Miscellaneous Comfort

Early October, 2002

They were long forgotten ink drawings. I found them a few days ago after I moved into my new place. They were stuffed into the many small boxes marked as Miscellaneous. I threw most of my past into those boxes in the last hurried hours of moving out of the old house. I wanted out and knowing what I had really didn't matter to me. I would soon be free of 21 years of a misbegotten marriage. I knew I would be myself again once I closed that door behind me.

I finished loading the boxes into the back of my truck and walked to the backyard for the final time. Through tearful eyes, I swung my open hand through the grass and touched the swing set. The memories became very strong, so I sat awhile.

I walked inside and looked around each of the rooms. The new owners would be moving in later that afternoon. It would be their house. They would bring a new life into it and make it a home. I touched the walls and closed closet doors for the last time. Good luck to them.

The house and the marriage had been well-kept mausoleums. There was no love between us for the last thirteen years of marriage. We kept together for the kids and the princely sums of money. Towards the end, it was more the latter than the former.

I kissed the front door and said goodbye to my old life.

I was spending the morning looking at my past. The morning sun warmed my face as I sat on the carpet in the smaller front bedroom of my new house. I smiled as I remembered the moments from each photo.

I went to the closet for another cardboard moving box and found something from many years ago. I forgot I had them.

They were small ink drawings of oyster boats at rest. I carefully laid them side-by-side on the carpet, sat down next to them and cried. They were the past that I had buried, along with myself, so I could survive the marriage. Just to f**king survive. By remembering the water and my people, I did both.

Two of the oyster boats were working boats and had many years left in their hulls. The other two boats were in disrepair - their keels resting on the sandy bottom. It felt good to see them. I was home again. I remembered the tides and the pull of the water.

I was a young boy again fishing on Red's pier. An old man with a week-old white beard was fishing nearby. It was old man Red. He patiently listened as I stuttered-out my question,"Why were some working boats anchored close to shore and forgotten?"

"Maybe the family just quit.. or the business gave out.. or maybe his heart gave out. Best to leave it be and give back to the sea what she always wanted. Just wait. The tides will take it soon enough. They always do."

His words gave me comfort - a boy listening to an old man as he talked about wisdom and lies on a short pier in a shallow creek... somewhere back over there.

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