

    John luffed up to the dock for the last time.  Let go the jib sheet and main sheet, then reached to grab the dock with his hand.  So Lightning 9176 wouldn’t drift leeward before he could secure the boat.

    After tying the boat to the dock he dropped the mainsail and then the jib.  He hadn’t flown the spinnaker today because he couldn’t do that while he was single handing his craft.  But it was just as well, he wanted to spend the day alone with her, it would be their last day together.  The following day a man he did not know, and had never met, would be coming with a cashier's check to take the wooden, one design nineteen foot daysailer away.

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    He and his wife decided to sell the boat six months ago, he had decided actually, she was thankful.  He spent more time on the boat sailing and racing than he did with her and the children.  Two out of three weekends he was either racing or sailing, for the sheer joy and life it gave him. 

    He was the boat and the boat was him.  The wide cedar planks of her hull were where his soul resided, they were finished bright inside, as were the mahogany frames and seats.  He had spent an entire racing season rebuilding her.  Fairing the hull and then painting it, repairing the deck and then recovering it with canvas, paint and sand.  She had needed completely new standing and running rigging when he found her.  She had been virtually abandoned in a hanger at San Francisco International Airport for seven years, completely dried out.  He had rebuilt the centerboard trunk to make her tight again, yet there was still a leak from the area, she required almost constant bailing.  It was a high maintenance boat.

    For his wife, his children, and his marriage the boat was going to go, but for five months he always found an excuse not to sell it to a prospective buyer.  It wasn’t a good home for her, they wouldn’t have her in the water often enough, they couldn’t sail.  He always found an excuse not to sell.  Arriving home late one Sunday from a three day regatta to find his children and wife in bed asleep, he realized he could procrastinate no longer; the boat wasn’t his first responsibility.

    He sat down at the computer before waking his wife and listed his soul on EBay.  He set a reasonable minimum bid and a ‘Buy It Now Price’.  The auction time was seven days.  He had received a good price for the Lightning, but it wasn’t enough.

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    He left the boat tied to the end of the dock as he folded the sails on a grassy area.  He then put them in the back of his truck and went down to remove the boom and securely stow everything for bringing the boat home.  He usually did these things once he had the boat out if the water.  Today he could barely make himself stow all the gear.  As he was walking to get the truck and trailer, he stopped halfway up the dock and looked back at 9176.  He wanted a last look at her in the water.  The white hull with the red waterline stripe, the bright finished rails and coaming, he stood transfixed for several minutes.  Looking, etching the picture deep into his memory.  He felt the warm sun and the cool breeze on his face, he reveled in the salt air and the gulls screeching overhead, the stench of seaweed and sport fishermen's bait rotting on the ramp.

    After unhitching the trailer in front of the house, he went in and had a quiet dinner with his family.  Then, uncharacteristically went to bed.

    The next afternoon at work he called his wife and asked if she would mind handling the transaction when the buyer arrived that evening.  He told her he didn’t want to meet the new owner.  She understood him; they discussed the details of selling the sailboat.  He said he would call her if he needed someone to drive him home.

    He called her at 8:30 that evening and thought that perhaps she might want to pick him up.  She left the children with a neighbor and came to get him.  The ride home was silent but companionable.  They both knew he still had a soul, it just wasn’t the same soul he’d had yesterday.

Word count: 745